I don't own or co-own Naruto or A Song of Ice And Fire; that rights belong to Gorge R. R. Martin, And Masashi Kishimoto. Based upon Characters created by Gorge R. R. Martin, And Masashi Kishimoto.
Rated M - For Strong Language, Blood and Violence and other stuff.
"Talking"
"Thoughts"
[Jutsus, Techniques, and Spells]
I will not change the main story's components. It will still be as below.
Madara-centric!
"[Chapter 2: The King of The Seven Kingdoms]"
In Kings Landing, the air was electric with excitement and whispers grew louder as the day of the wedding approached. The city was a kaleidoscope of colors, with the gold of the Lannister lions and the green of the Tyrell roses dominating the landscape.
The Great Sept of Baelor was adorned with flowers and banners, and the smell of incense and candle wax filled the air as the High Septon performed his final blessings over the union.
Olenna Tyrell watched the preparations with a keen eye, her mind racing with the potential consequences of Madara's involvement. She had seen the look in Tywin's eyes when the man's name was mentioned—a mix of respect and fear.
It was a look she had never seen before, and it intrigued her. The Queen of Thorns knew that she had to be prepared for any eventuality, especially if it meant protecting her granddaughter's future.
The wedding day dawned, a beautiful spring morning with a hint of warmth in the air. The bells of the Great Sept of Baelor tolled, echoing through the streets as the great and the good of Westeros made their way to the ceremony. The air was thick with anticipation, a palpable energy that seemed to crackle around the city.
In the Red Keep, Tywin Lannister held a private meeting with his children, Cersei and Jamie. The room was dimly lit, the only sounds the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional caw of a raven outside the window.
"Madara Uchiha," Tywin said, the name leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "The man who was once a friend and ally has become a potential enemy."
Cersei and Jamie exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. "What threat does he pose, Father?" Cersei asked, her eyes never leaving Tywin's face.
"The man is a living legend," Tywin began, his voice low and measured. "His tactics are unpredictable, and his power is said to be otherworldly. If he has indeed thrown his support behind Dorne, we cannot underestimate the danger."
Cersei's eyes narrowed, her mind racing with the implications. "What measures have you taken to ensure his loyalty remains with the Martells?"
"Loyalty? That man has no loyalty towards no one, my daughter."
Tywin's words were as cold as the steel of his ancestral sword, the ice in his voice sending a shiver down Cersei's spine. She knew her father's disdain for Madara Uchiha was rooted in a history she had only heard whispers of.
"He is a wildcard, a man of no honor, who fights for his own ends. If he's indeed involved with Dorne, we must be prepared to face a foe that could shake the very foundations of our alliance." Tywin's gaze flicked to Jamie. "Ensure our men are ready. We cannot be caught off-guard by a sneak attack during the wedding festivities."
Jamie nodded, his mind racing with the tactical implications. He knew the value of information and the necessity of being prepared for the unexpected. "I'll double the guards and have the gold cloaks on high alert."
"Good. Cersei, keep an eye on Margaery. Make sure she doesn't get too close to any shadows that may be lurking," Tywin said, his gaze shifting to his eldest daughter.
"Of course, Father. I will ensure she is protected at all costs," Cersei replied, her voice laced with the steel of determination.
"And what of our dear brother, Tyrion?" Jamie inquired, his eyes flicking towards the door, where the sound of footsteps grew louder.
"He is to keep his distance from Madara Uchiha at all costs," Tywin said firmly. "His... unorthodox methods may provoke the man unnecessarily. We need to handle this with finesse, not brute force."
Cersei's gaze hardened. "Tyrion can be a liability, Father. His lack of tact is as legendary as Madara's power. Perhaps it's best if he's kept out of the way entirely?"
"Your brother is the Hand of the King, and he will be present at the wedding," Tywin said firmly. "But he will be seated with the lesser lords, where he can do the least damage."
Cersei's eyes flashed with annoyance. She knew her father's true feelings about Tyrion, but she couldn't argue with the logic. If Madara Uchiha was indeed a threat, the last thing they needed was the dwarf's mouth to provoke the legendary warrior.
"Understood, Father," Jamie said, his gaze lingering on Tyrion as he entered the chamber. Tyrion's face was a mask of curiosity, but there was a hint of something else—perhaps fear? The Hand of the King had always been a formidable force, but the mention of Madara Uchiha had brought a new element to the game, one that even he couldn't ignore.
The wedding procession began, the banners of the Lannisters and Tyrells fluttering in the wind as the two families made their way to the Great Sept. The crowd was a sea of faces, a mix of excitement and fear. Madara's presence was a whisper on the lips of many, a name that carried the weight of a thousand battles and the promise of a storm on the horizon.
The doors to the Sept swung open, and the wedding party stepped into the grand hall. The light from the stained-glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors onto the marble floor, as the High Septon waited at the altar, his eyes heavy with the gravity of the union about to be made.
Margaery looked stunning in her elaborate gown, a masterpiece of Tyrell craftsmanship that shimmered like the emerald sea.
Her eyes searched the congregation for any sign of Madara, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The whispers grew to a murmur as the crowd took their seats, their eyes darting around the room, searching for the mysterious guest from Dorne.
The wedding ceremony itself was a blur of incense and prayers, the High Septon's droning voice barely penetrating the wall of tension that had descended upon the room.
Olenna Tyrell sat in the front row, her eyes never leaving Tywin Lannister. She knew that the presence of Madara could either strengthen or shatter their alliance, and she was ready to play whatever hand she was dealt.
As the final vows were exchanged and the crowd erupted into applause, the doors to the Sept swung open, and the shadow of a figure fell across the aisle.
Madara Uchiha had arrived, his Sharingan burning with a fierce intensity that sent a ripple of silence through the congregation. His robes were a stark contrast to the vibrant colors around him, a reminder of the darkness that could engulf them all.
"Twyin Lannister. You were holding such a wedding? And I didn't get an invite? I'm hurt."
The voice that cut through the tense silence was as smooth as a serpent's, yet as deadly as the venom it carried. Madara Uchiha stepped into the Sept, his crimson-colored eye locking onto Tywin's.
The Lannisters and Tyrells froze, their smiles faltering as the legend from Dorne made his dramatic entrance. His robes flowed like a river of shadow, and the air seemed to still around him.
"Madara," Tywin acknowledged coolly, not rising from his seat. His gaze was unwavering, a silent challenge to the man he had once called friend.
The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken threats and the weight of history. Madara's Sharingan eye scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on the Iron Throne's Hand, Tyrion Lannister, who watched him with a mix of curiosity and caution.
"Tyrion, always the clever one, aren't you? I've heard much about your wit and strategic prowess. It's a shame our paths haven't crossed sooner," Madara said, his voice echoing through the vaulted chamber.
Tyrion met Madara's gaze, his own eyes sharp and assessing. The man's power was undeniable, and the way the room seemed to hold its breath around him spoke volumes. "Madara Uchiha. I've heard much about you as well. It's an honor to finally meet the man behind the legend," Tyrion replied, his tone measured and respectful.
Madara's smirk grew wider, his one visible eye gleaming with amusement. "I'm sure the stories don't do me justice, Tyrion Lannister. After all, I've had decades to build my legend in the shadows of Dorne and the war against the Mad King.
The mention of Aerys brought a flicker of something unreadable to Tywin's face. Madara noticed and continued, "Ah, yes, the Mad King. We had our differences, but it seems your family has carried on his legacy quite nicely." His gaze swept over the room, lingering on Joffrey's smug expression before returning to Tywin.
Olenna Tyrell leaned forward in her seat, her eyes alight with interest. The dance of power was about to begin, and she knew that every word spoken would be as important as any blade drawn.
"Your words are as sharp as ever, Madara," she said, her tone a blend of curiosity and warning. "But what brings you to our little gathering? I'm sure you have more important matters to attend to than the marriage of a boy king and a girl."
"Olenna, you have become old."
Madara's smile was as sharp as the blade he had once wielded, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. The Queen of Thorns returned his gaze with a raised brow, her own smile a warning.
"I've come to offer a toast to the happy couple. May their union be as fiery as the love that burns within them," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. A murmur rippled through the room, the tension thickening like a plot about to unfold. "And… of course… I have come baring gifts."
Madara's entourage, a mix of Dornish soldiers and shadowy figures, stepped aside to reveal two large wooden chests. The Lannister and Tyrell guards tensed, hands moving subtly closer to their weapons. The chests were brought forward and placed before the High Septon, who eyed them warily.
"The heads of the spy's you sent after me, Tywin."
Madara's words were like a dagger thrown into the heart of the Lannister's pride. The room gasped as the chests were opened, revealing the severed heads of the men who had been sent to track him down. Tywin's face remained stoic, but the slight clench of his jaw betrayed his anger. The crowd murmured in horror and fascination, the wedding celebration suddenly overshadowed by the grim reminder of the world they lived in.
"This is but a warning, the real game begins right now."
Madara's voice was as cold as the ice that coated the Iron Throne. The room fell silent, the only sound the soft thud of the heads as they hit the floor. The color drained from Tywin's face, and his hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. The implications of Madara's gesture were clear: he was not a man to be underestimated or crossed.
"But I have come for revenge, not to talk."
Madara's words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and the room grew colder with each passing moment. Tywin's eyes narrowed, and he rose from his chair, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"Your dramatics are wasted here, Madara. If you wish to challenge me, do it in a manner befitting a warrior, not a sneak thief in the night," he said, his voice steady and filled with the authority of a man who had seen and survived countless battles.
"Hahhahahahahaha!"
Madara's laughter echoed through the Great Sept, the sound deep and mirthless, sending a shiver down the spines of everyone present. He bent down and picked up one of the heads, twirling it around with a grotesque flair.
"You think this is dramatics? This is merely the prelude to the bloodshed that will follow if the Lannister's don't heed my warning. I seek not a duel but a reckoning!"
The tension in the room grew so thick that it could almost be cut with a sword. The Lannisters and Tyrells stared at Madara, their faces a mask of shock and fury. The Dornish in the room, however, remained eerily calm, their expressions unreadable. It was as if they had known all along what was coming.
"Ellia Martell. Who gave the order to murder her?"
Madara's question was a thunderclap in the stunned silence of the Great Sept. His voice resonated with the pain of loss and the promise of retribution. Tywin's hand tightened further on his sword, his eyes never leaving Madara's.
"Ellia was a victim of the war," Tywin said, his voice firm. "Her death was not by my hand, nor by my command."
"You dare lie to me? You worm."
Madara's voice was low, but the venom in his words was palpable. He took a step closer to Tywin, the air around them seeming to crackle with the promise of violence. The Lannister soldiers shifted, their eyes flicking to their lord for a command.
"Your words are as hollow as the skulls of those you've sent to me, Tywin. The truth does not lie with you. But I will not be the one to spill blood on this sacred ground. Instead, I offer you a choice: confess your role in Ellia's murder and face the wrath of Dorne, or continue this dance of deceit and watch your house burn from within."
The air grew colder, and the room felt as if it were holding its breath. Tywin's face remained a stoic mask, his eyes never leaving Madara's crimson gaze. He knew the price of admitting to such a heinous act, and he was not about to do so, not here, not now.
"My house has faced many storms, Madara. I'm not so easily shaken by an old man's threats," Tywin replied, his voice as unyielding as the stone walls of the Red Keep.
Madara drew his sword and an instant, Tywin's head fell in the floor.
The room erupted into chaos, screams echoing off the stone walls as guests scattered, the sound of metal on metal as swords were drawn and shields raised.
Margaery's eyes went wide with horror, and she clutched at her new husband's arm, her mind racing with the implications of what she had just witnessed.
"Murder every Lannister in this room. Don't touch the innocents or the Tyrell's."
Madara's voice cut through the chaos like a knife, his words a declaration of war that sent the Dornish soldiers into action.
The Lannister guards, caught off guard by the suddenness of the attack, were swiftly overwhelmed by the frenzied onslaught of the Martell forces.
Screams and the clang of steel filled the once-sacred space as the wedding devolved into a bloody massacre.
Joffrey, paralyzed with fear, was dragged away by his protectors, his bride's horror-stricken face the last thing he saw before the chaos enveloped him. Cersei and Jamie drew their swords, standing protectively in front of their father's lifeless body, their eyes burning with a mix of rage and disbelief.
Madara's Dornish soldiers moved with a precision and ferocity that spoke of years of waiting for this moment. The Lannister forces were outnumbered and caught off-guard, their once proud banners now a macabre backdrop to the carnage.
"Don't let the king escape, I want him alive."
Madara's order was clear and cold, his voice cutting through the din of battle as the Dornish soldiers fanned out, seeking the young Joffrey. The chaos grew, a whirlwind of steel and blood that swept through the Great Sept of Baelor.
Olenna Tyrell's eyes were as sharp as the thorns of her name as she assessed the situation. She knew that if the Lannisters fell now, the alliance she had worked so hard to forge would crumble. She had to act quickly. She whispered something into Margaery's ear, and the young queen nodded, understanding the gravity of the moment.
Margaery, her face a mask of horror, stepped forward, her voice ringing out above the din. "This is madness! Stop! In the name of the Seven, I demand peace!" Her words echoed in the vast chamber, and for a brief moment, the clang of steel ceased. Madara Uchiha regarded her with a look of mild amusement, his blade still dripping with Tywin's blood.
"A woman? Are you listening to the words of this woman, Oberyn?"
The Red Viper's voice was thick with disgust, his eyes never leaving the carnage as he addressed his sister, Elia. Her death at the hands of the Mountain had fueled his hatred for the Lannisters, and he had sworn to avenge her and her children. Madara's sudden interjection brought his gaze back to the present, his attention fixed on the legendary shinobi.
"Madara, the boy is a mere pawn in this game. Spare him, and perhaps we can still salvage some semblance of peace between our houses," Margaery pleaded, her voice steady despite the chaos surrounding her.
"I don't care."
Madara's response was as cold as the steel of his sword, his Sharingan eye unblinking as he stared down at Margaery. The Queen of Thorns stepped forward, her own blade drawn.
"You dare threaten the peace of this realm on the day of a wedding? House Tyrell will not stand for this!" she declared, her voice sharp and unyielding.
"Do you want to die as well?"
Madara's question was as cold and final as winter in the north. Olenna met his gaze, her own eyes gleaming with the sharpness of her wit.
"If you wish to challenge us, do it openly, Madara. The gods will not look kindly on the slaughter of innocents on a day of union," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of a woman who had seen the darkest corners of the game of thrones.
"The Lannisters are no innocents."
Madara's words were a chilling retort to Olenna's challenge, his crimson eye never leaving hers. The Great Sept of Baelor was a battleground now, the air thick with the scent of blood and the screams of the dying.
Margaery's eyes searched the room for any sign of her new husband, her heart racing with fear. She knew that if Joffrey fell, the alliance would be irrevocably shattered, and the realm would be plunged into chaos. Her thoughts raced as she saw the Red Viper, his spear at the ready, fighting his way through the Lannister guards.
"Oberyn, enough!" she shouted, her voice piercing the cacophony. "This is a wedding, not a battlefield!"
"My sister shall be avenged!"
Oberyn's roar drowned out Margaery's pleas, his eyes alight with the fury of a thousand suns. His spear danced through the air, a crimson blur, as he fought with a ferocity that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. Madara watched him, his expression unreadable, the Sharingan a silent testament to the power that lay behind his stoic facade.
"We surrender! We surrender!"
The cries echoed through the Great Sept of Baelor as the last of the Lannister guards fell. Madara Uchiha stood over the chaos, his Sharingan eye unblinking as he surveyed the battlefield. The once-beautiful wedding venue was now a sea of blood, the bright banners stained a ghastly red. His heart pounded with the excitement of the fight, but his mind was as calm as the surface of a still pond.
"Lay down your swords and bend the knee."
Madara's voice was as sharp as the blade he held, and the Dornish soldiers paused in their slaughter. The Lannister forces, outmatched and outnumbered, had no choice but to comply. Cersei and Jamie, standing over Tywin's body, stared at Madara with a mix of shock and rage, but their blades remained still.
"Jamie Lannister, surrender now."
Madara's command was as firm as the stone beneath their feet, his gaze unwavering as it settled on the Kingslayer. The room had gone still, the only sounds the gasps of the horrified guests and the heavy breaths of exhausted soldiers.
"What do you want?" Jamie demanded, his voice strained with anger and grief.
"Surrender and bend the knee."
Jamie's eyes narrowed, but he knew better than to underestimate the power of the man before him. He had seen what Madara's blade could do, and he had no doubt that the shinobi could cut through their forces like a hot knife through butter. With a heavy heart, he lowered his sword to the ground.
The clatter of weapons followed as the Lannister forces surrendered, their eyes downcast and defeated. Madara's soldiers moved swiftly, securing the room and collecting the weapons of the defeated. The Great Sept of Baelor was now under the control of Dorne, a stark reminder of the fragility of power.
"Spread word! A new King sits on the Iron Throne!"
Madara's proclamation was met with a mix of shock and disbelief. The wedding guests looked around, dazed by the sudden turn of events. The Lannister forces were bound, and Joffrey was nowhere to be seen. Margaery's eyes searched frantically for any sign of her new husband, her heart racing with fear.
The Red Viper stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Jamie's. "Madara, this was not our plan. The boy is no threat to us. We seek only vengeance for Elia and her children!"
"I understand, Oberyn. I will not harm him."
Madara's response was cold, his Sharingan eye unwavering as he looked over the blood-soaked room. He had come to Westeros not just for revenge, but to claim what he believed was rightfully his: the Iron Throne. His friendship with Elia had been strong, and her death at the hands of the Lannisters had only fueled his desire for power.
"The Iron Throne is not a prize to be claimed by blood alone, Madara. There are laws and alliances that must be respected!"
"Oberyn, why did you follow me? I promised revenge and I delivered. I expect you to do the same."
Madara's voice was calm but firm as he addressed the Red Viper, whose gaze was still fixed on the bound form of Jamie Lannister. The chaos around them had subsided, but the tension remained as palpable as the coppery scent of blood.
"You seek vengeance for your sister, I seek justice for the realm. We are not so different, my friend," Madara said, sheathing his blade. His eyes swept the room, coming to rest on Margaery Tyrell, who watched him with a mix of fear and curiosity.
"I believe we still remain friends, right?"
Margaery's heart was racing, but she knew better than to show it. "As long as you honor your promise to spare the innocents, Madara Uchiha," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
"I'm not a monster; I'm not a Lannister or Targaryen."
Madara's words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the alliances and betrayals that had led to this moment. Margaery's gaze searched his face for any hint of the man he once was, the friend of her grandmother's youth.
"Where is Joffrey?" she asked, her voice firm despite the tremor of fear that threatened to break through. Madara's expression remained unchanged, his eyes cold and calculating.
"I don't know as of yet, but I promise he will be fine."
Madara's response was cryptic, leaving Margaery feeling a chill run down her spine. She knew that promises made in times of war could be as fleeting as the seasons themselves. Her mind raced, trying to predict Madara's next move.
The Great Sept of Baelor was a prison of fear and suspicion now, the grandeur of the wedding a distant memory.
"Well then, I have a Throne to Claim. If you would excuse me."
Madara's voice cut through the tension, and he strode out of the Sept, his men following. The room was left in a stunned silence, the echo of his footsteps the only sound amidst the carnage. Olenna took a deep breath, her mind racing. The Lannister-Tyrell alliance had just been shaken to its core.
"Margaery, we must find Joffrey and secure him," she whispered urgently. The young queen nodded, her eyes never leaving Madara's retreating back.
Together, they moved through the chaos, their steps careful amidst the bodies and the discarded weapons. The once-celebratory atmosphere had been replaced by the cold, bitter taste of betrayal.
They all followed to the Throne Room, where the Iron Throne stood tall and foreboding, a symbol of power and the ultimate prize of the game of thrones.
Madara's eyes lit up as he approached it, the room echoing with the footsteps of his army and the soft murmurs of the remaining wedding guests who had been herded along.
The crimson glow of his Sharingan seemed to cast a bloody tint over the gleaming steel of the throne.
"I, Madara Uchiha, the first of my name, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, do hereby claim this seat of power!" Madara announced, his voice reverberating off the ancient stone walls. The room was silent, the only sound the distant clang of swords and cries of battle, a stark reminder of the chaos they had left behind. The Iron Throne loomed over them, a silent witness to countless coronations and betrayals.
The man sat upon the Throne, his dark cloak billowing around him like the wings of a raven, the crimson eye piercing through the gloom of the chamber. His hand clasped the armrests, the metal groaning under the grip of a man who had seen the end of nations and had brought forth the same destruction to this very room.
Madara Uchiha, once a myth whispered in the shadows of Dorne, had made his presence known to the world of Westeros in a single, bloody stroke.
"Burn the Lannister and Baratheon flags."
Madara's voice was like the tolling of a funeral bell, sending shivers down the spines of the wedding guests who had been herded into the throne room.
The crimson glow of his Sharingan eye seemed to dance in the flickering torchlight as the Dornish soldiers obeyed his command, setting the colorful banners alight. The room was a stark contrast to the earlier festivities, the air now thick with the smell of burnt fabric and fear.
"Oberyn, I name you as my right hand man."
Madara's declaration was as sudden as the bloodshed that had come before. The Red Viper stared at the shinobi, his emotions a tumultuous storm.
He had wanted vengeance for his sister, but this was not what he had envisioned. Yet, the allure of power was intoxicating, and Madara's promise of justice resonated with his own vendetta. With a curt nod, he accepted his role.
Margaery and Olenna watched the exchange, their eyes never leaving the new ruler of the Iron Throne. The Queen of Thorns leaned in to whisper to her granddaughter, her words a mix of strategy and reassurance. The two women knew they had to navigate these treacherous waters with the grace of swans, hiding their true feelings beneath the surface.
"My grace, I stand with House Tyrell in seeking peace and stability in the realm," Margaery spoke, her voice clear and steady, a beacon of hope in the darkened room. The shinobi's gaze flicked to her, and she could see the wheels of his mind turning, weighing her words.
"Your grace, as does House Tyrell," Olenna added, her sharp eyes not leaving Madara's crimson gaze. "The boy king is a symbol of our alliance. Harm him, and you destroy what we've built together. We stand united in this. We can still salvage something from this day's events. Perhaps even forge a stronger bond between our houses. If you wish to claim the throne, do so with honor, not bloodshed on sacred ground."
"Good."
Madara's single word sent a ripple of unease through the room. His eyes flicked over to the bound Lannister siblings before returning to the two Tyrell women. The fire of the burning banners reflected in his Sharingan, hinting at the fiery determination within him. He knew that without the support of the powerful Tyrells, his claim to the throne would be precarious.
"I promise on my honour, that I will protect the innocent from the clutches of Tyranny. A new era begins now!"
Madara's voice boomed through the room, leaving no room for doubt or argument. The weight of his words seemed to press down on everyone present, as if the very stones of the throne room had absorbed his power.
"Ellia, you can rest in peace now…"
The room was eerily quiet as Madara's whisper seemed to hang in the air, his crimson gaze never leaving Tywin's lifeless body. The flames from the burning flags licked the shadows, casting a macabre light over the Iron Throne and the blood-soaked floor. The wedding guests who had been forced to witness this grim spectacle were now silent witnesses to the shifting sands of power.
Madara looked at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting to Ellia, her smile, her laughter, and the warmth of her presence that had been snuffed out by the Lannisters.
His eyes narrowed and he turned to the Lannister siblings. "Your father's crimes cannot be forgotten. However, your fate is not for me to decide. I leave it to the the will of the people of Westeros. For now, you will remain in my custody until your value is determined. Sent them to the dungeon… and throw Tywin's body into the fire."
The Dornish soldiers stepped forward to carry out Madara's orders, and Cersei spat at his feet. "You're no better than him!"
"I am peace, the Saviour of This World."
Madara's words sent a shiver down Jamie's spine as the crimson glow of his eye bored into him. He knew the power of this man, the legend that had haunted Dorne for so long.
Madara's promise of a new era was one Jamie did not trust, not with the blood of his father still warm on the ground.
They carried the body of the once mighty Tywin into the fire, the flames consuming his lifeless form with a ravenous hunger. Madara's cold gaze never left the pyre, his mind racing with the consequences of his actions. He knew the Lannisters would not rest until they had avenged their father's death, but he also knew that fear could be a powerful tool in the game of thrones.
"Finally... peace at last. I can sleep peacefully tonight." He whispered to himself as he deactivated his Sharingan and closed his eyes.
End of Chapter 2.