This was the cost of restraint.
He had, of course, nullified all the ninjutsu they'd thrown at him; no matter the sheer volume of it all, it was clear even they mostly expected that he would easily survive the onslaught. The Rinnegan he already possessed was simply too useful. Even the Amaterasu flames that had so briefly surprised him in their admittedly well-timed attacks had not lasted long before Madara had absorbed them completely.
He suspected that even with the passion of the fighters' volleys, their true intention was to distract, rather than kill. With all of their plotting and researching over the year he was certain that at least the more intelligent higher-ups must understand that this wasn't nearly enough to take him down.
With Sasuke nearby and no longer running, within reach for a well-aimed attack, putting up with the annoyances of the Allied army's desperate onslaught was worth retaining this position for now. It was worth tearing free an arm he'd quickly regrow, worth the annoyance of countering dozens of natures of jutsus, projectiles, and other attacks simultaneously, what with the Rinnegan's boundless limits in nullifying ninjutsu. In a sense, it had been fun.
However, the value of retaining this clearing where he had Sasuke in his sights was less worthwhile considering the card up their sleeve these so desperate shinobi had played now. It was what they'd been waiting to cast with their set-up distractions. How funny that they'd needed to employ half of their entire army's worth for something so simple as a distraction just to launch this.
Ninjutsu was rendered useless against Madara's Rinnegan. As he'd enjoyed himself mocking them all through simply absorbing their furious attacks, and as he'd still countered the deadly fires of Amaterasu, he had to admit his mind had been occupied, drawn away from the unremarkable shinobi beyond this clearing. He'd paid less attention to them as he'd focused more on turning his head enough that he could counter all the ninjutsu slung at him from every direction, for of course he couldn't automatically absorb it without the Rinnegan having it in its view; and he'd had to quickly counter the obsidian fires too — for while Madara was as powerful as he was, Amaterasu was still nothing to play with. He was resistant to it with his Rinnegan but he was not immune from it otherwise. It was fortunate he'd only had to lose an arm in quick thinking before absorbing the rest with the glancing of his eye.
Madara had been, under the furious thousands of attacks thrown at him at once, amusedly distracted. Enough that he hadn't paid mind to the decidedly weak little squad hidden behind a nearby branch. If they'd had someone stronger with them, like their captains, he might have watched them with more suspicion; perhaps his confidence in their weakness had been why, in the end, he was so inconvenienced now.
He had expected the reemergence of this type of attack. He'd been watching for it, had known they'd use it again no matter Sakura's long-ago claims to them of its ineffectiveness. He'd even had the thought that they might use this distraction specifically for its launch, but he had to hand it to them; they'd outdone themselves with its improvements from the comparatively much weaker, clunkier version of it they'd struck him with in the summer. Even while he'd managed to halt so much of this attack with the invisible force of his eye, that eye, so busy already with hundreds of other jutsus to counter, hadn't been able to mitigate all of it.
Madara exhaled tiredly with a muted tch. The Rinnegan was incredible, but it did not have three-hundred and sixty degree vision. Only then might he have fully countered every single piece. Only if he had taken that errant squad as more of a threat might he have prevented this injury; he had a thousand other ways he could have countered it, if he hadn't been distracted as well as holding back from slaughtering everyone around him.
Madara blinked down at himself, his brows twitching beneath his headband of bone. The cost of restraint, indeed.
The clearing around him looked like jagged hairs of a vast beast with hackles rising, but its fur made of glittering shards of glass, and this time also of steel. The entire curve of bark that made up the ground of the clearing was completely consumed in thousands of razor-edged pieces of broken glass and metal, sticking up in many different sizes. Whatever thrown vessel that had held these tonnes of shattered projectiles had exploded within their papered etchings, and this time with such powerful impact that it was impossible not to get skewered with its intentionally wide spray of projectiles, holding as much volume as a tsunami wave made entirely of glass and steel shards.
It was risky as it was hazardous. He'd no doubt that some of the soldiers in the fringes nearby had gotten struck by this attack in its aftermath.
How quickly they'd acted, and it was well-planned enough. Madara was almost impressed as he viewed just how much of his side was completely skewered through with the shards.
Blood streamed from his skin, his armour creaking strangely where metal had pierced through it, pinning it to his impaled shoulder and arm. Glass cracked and broke into smaller pieces as he shifted his one arm completely punched through from shoulder to hand with hundreds of sharp chunks of it — ah, he had nearly forgotten that this was more painful than he'd like. The way it pushed through skin and split beneath, cutting through veins and fracturing against bone — every movement creating a hundred new splits and punctures from shards shattering again and again — this arm was unusable, even to wrench the pieces from his throat that were preventing him from speaking.
All of this had only been within a breath's moment. Increasingly annoyed, Madara bent, his wild white hair streaked with increasing crimson-red as the steam cleared enough for a second or two; enough for all to see his half-limbless, glass-punctured state, the blood pouring from his skin and smattering his face, his cough from the shard through his throat ragged.
While he knew better, he knew he looked like he was about to die. He wasn't; the glass attack they'd managed to half-strike him with was, in his mind, still nothing more than an annoyance. There were many capabilities in his arsenal with which he could defend and attack even with less capable limbs and some irritating pain he'd ignore. The only real obstacle Madara knew was in his way was the restraint he continued to hold against slaughtering the entirety of Sakura's fellows in his goal to get back his lost eye. It was why he'd put up with all of this instead of killing the lot of them, after all. He would endure no matter what it took to seize what he owned before returning to her at the far horizon's peak.
Madara's eyes briefly shut as he heard her feral scream across the battlefield.
He did not expect the strange twist within his abdomen in response; almost as if in regret that he found himself here as he was now. It was still a novelty to him to feel anything at all in reaction to the emotions of anyone else; a novelty that there was someone else genuinely concerned for his well-being.
No. She had nothing to worry about. He was far from truly injured, let alone dying. Regardless of the cracking in his neck and shoulders, Madara turned his head, his glowing eyes lifting to that distant peak. He could just see her, perched on its edge. He held Sakura's gaze over the thousands between them for a single lingering second: she would have to understand; he would not be taken down so easily, regardless of his injuries. She would have to understand that he would also not make his return to her until he'd reclaimed the part of him so long apart in the hands of his enemy, damaged as it was. He would have both of his choices no matter what he had to put up with.
Sakura would also have to forgive, Madara decided as he looked away from her to reassess his irritatingly punctured state, when he reentered Obito's dimension and struck him down for good. He might be showing restraint in not killing the vast majority of her allies but Obito did not deserve such grace-wrought mercy. Not then; not with the cut across her throat; and especially not now. It was time he finally squashed the cockroach that just would not die.
After he'd reattained his eye, of course. There was much Madara planned to do after that, many things other than when he likely cast the Infinite Tsukuyomi. It surprised him somewhat that he was looking forward to all of it.
Madara blocked another rain of projectiles thrown his way in the next stretch of seconds easily, ignoring the gasps rising from soldiers standing far back from the clearing. Glass glittered and flashed in the vivid blue light of the Susasno'o arm burning brightly where it emerged from Madara's bleeding, empty arm socket as a surrogate limb, the arrows and shuriken thrown falling uselessly away from its forearm to the glass-peppered ground in a noisy clatter.
With the shimmering fingers of the Susasno'o arm Madara tore the shards from his throat. Steam rose in a blood-tainted plume high around his gored figure, and blood spattered the glass and metal shards sticking out of the ground all around him. Part of the armour plating over his shoulder fell away with the flick of his glowing fingers; and he lifted his head again, his burning mismatched eyes settling across the clearing.
Irritation bordering on rage sparked across his glare just as roars in the distance rose: roars of soldiers by the thousands, the noise of battles resuming. He didn't need to see it to sense the movements through the smoke beyond the clearing, the trudging countless feet, the enraged screams of those fighting once more with renewed passion and power beneath ironclad leadership.
It was not anger at the return of his generals, leading his cultists to fight the Allied side with fresh vigour — undoubtedly Hayashi to the east, leading a wing of the army against their enemies, and he knew that must be Isamu to the southwest, bringing the slaughter to the fighters on the other end of the battlefield. It was his anger that Naruto and Sasuke had disappeared to deal with that resurgence, Sasuke managing to slip loose of the branches Madara had sent on last-second instinct to snare him, his thrown orbs cutting through useless, empty air. Escaped. And it wasn't as simple as taking the chase back up again now.
In their absence had appeared the five he'd had no interest in fighting again. Five, who thought they had a chance to kill him now in his very slight vulnerability, missing one limb and the other essentially useless, necessitating he rip it free as well.
It wasn't ideal facing them like this, as weak as they are. There was no time nor chance to have Sakura work the glass from his wounds. It would be best if he tore off his punctured leg as well; ideally he'd use a brief respite to regenerate before smiting them, for if they ever were to have even the slightest chance against him, it could potentially be now, at least in their minds. Madara continued to calculate how he might smite them without slaughter, debating the weight of each of their lives against his burdensome resolve in a gradual, cutting glance he drew across where they stood. He was continually concluding that they all deserved death either way; even the Senju woman Sakura once had as her mentor.
That woman glared out at Madara now with all the hatred and resentment of a true rival, her eyes blazing and fists clenched with the urge to murder. She opposed him with all the fury as if Madara was the core of every loss and source of pain in her lifetime.
He smirked, slightly. Perhaps he was, and still continued to be.
She and the other Kages stood apart with arrogance in their expressions, twinned with determination. These Kages who should have died when he struck them down a year before faced him again now, spread across the other end of the glass-pierced clearing, all their long-brewed rage and power smouldering within each of their presences.
Madara glared them down, the torn skin around his throat mending slowly with steam rising through the air around his face. Soon with his mended esophagus he'd declare how easily he'd kill all of them, and permanently this time. No matter his inconvenienced state he would wipe them clean from this earth, including the Senju one, no matter how Sakura might protest. He was tired of restraint and angered that Sasuke had managed to slip away in his moment of dealing with his injuries. He'd find him again once he'd dealt with these Kages who he knew had come to prevent him from doing just that.
Shards of shattered wood restraints exploded around Sakura as she smashed through them again, the chains around her limbs weakening further as Hashirama's reinforcing branches could not maintain a hold on her. Through brute physical strength alone she continued to force herself free, her eyes affixed to the carnage below, her throat hoarse from her roar.
Even from this high up and far away she could see the gory state Madara was in. Blood tainted the sharp reflections of the jagged glass-punctured ground around him. It was so much worse than the first time, and she had no doubt more was coming.
Sakura spat out bits of wood and brushed it from her skin, fiercely focused upon the sight he made across the battlefield from her, a figure twisted in red and white. She recognised Naruto and Sasuke nearby, a few other familiar allies closing in around the clearing; it looked like her team might close in for an attack, in the chance Madara really was vulnerable. Perhaps he wouldn't hold back anymore either, dismissing the major handicap it was for him to withhold from killing Sakura's fellows while pursuing his goals. She knew this was why they all still lived, and how he had taken injury; she knew that this was far from over, but there was no world in which she could just watch this unfold without trying to stop it. Any grateful ache in her heart for Madara's restraint against her other loved ones was drowned in a well of stress knowing that they would not do the same.
She couldn't stand it. She could not stay here a moment longer. She must get down there.
"Sakura, stop! I have asked you multiple times!"
She froze, not from Hashirama's frustrated words and the new branch restraints persisting over her limbs once more, but how Madara turned his head through the bloody mist of steam rising from where he was half-bent in the shard-pierced clearing so far across the battlefield. She could see the fresh gush of red as he did so, and while he so easily hid the pain, Sakura understood the gravity of the attack they'd hit him with. Her hands twitched madly in her chains, the agony of wanting to mend and soothe just as strong as her urge to rip and maim, conflicted as all she longed to do was to aid him and fight for them all.
They locked eyes.
Sakura lurched forward in her chains and creaking restraints, perched over the peak's edge and ignoring Hashirama's protest.
Even over the huge horizon of distance between them she knew Madara's eyes were upon her. Her skin prickled with recognition at the touch of his stare, intense and strong, and though she was too far away to see his expression, she sensed his confidence.
Tears fell down Sakura's cheeks as she understood bitterly what Madara was communicating to her with this. He had no intention of stopping, through injury or fight or whatever may come. The reassurance of his single imperious glance was both a declaration that he was fine as well as an ominous signal that he was far from finished.
Sakura knew, then, that he would not come back to her until he'd gotten that eye back.
"Gods, damn it all." Sakura collapsed within the thick winding curls of fresh branch-restraints, ducking her head down into her arms as she seized a smoke-sullied breath. She tried to bite back her tears.
It was the first time she'd stopped trying to break free. Her chains had nearly snapped from her previous efforts; they were visibly cracked and strained, hanging around her deceptively slender wrists and ankles where she was slumped in a new half-cocoon of powerful Wood-Style branches. Only Hashirama's constant new bindings delayed the chakra-muting chains from breaking, but Sakura was much stronger than he'd realised. It was not only a possibility that she would shatter her chains and hurl herself into battle. It was an inevitability, and if he didn't somehow quell her from reentering the war soon, it would mean he would be breaking his final promise to Madara from old friend to old friend.
She looked almost defeated where she hung her head now. Pink hair trailed across the strange crest of ground beneath her, flecked with splinters from the many restraints she had shattered over the course of the last few minutes. It could not have been long since Madara had first left her here under Hashirama's watch; but in so short a time she'd nearly broken free, thwarting all of his efforts to hold her back. He'd almost considered trying another genjutsu, but strong as she was, she'd break out of that quickly too, and it would anger Madara as well. He had been the one to pull her fully free of the first one. He would not forgive a second.
"Sakura," Hashirama tried again, subtly sending another layer of tough branches snaking over her limbs to constrain her more tightly, "you cannot leave here." He leaned forward where he was calmly knelt nearby, long strands of brown hair adrift around his intense expression. "Please listen to me. It is important."
"I can't trust you," came her response, her voice rough around the edges, her tone low and tired. "I tried, before. You attacked me."
"It was not—"
"It was torture," Sakura spat. She lifted her head, and the slash of her green eyes was like the swing of a sword as she glared at Hashirama. Her fists clenched, her chains shivering in response. "Pure torment. The worst cruelty. To cast me into the beautiful life I know I can never live… I'll never be able to forget it."
Tears streamed down Sakura's face, and Hashirama looked away from her, inclining his head. The cloud of silence adrift between them muted the sounds of battle resuming below, the thousands of soldiers clashing again, and while Sakura jerked her attention back to the chaos beyond the high peak they were on, Hashirama spoke in a softer, apologetic tone. "I know. I realise that now." He released a long sigh. "It was not with intent to torment you; only to bring you peace while war raged on. I didn't know that you'd make a dream like that, or how quickly you'd start to break free of it; you seem to have a natural affinity for understanding genjutsu."
"You saw it?!"
A flicker of discomfort across Hashirama's face told Sakura his answer, and she lurched in her chains hard enough that he almost flinched, several of the branches snapping with the force of her thrashing. "Damn you. Damn you for keeping me here. I need to get back to them! I can't waste any more time here. I—"
Hashirama's expression hardened, and Sakura let out something of a gasp as she was doubly held back in a gnashing of branches whipping around her figure, lashing her to the ground and holding her still. He leaned forward where he sat, his calm words urged faster with frustration. "Don't you understand why you must stay here? Clear your mind of your anger and try to think about this more carefully."
Sakura's green eyes flashed dangerously in response, her thin figure thrashing hard enough that her restraints already creaked and groaned in protest. Hashirama exhaled shortly, despair woven beneath his tone. "Please."
Her gaze sparked oddly, and he sat back as he tried to explain with better calmness himself. "Sakura, as briefly as I have known you I understand you as one to love others selflessly and with great passion; but this is a time that you must hold yourself back from trying to help them. You must act as you would consider selfishly, for not only your sake, but theirs as well; no matter how backwards this may sound to you."
She was shaking her head, muffled where she was pressed down into the bark-covered ground, Hashirama taking this chance to continue explaining as the battles continued to roar among fires and slung jutsus far below. "You cannot rush in and defend Madara. All of your allies on the other side would consider it the affirmation that you're turning against them for his sake." He exhaled as he leaned over her, holding her frustrated green gaze with his fervent words. "You also cannot go and defend against Madara for your friends' sake for the same reason. You would damage or even ruin the bond between you that you only just cemented. Do you see the problem in if you joined battle, now? Madara understood it, and that is why he entrusted you to me here."
Sakura's thrashing eased somewhat, and now the tears welling in her eyes were ones Hashirama understood as the culmination of her sheer frustration. Warmth and understanding softened his expression, his voice lower as he spoke to her in kinder tones. "I know you want to help them all. It is your nature to selflessly love and fight for others; this much I can easily see. But that, you cannot do either, right now." He gestured out at the battlefield below. "It's impossible to help everyone out there. For the sake of avoiding either side thinking you are turning against them; and for the sake of securing your own future after this war—"
"I don't care about my future," Sakura managed, struggling again, and Hashirama cut her off, angry once more. "You must! Don't be a selfish child and throw yourself into danger when the ones you love have made their sacrifices to keep you safe. You have served your sentence from your trial and you have deepened your bond with Madara. You would be nothing but a fool to risk that now just for the sake of your naive inability to control yourself when faced with difficult frustrations."
She was the one to flinch now as Hashirama went on. "Don't you understand? All you need to do now is hold back and rest — your part of this is done. Allow yourself the chance at living a redeemed life after this war is over…"
Her teeth were clenched, her fierce eyes burning through the smoky air. She was breathing hard, and he could hear her fingers digging lines through the bark beneath her, curling into shaking fists.
Hashirama glowered down at her. "That won't be possible if you give in to what is truly a selfish desire to reenter battle now."
"Like he did?" Sakura said, her voice quavering, and Hashirama paused as she looked out to the battlefield. He sat back with a short exhale, realising it: she had no idea the Allied trap presented to Madara before he'd awoken her from the genjutsu. But even without that knowledge, she was feeling what she likely would have if she did know it; a sense of rejection, as if his choice to go back for his eye was done to make up for the decision of saving her instead.
He stiffened as Sakura lurched forward. Wood splinters shattered everywhere as she destroyed the branches he'd sent around her wrists. Rage burned brightly in her eyes, and Hashirama had to admit that he admired her courage: this kunoichi had the will of fire in her, that was for certain. It was easy to see even in her imprisoned, exhausted and injured state how strong she was underneath; the sharp and unapologetic intelligence in her razored stare, the boundless bravery and heart visible beneath.
Hashirama blinked at her, feeling oddly proud. He could see how it was possible Madara was drawn to her. Imagining what Sakura must be like at her prime easily painted the image that she could very well be the strongest kunoichi in the shinobi world. There was something about her… something deeply strong that went beyond her rage or her physical capabilities, strangely familiar in the flash of her eyes, a powerful burning within her that was more than just a will of fire. In a way so kindred to Madara, there was not a thing in this world that could extinguish her resolve.
"If only he'd broken me free sooner," Sakura was saying, her voice fluted and tight with pain, "I could have prevented that attack on him. I could change the tides of battle. I could stop this whole thing." Her next inhale was ragged and hurt, her eyes shutting slowly with her unfurling fists. "But even after we reunited… he must have decided he regrets it anyway. He only cares for his eye…"
"He chose you," Hashirama replied quietly. Sakura paused as he continued to watch the battle rage on below, smoke and fog rising up to obscure the fighting. Somewhere in the distance smothered in the fog, he could sense the weight of Madara's gaze shifting again briefly to this removed peak. "It was a choice none premeditated, not even myself, as his oldest friend. Presented with the very key to his dream of decades, the symbol of his victory, the way for him to finally end it — versus you…" Hashirama lifted his head, and there was pride in his expression, almost joy. "He chose you. I wonder," he finished, finally meeting Sakura's wide eyes, "what it is that you symbolise to him."
She refused to feel the warmth he expressed, drawing back in her chains and wooden bindings, a harsh, bitter expression tightening Sakura's features as she tossed her gaze down at the smoke-obscured battlefield. "Yet there he is; and here I am still in chains. He won't come back to me until he gets that Rinnegan back. It's so frustrating…" She trailed off, a hopelessness floating over her frustrated expression that she quickly bit back.
Hashirama's next exhale was one of his weariest sighs; he leaned back on his hands, brows twitching. He fully understood her doubts, but he'd seen that look in Madara's eye, had witnessed him make that fateful choice at the precipice of this battle, the impassioned rage he'd unleashed. He had made his decision without doubt, and he'd trusted Hashirama to protect her without regret. It warmed an aged part of his soul to see Madara make that choice. It was enough for him to have made this promise to him now as a result.
He hoped that Sakura understood the true significance of Madara's decision to save her instead of his Rinnegan eye first.
"I believe," Hashirama answered Sakura carefully, the twitch about his features definitively annoyed now more at Madara, "that he is choosing to thwart the Allied side's presented 'choice' and take both. Selfish, indeed." He pinched the bridge of his nose with a soft exhale. "I suppose I can understand that, minus the heedless destruction and carnage. That remaining Rinnegan represents too many important things and decades of planning and work for him to abandon it so easily. Of course he would try to claim both…"
Sakura strained again in her chains, her snarl surprising Hashirama out of his pensiveness. "The fool. If he'd only listened to me — I could have told him!" She struggled hard, wood cracking around her, a slight metallic cracking sounding as well, causing Hashirama to reassert the bindings in a fresh wave of frustration as Sakura thrashed. "Their fighting is pointless! I can't just watch. He needs to get out of there. I can change everything!"
"Tell him what?" Hashirama had to constantly maintain the wooden bindings now as Sakura continually snapped her limbs free, the chains around her wrists and ankles straining further, but she refused to answer him, craning her head to set the battlefield afire with her furious attention, her searching eyes seeking Madara. "Damn it," she was cursing, the tears welling in her eyes, "damn it all. If only he knew—"
"I'm sure he knows you love him," Hashirama offered, his tone warm. "Madara may be somewhat oblivious to certain things, but I'm certain, especially from what we saw in the trial evidence and what occurred in your genjutsu world, that he does know of your love in the very least." He wanted to also extend the sentiment to Sakura that the beautiful, peaceful Konoha future she had envisioned with Madara alive was not impossible, but found that he couldn't.
The acidic glare Sakura slid his way silenced him. Ah. That wasn't what she'd meant.
Instead she sat up taller, her newest breath slower, and this time when she spoke she was calmer, the absolute frustration in her expression hardening. "I do understand." The bindings shattered around her again in finality; the chains around her hands broke, the ones around her ankles remaining, and instead of launching herself into the fray below, Sakura sat in quietude instead, lifting her head with her shadowed eyes falling silently upon Hashirama.
He sensed a darkness around her then, just as there was an aura of light within her earlier with Madara. Darkness; or perhaps a strange, almost wizened manner, as if she was drawing strength from depths no one else could know.
"You're right that I cannot fight for either side without appearing to betray the other. I have to accept that, and that you're just trying to help your friend with your promise to keep me safe, as little as I need that." Her pale, freed hand lifted, and with a calm beyond her years Sakura gestured to something he couldn't see, the hard set around her expression almost intimidating as she spoke. "But you're wrong that there's nothing I can do to help them."
This was one of the rare times it was treacherous for Black Zetsu to emerge as he usually would, grimacing as he had to shove away huge shards of metal and glass just to push up into the cold dark in whatever space he could manage beside where Madara was crouched. Blood slicked his dark fingers as he looked up through shadows and drifting white hair to see what state he was in.
That arrogant, cold glint in Madara's eye as he briefly acknowledged Black Zetsu told him exactly what he was thinking, at least. Even with the blood smattering this clearing and the chunks of jagged icelike glass puncturing up and out through half of his entire body, Madara was unflappably confident. It was easy to see that either through sheer resolve or arrogance, he did not consider himself even somewhat weakened or incapacitated.
The truth of his state was somewhere in between. However, he'd had the same look before and survived similarly. Black Zetsu could easily recall it in the many decades he'd been watching Madara, and he could see the echoes of that look from his days tailing Indra as well. This was a man who would not be fazed by anything, no matter how dire. His will was simply too strong.
Such determination is why Black Zetsu continued to have faith in him in the first place; this shinobi, if one could still call him that with the half-stolen godly power he wielded, was the perfect vessel to complete the plan to bring back Mother. Madara's arrogant confidence and power was both his strongest feature and his only weakness. He'd use it against him after this was over, Black Zetsu knew as he turned from him with a deepening scowl. Madara would win, and then finally, centuries of waiting would pay off. Finally.
Him being the only one capable of achieving that payoff was the only reason Black Zetsu forced himself to stay patient as he had gotten sidetracked temporarily by Sakura. He could only be thankful that Madara was pursuing the correct goal now, that eye Sasuke held only just out of reach while Sakura was left behind just as Black Zetsu had wanted all year.
The corner of his unnatural scowl twitched upwards slightly at the thought. Whatever Madara wanted to do with the girl after the Infinite Tsukuyomi was cast wouldn't last long before he'd give up his life to let Lady Kaguya come to be.
But he was getting ahead of himself. Black Zetsu thought in stony silence, the seconds passing in slow motion while his mind raced behind shadowed yellow eyes. He should be assessing the current situation as well as Madara's state instead of getting sidetracked, himself.
It wasn't as bad as it looked, but it wasn't good, either. Madara might have the unfaltering confidence of a bull but he wasn't as unscathed as he was acting. It angered Black Zetsu that he'd allowed himself into such a position as this — why had he held back against these easily killable fools? A single sweep of a gigantic Wood-Style branch, or a crackling turn of his lightning jutsu… a crashing dual-wield of his Susasno'o weapons, a plume of Majestic Destroyer Flame, or even just a round of high-speed taijutsu… any of these attacks within Madara's arsenal at hand could have wiped out all of the shinobi attacking in a matter of moments.
Yet he had not used his many powers to smite, and he'd taken this damage instead? Black Zetsu knew every ability Madara had at hand. He was doubly frustrated to see his best pawn allow injury rather than launch into delivering a bloody slaughter, something he'd never seen him hold back from doing but for a couple moments of whimsy back when this war had started. Was that what this was? Whimsy again? Had he taken the damage just to see what they had up their sleeve? Other than Naruto and Sasuke, this shattered-glass attack was probably the best the Allied side had to offer against Madara.
Glancing back up at Madara, Black Zetsu was increasingly certain that must be so. It could be another potential psychological play, a move to make them think he was vulnerable, to invite the foolish ones closer in their boosted confidence only to kill them once they had let their guard down. Madara was brilliant and such plays were certainly within his bounds.
But he could have killed them all with their guard fully up. He had hundreds of ways to do so in mere seconds without taking damage whatsoever.
Black Zetsu stiffened as Madara turned his head, a bloodied cracking sound accompanying the small movement; while he showed no reaction to the glass shattering further within his puncture wounds, Black Zetsu winced slightly, not with sympathy, but renewed frustration. Madara was looking out at the one he'd abandoned on that far peak, his mismatched eyes narrowed in a brief, fleeting communication.
It had to do with the damned girl. Black Zetsu's fists clenched silently where he was half-emerged from the ruined ground, irritation lacing his dark presence. Madara hadn't been making a psychological play, at least not as his main reason. He was restraining himself from slaughtering Sakura's loved ones.
He had done that before; it was what had drawn her closer, pleased that he'd had the capacity to hold back for her sake. It was an easy manipulation, a costless card to cast that had snared Sakura completely back when this was a game to steal her loyalty. Blinded by the novelty idea that Madara would withdraw from killing just to please her, it had been all too predictable that she'd fall in totality for him after that.
But not now. Restraint was a waste of time now that she was as bound to him as she was. Winning her loyalty by making her come to him was a goal already completed; so why continue to hold back from unleashing his power? This war should already have drawn to a close with the bloody deaths of all of those on the Allied side. It should have finished with Madara plucking Sasuke's Rinnegan from his lifeless head and then casting the long-awaited Infinite Tsukuyomi, his cultists' victorious cries rising into the skies. Had Sakura never intervened with the eye — and had Sasuke never let his Rinnegan be wounded by his fellows in their faith for her plan — that is how this would have ended, a year before.
Imperious and cold as he was in his fresh resolve to reclaim his lost eye now, Black Zetsu had to face the idea that Madara might simply be in love.
The idea was still ridiculous to him, even after a year of watching it unfold. He couldn't see any trace of it in Madara's blood-spattered, icy expression as he returned his glittering stare back to where Naruto and Sasuke distantly stood across from the shattered clearing, and he couldn't sense anything different about Madara overall. He was still the same murderous, hateful, powerful shinobi that he'd been since the beginning; the same corrupted, dark-hearted warrior he had become since he'd left his childhood years so long ago.
Black Zetsu could even see the echoes of Indra still clear across Madara's presence, just as he could see it within Sasuke through previous aligning moments where it was obvious they were more than related. Deep beneath their differing lives and eras, this was the same soul, incarnate between three. He'd found it ironic when Sasuke had bitterly declared how different they are when in fact they were facets of the same cursed soul.
Had Indra ever loved? Black Zetsu thought back, briefly pondering his own old age as he was able to recall several centuries back into tarnished memories. Yes… Indra had loved, at least enough to create what would become the Uchiha line. His wife had not been a feature in Black Zetsu's memories. He'd not followed Indra as much in his later years, when he'd gotten darker and stronger; he was too dangerous to tail closely then. If he tried harder to remember, however, he supposed in an annoyed realization that Indra's wife had been eerily similar to Sakura, while with much longer hair and donning the traditional garb of that era. She'd been declared by many then to be beautiful and strong-willed, suitable for someone such as him, though now her memory was lost to the ages.
Time echoed back through Black Zetus' long memory in this moment, looking between Madara and Sasuke to the woman distant upon that far peak. She was out of view, now, perhaps accosted, perhaps deferring to Madara's cryptic glance, though he easily envisioned her in this moment as his epiphanies began to connect.
Holding Sakura's image in his mind, Black Zetsu compared between his recollections of Indra, Madara, and what he'd seen of Sasuke's life, contrasted against her: perhaps, like them… a sort of reincarnate. Was it possible?
Pairing Sakura's image with the woman who had served as Indra's wife, Black Zetsu blinked a few times, recognising them as the same. That pale pink hair… those eyes.
Interesting.
Fate unfolded in the most fascinating ways.
He looked away, enlightened, but not happy about it. Of course it was possible for more than Indra and Ashura's set of souls to reincarnate should they be so resolved to do so. He should have recognised this sooner and tried harder to dissuade Madara from amusing himself with the draw between himself and Sakura from the start. If she really was who she was, he was never going to be able to laugh off her love like he'd seemed to have expected he would be able to by now.
Everything was becoming clear to Black Zetsu the more he considered it: why Madara had been less violent with Sakura from the start when he might have acted more cruelly according to his usual nature; why she had been more inclined to forgive and to love when she shouldn't have ever considered it a possibility, and how they had a spark at all in the first place. Unconscious recognition, fuelled beneath the merciless churning of fate, disregarding all detail of age, situation, era, or time: it had all contributed to this present moment, like slipping into a mould already shaped for how it was meant to become. While he knew it was still possible for the two to end up as they had without such buried history, it made their gradual change into a pair make so much more sense in Black Zetsu's mind.
Glass cracked beneath his dark fists. If he'd realised this a year previously when these two had first met, or when they had first let their hostilities begin to fall, he might have had a chance to halt the fateful cycle he was seeing threaded between their dually cursed souls. It was all so clear to him now that he was viewing them in the right light, a unique perspective given to him by having lived so long that he could compare multiple lifetimes side-by-side and recognise the patterns within.
The winter's cold blew against Black Zetsu's scowl, wisps of smoke drifting through from the cloud still thick across the battlefield beyond Madara's clearing. Burning from what he was seeing in his mind's eye, Black Zetsu didn't feel it at all, his glare rising into the distance where he knew she must be watching them both. He was beginning to truly understand, and in this suspended moment where his mind cycled deeper into the truth of it, his hatred cut down deeper into his core, clarified through his thoughts that continued to progress.
Neither seals, time, death, nor change of era had stopped the bitter reincarnation cycle between the feuding Ōtsutsuki brothers. In the light of what Black Zetsu was understanding, it was increasingly likely that this was the same case with Sakura's own revivals, fated to be bound to whatever incarnation there was of Indra's returning soul. With Madara essentially lost to the world where he lived underground for half of his entire life, whatever potential previous iteration there was of her in his own generation had never had a chance to find him. Had she been among the Senju? A peasant girl or a member of a clan newly bound to Konoha after its founding? Whomever she had been, Madara might have even killed her.
Either way, she was long dead, her newest self alive and well and intensively back at her eternal goals that thwarted everything Black Zetsu had ever worked for.
He easily recalled Sakura's public displays of (unrequited) love he'd seen while he'd been in the Akatsuki shadowing Obito. It made sense within the new lens he was viewing everything with: she had long loved Indra's newest incarnation Sasuke, as was her fate; but that changed when she found his previous lost iteration in Madara. This had changed the course of her life, and all without her knowing consciously who she really was beneath. She was bound to love him, whether he returned it or not, whether she liked it or not, and to a depth most today could never fathom. It must be what she had resolved when she had lived as the wife of Indra so long ago, before or likely after his death; to find him in each era and new life, again and again.
It was a curse just like his, all the same. Black Zetsu almost pitied her.
No, there was more to it than that, he realised, as he watched Madara's features twist with ire, looking out beyond Black Zetsu. Sakura was foolishly selfless. If her previous incarnations were the same at heart, then her original self must have had more of a goal, more of a bitter resolve than simply to love when she'd come back in future generations. Knowing her recklessly unselfish nature, then it was likely that she would have determined back then that she would be the one to end his curse herself.
It was something Black Zetsu could easily see her doing: a fate she'd forged for herself, centuries ago. To come back as Indra would in new body and new life, not only to love, but cleanse the corruption Black Zetsu had tried to cultivate deeper upon his soul over the many decades, to end his terrible fate of living and dying in a cycle of hatred and pain. She'd even made herself a healer in this newest life, the clearest path in the modern shinobi world to cleansing others.
Only with Madara had Black Zetsu found true success in developing his hatred into the right goals, almost succeeding until Sakura had interfered this very year.
Damn her. He hadn't been able to further his plans with Indra, and she might be why. Intentionally or not, she was Indra's focus in the latter half of his life in creating a family and clan long after splitting ties with his brother. No chances to cultivate Rinnegan eyes… no chances to manipulate him into being interested in the Infinite Tsukuyomi. His wife had been the obstacle in his way, the distraction almost like a protection obstructing Black Zetsu from accessing Indra as he had back when he was an impressionable, vulnerable child.
It clarified Sakura's eerie instinctual mistrust of Black Zetsu since the start, her suspicions strong regardless of her lack of evidence of his underlying intentions of betrayal. Those green eyes… they had seen through him before.
Black Zetsu felt but ignored Madara's questioning glance as glass over the ground around him cracked through his fists, his fury surging beneath his skin. Gods damn that woman. He was sure of his theory now that too many details were lining up just right into the undeniable truth of it.
It was absolutely enraging to know she'd doubly resolved to return again and again to thwart his efforts to control Indra's iterations. Damn her for every obstacle and slowdown that had dragged this out over the centuries. Damn her for coming back again in this newest generation, contributing just like Ashura as Naruto did in preventing Indra's newest self from succumbing fully to darkness. It still angered Black Zetsu that he hadn't managed to sink in his grip on Sasuke and keep him on the Akatsuki side of things. It was too late to manipulate him now that he'd sided with Naruto.
Black Zetsu bit down on his teeth in disgust. Whatever Sakura was, whoever she was, he would stop her should she try to inhibit Madara again from finishing the Eye of the Moon plan. He had long tired of her interference, and would see her dead for good once the Infinite Tsukuyomi was cast. Sweet vengeance. If only he could kill her beforehand… but it wasn't worth risking Madara's wrath while he still needed him to cast it and finish this war.
Black Zetsu blinked out of some of his rage, aware of the present again as Madara's tension palpably increased at the same time the huge glowing arm of his minimised Susano'o flashed around, blocking a single volley of arrows slung his way by an errant soldier off to the side. Madara was adjusting position, assessing his surroundings while Black Zetsu firmed his scowl, asserting a final few things in the forefront of his mind while he processed all he'd just understood to be the truth.
Sakura could never know of any of this. It was far better that way, or she might understand the depths of her potential influence upon either Indra incarnation, should she wield it any more effectively than she already had.
Movement across the clearing, Madara's hiss of annoyance — the landscape creaking in a vast, deep groan, and Sasuke's shout. Black Zetsu turned enough in time to see him escaping the triple-snares Madara had sent his way in instants in an effort to prevent him from escaping, the Wood-Style branches beneath arching to strike him, Sasuke narrowly dodging both those and several thrown Truth-Seeker orbs. Madara stepped forward in a splattering of blood from his injuries that he continued to ignore, his skin steaming violently in a red-tainted cloud rising all around his body.
Black Zetsu shifted slightly further back from him, knowing he needed to be vigilant for his own safety, as Madara would not be. He'd already decided that it was also best that Madara not know the truth about Sakura. He didn't need any more reason to assign value to her in his mind, so Black Zetsu would be sure never to mention his epiphanies about who she really was — something of his soulmate, perhaps the very essence of what a soulmate was, cursed by her own will to help end his own cyclical, hellish fate.
Any of the rest of these fools might call it hopelessly romantic, and perhaps might be swayed by such a sad pair of fates; but Black Zetsu knew better. These people were nothing but cattle to be culled for his Mother's sake. He cared nothing for their love and their hate; only as tools to use them so his plans might finally come to fruition.
Madara had halted, the space Naruto and Sasuke had been in before now newly interrupted with the five incredibly irritating obstacles of the Kages. Black Zetsu began to melt back into the ground, knowing his newest unspoken duty was to have eyes upon Sasuke wherever he'd gone and then report to Madara as soon as he was finished dealing with the Kages for the second time.
This was something Black Zetsu would normally have assumed Madara would win easily without a second thought; but with his resolve to continue to restrain himself from pure slaughter, his goals to win were made much more difficult. Black Zetsu eyed Madara with unexpected doubt. How might he win… non-lethally? Surely that wasn't something he would attempt? He may end up more injured, more waylaid from his goals, though there was no chance he wouldn't survive. He far outranked these worms in experience and power. Though, if Madara had a brief respite to recover from the leg he'd just torn free with his Susasno'o arm serving as his surrogate right arm, he'd be able to accomplish anything without issue even while holding back from easy killing.
Of course he'd only ever restrain himself for someone like an ages-bound soulmate, after a lifetime and a half of spurning any other person that tried to extend something other than hate towards him. Black Zetsu narrowed his eyes, annoyed at the idea, annoyed at her existence. How he longed to see her expire.
Madara shifted stance. Blood and broken glass scattered around where he stood. Wild silver-white hair drifted around his shoulders, matted and bloody at his mane's jagged edges. Resolve as deadly and potent as that of Death himself emanated cooly from the whole of his being. He lifted his head, and his luminescent, unnatural eyes burned upon the five who dared stand in his way to victory.
Black Zetsu exhaled tensely: he had best stand back. Madara intended to fight even while this injured and while the Kamui was still too dangerous a risk to use for phasing intangibility. He should save his chakra for his fight against Naruto and Sasuke, the most powerful shinobi other than Sakura and himself that existed in this war… he should tear out more of the glass before his severe wounds worsened, and there was a possibility that the amount of blood oozing from his unclosable wounds could become problematic as well. Confident as Madara was, he was the type to remain confident until the moment he was struck dead, as impossible as that was. He shouldn't risk fighting these Kage, who had all had a whole year to heal, plan, rest, train, and gain more power in long preparation for this vengeful fight.
Steam whooshed aside and the ground shuddered as a blur of black slammed into the space between the braced five Kages and Madara. Bits of twice-shattered glass exploded from beneath her feet, scattering aside.
As she rose to stand tall between him and his enemies, black hair drifted loose around her armoured shoulders, the symbol of his cult branded in red upon the robes over her shoulder blades.
Sasaki turned her head just enough, her voice ringing out cold and sure.
"Take your rest. I will not allow them to get so much as in reach of you."
With her simple command, Sasaki returned her attention to the incredulous five who now faced off against her instead of Madara behind her. Smoke and steam billowed past her lithe, dark-clad figure, and where Black Zetsu had recognised the bull-headed confidence in Madara's stance before, that same eerie resolve was visible in her obsidian figure now. She had no hesitation, and she held no trace of fear as she stared down the five shinobi who held the most political power and fame in all of the nations, her gloved hand settled subtly over the wrapped handle of her hilted sword.
Black Zetsu stayed planted beside Madara, deciding against leaving. He was struck with surprise; he was interested in this change of situation, and in the end he was simply curious.
Madara must have thought something similar to what he had, and after a pause in which he regarded Sasaki with thoughtful, narrowed eyes, he stood back, his stance shifting to that of a semi-relaxed one – as much as he could be, missing two limbs that were slowly regenerating in clouds of steam so thick there was a good chance the Kages could barely see him at all.
Black Zetsu almost commented, refraining after a second, his eyes glued to Sasaki's figure where she stood tall within the jagged clearing: in a rare moment of concurrent moods, they both wanted to see how this might go, both remaining tense in preparation for her imminent death and the attacks of the bristling Kages affronted by Sasaki's interruption.
"You'll die in seconds," came a challenge from one of the five facing off against her, only for Sasaki's tone to slice through the smoke and the fog in a dismissive, cold response. "It is against my creed to kill any of you. Everyone deserves the dream…"
Glares upon her, their mouths opened to interrupt, but she cut them off, her blade drinking in the moonlight as she half-withdrew it from its sheath. "...but do not test me."