Pain. Why was he in so much pain? Agony progressed from the indent within his chest, the searing, blinding affliction causing that usually stern anatomy to tremble. Shock and near bemusement coursed through out his veins, never bothering to hide it from his guise, as the facade of a God had so blatantly torn a hole straight through his torso. Blood immediately surfaced, staining the Uchiha crest on his back, and riding down the length of his body. He wasn’t sure what to do - how to react. Was he going to die? That was his initial thought, his initial fear. Death itself was a welcoming sentiment, however he had things to yet accomplish. Things to work through, and a life to mend.
That blade was so easily drawn from his body, kusanagi falling to the ground with little to no care at all. Brows furrow in disgruntlement, jaws folding together in a grit as he inevitably fell to the grovel. Sanguine coughed from his throat, staining his adversary’s footing as he drew nearer. An almost light of panic struck Sasuke’s visage before he was kicked, forcing him to roll over. “Unngh-!” More coughing, more blood. Everything just seemed to throb with immaculate pain as he simply staggered to pick himself up, ever so fruitlessly.
A pity indeed. He couldn’t allow it to end here, not without a fight. Not without some retaliation and relent. That foot so callously pressed to his body was grabbed with much force, ignoring the pain for just a second if only to pull the other forward. Balled fists at the ready, had already begun to swing forward and gnash their way into Madara’s throat, his other arm struggling opposite to reach for his blade. It was no use, it was too far, and each time he moved he lost more blood. He couldn’t leave this world without making his mark on the man whom had murdered him in cold blood.
“No..” A refusal to give in, forceful, bloody fingers grabbing at the man’s face and taring claw marks into the near perfect complexion in a pathetic attempt to cease him for just a moment.
With such a valid distraction, he dove forward and took hold of Kusanagi’s hilt, slashing it with sloppy intent, only to mar itself deep into the elder’s cranium at its side, diving straight into the flab of his ear. It wasn’t much, but any pain caused to Madara would satisfy him. He pulled it forward once he heard the slice of flesh, he only thus tore away at that flab of dermis and ripped it from his head. He knew it wouldn’t do much but anger him, but blinding him with rage may actually benefit him.
There was almost a pause as Madara’s mind tried to process what just happened. He felt his body fall to the floor as it was harshly tugged from below, and while he was still in too much shock to fully comprehend exactly what was occurring, he felt fists pummeling his throat. Choked hacks escaped his lips as he felt the sting of his vocal chords behind the skin of his neck being struck, each blow slowly bringing him back to the reality of the situation and simultaneously surprising him even more.
Perhaps this boy would be more entertaining than he initially thought.
As blood-caked nails dug into his skin, the elder Uchiha’s face twisted into a rather manic expression. The features now stung by open, miniscule wounds that felt raw against the fresh air that swept along the battlefield, contorted themselves until his lone eye widened an unbearable amount, his black brows furrowing until they nearly met at the center. A slow, vile smile crept along bloodied lips as his face was repeatedly marred by the hands of the very man he was convinced he had subdued.
And when his ear was slashed off, he barely felt it. It wasn’t until he glanced to the side of his head and saw the bloodied mess that was his detached lobe that it registered to him that Sasuke found his blade. The stimulus of the wounds skittering across his face and throat overtook the pain his ear should have felt until the moment he saw it lying beside him, and then he felt the cold wind hitting it with a harsh bite. Yet the maddened, entertained look remained plastered upon his face. Even as he was shocked beyond words, the idea of a challenging opponent finally facing him after so long excited him beyond belief.
All of this happened within mere moments of the blows, though it felt as if the entire situation occurred in slow-motion, but the adrenaline began coursing in his veins, and the mad man that was Madara allowed his instinct to take over in this fight. The man’s muscled arm quickly raised until it felt the younger Uchiha’s wrist in its grasp, and he squeezed it in a vice-like grip as he tried to control the motions of the hand wielding the kusanagi. “Nice try.” He croaked, excitement oozing from the man’s damaged voice. With that, the man’s other hand balled into a fist and struck Sasuke’s cheek as Madara’s knee met with his stomach with all the force his strong legs could muster.
Sasuke would certainly rue the day he dare stand up to a “God”. Blood and remedial fluids dripped from his adversary’s body, each lash of the skin taring but a new structural wound for Sasuke to spit at in blatant disgust and hatred. He felt the rage of past Uchiha’s - embodied it. If the elder hadn’t responded in such a lenient and straight forward way, Sasuke would have certainly snapped by now. The sheer sight of dripping cinnabar piqued the senses of sadism and caused him to writhe with a rather familiar euphoria.
The euphoria of autonomic neurosis; losing composure, but gaining the external sense to keep the identity of pain foreign.
He couldn’t feel his insides beginning to bleed with such abhorrent obscenity - the remnants of his innards flooding and spewing from partially flitted lips. Soon small drizzles turned into violent gasps. He’d tried to swallow his own blood, only finding his larynx to constrict unnecessarily thus allowing blood to defile his prominent Uchiha attire. The hole in his chest throbbed, though he paid no mind to it. But only gave into the feral need to mutilate - dismantle if necessary.
Face a mess, body an even bigger mess, it was a miracle that Sasuke was even able to move, let alone continue fighting. With his sword taken from his grasp, he was left with nothing but blood stained fingers - nails that struck relentlessly at Madara’s chest. Force ripped the cloth to uneven shreds, sharp claw-like nails ripped deep into the cranial blend on the left of his chest, depleting movement for just a moment.
He fought back with the need to thrive - live for another day, or at least live long enough to see a sign of suffering upon his foe’s demeanor. Nothing yet. Nothing but judgement and blithe would pass his blood soaked guise. Sasuke spat once more, this time into Madara’s eye, a raw smirk flipping folds upside down. “You take getting spit on like a true bitch.”
The satisfying squish of blood spurting from a wound reached Madara’s ears, the sound music to the man’s ears. The dance that was battle was one he always took the lead in, and the cracking of bones, explosions, noises as men were run through and the screaming were his beat to go off of — the hardly subtle cues that alerted him to exactly what his dance partners were experiencing. This was a situation he knew well, one he’d felt before with his favorite of opponents, Hashirama. But this time, he was in control. Hashirama was subdued, and now the parallel of what he experienced was portrayed with a predecessor of his very own clan. He would lead this dance — no, every dance in this world from this point on as his dreams came to fruition.
The impaled Uchiha weighed down on his muscled arm as he supported the wounded body with nothing but a katana, and the man vaguely wondered for a moment, if he simply stood there, let Sasuke hang on by the hole in his chest, would the blade eventually begin to slit its way up his torso on its own? But there was no time for that, and the very idea of it was highly tedious. Madara had no desire to wait around and watch what would happen if he simply left the boy hanging from the katana. With a harsh movement of pulling away, the blade was removed, and he watched as the injured predecessor to his clan fell to the floor, thudding heavily against the ground as he .
“The fact that you have those eyes…is the proof that you lost many things, but also that you’ve been looking for something.” Madara’s voice held little to no inflection as he landed several feet away from who was the last living member of his clan. It was simply the truth of the matter, after all — a trait that his bloodline earned from years of heartache, of loving too much, and the pain that came along with that. A trait he would soon regain in his left eye the moment the other Uchiha was finished off. “But that’s going to end, too. You’ll lose yourself, this is the real end.”
Madara watched silently for a moment as the young man struggled to get up and failed, his visage the definition of indifference at the scene. He felt neither satisfaction nor grief for the pained boy, but that was not to say he would let him go so easily. He was still in a war, after all, and until every threat was removed from his path, he would not stop. His dream would come true, even if he had to rid the world of the last member of his clan. It hardly mattered now, after all — in his new world, every death would be seen as worth it. If he so chose, he could even bring this brat back…If he wanted to.
The katana used to run Sasuke through was planted into the ground before Madara turned back, facing the dying boy and taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. His work was not finished until there was no chance of the boy getting up. “Such a pity, for one of my own clan to be so blinded.” He murmured, though one could hardly tell he felt it was such simply by listening to the tone of his voice. Raising his leg, Madara aimed his foot directly above the small of the other Uchiha’s back and promptly slamming his foot down against it, further ensuring the boy’s submission. The foot ground itself against his back, and the Uchiha god leaned down over it, placing folded arms atop his bent knee as he gazed down with a single, spiraled eye at the fallen form beneath him. “Such a pity, indeed…”
Pain. Why was he in so much pain? Agony progressed from the indent within his chest, the searing, blinding affliction causing that usually stern anatomy to tremble. Shock and near bemusement coursed through out his veins, never bothering to hide it from his guise, as the facade of a God had so blatantly torn a hole straight through his torso. Blood immediately surfaced, staining the Uchiha crest on his back, and riding down the length of his body. He wasn’t sure what to do - how to react. Was he going to die? That was his initial thought, his initial fear. Death itself was a welcoming sentiment, however he had things to yet accomplish. Things to work through, and a life to mend.
That blade was so easily drawn from his body, kusanagi falling to the ground with little to no care at all. Brows furrow in disgruntlement, jaws folding together in a grit as he inevitably fell to the grovel. Sanguine coughed from his throat, staining his adversary’s footing as he drew nearer. An almost light of panic struck Sasuke’s visage before he was kicked, forcing him to roll over. “Unngh-!” More coughing, more blood. Everything just seemed to throb with immaculate pain as he simply staggered to pick himself up, ever so fruitlessly.
A pity indeed. He couldn’t allow it to end here, not without a fight. Not without some retaliation and relent. That foot so callously pressed to his body was grabbed with much force, ignoring the pain for just a second if only to pull the other forward. Balled fists at the ready, had already begun to swing forward and gnash their way into Madara’s throat, his other arm struggling opposite to reach for his blade. It was no use, it was too far, and each time he moved he lost more blood. He couldn’t leave this world without making his mark on the man whom had murdered him in cold blood.
“No..” A refusal to give in, forceful, bloody fingers grabbing at the man’s face and taring claw marks into the near perfect complexion in a pathetic attempt to cease him for just a moment.
With such a valid distraction, he dove forward and took hold of Kusanagi’s hilt, slashing it with sloppy intent, only to mar itself deep into the elder’s cranium at its side, diving straight into the flab of his ear. It wasn’t much, but any pain caused to Madara would satisfy him. He pulled it forward once he heard the slice of flesh, he only thus tore away at that flab of dermis and ripped it from his head. He knew it wouldn’t do much but anger him, but blinding him with rage may actually benefit him.
