#leeters.

[asaraltu]

stare - stare them down. [Why not? xD]

Possessing no discernible chakra that he could see, this strange woman seemed intensely curious despite Madara’s own passing interest. Though, an uncanny sensation of power was obvious from her, something that existed outside of the mundane. Hm, maybe she could sense his own inhumanity.

“What is it?”

[asaraltu]

Madara, there’s nobody there.

Even if he’d acquired the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan decades ago on the advent of his brother’s death, no one ever spoke of how the remnants of his own degraded Sharingan still existed somewhere in the depths of Izuna’s. Even the Rinnegan, compound of all three, still possessed vestigial traces. This time had been different. Recorded memory overlapped with reality as Butsuma Senju himself had charged at him as though physically present, Madara’s Susano’o triggered in subconscious defense. 

Madara’s nostrils flared as his defense was rigid, part of a hillside smote with the claws of the Susano’o’s arm that had struck the mountainside, smoking hotly from the encounter with Madara’s chakra. The seams of stone that hadn’t been ejected upon impact, runnels still smoldering volcanically as the ambient humidity hissed and became profuse steam. It had been a cacophony of sound, boulders raining while the din of frightened toads were deafening in the backdrop. Sharingan still invoked assessed the damage guilelessly. 

It wasn’t until Jiraiya’s hand around his shoulder caused him to wheel with the virulence of a feral thing, flinching from the modicum of comfort before realization set in. Of how foolish he must look. Straightening, Sharingan fading, he gazed impassively upon the sage’s concerned expression before he began to stride away.

“I know,” he replied simply while still within earshot before disappearing into the dense foliage of the misty jungle.