Hello! I want to clarify right away that English is not my native language, but I strive to write correctly. I would be grateful if you point out any mistakes in the comments. I welcome constructive criticism and will gladly learn from it.
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**Note:** This chapter has been completely revised. If you've read it before, I recommend re-reading it for the updated version.
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**Death.**
Madara had never feared death. How could he? Death had been his companion, his tool, his stepping stone. He had faced it countless times, each encounter a calculated risk in his grand design. But this time was different. This time, he had no allies, no backup plan. As he lay in the arms of his greatest rival and oldest friend, Madara realized his mistakes. With his final breath, he activated a technique he had crafted in secret—a desperate, final gamble.
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[Contender! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for the first test...]
The words echoed in Madara's mind as he regained consciousness. At first, he thought it was a dream. Then, he saw it: a desolate wasteland of fallen trees, their skeletal remains stretching endlessly under a pale, sickly sky. But before he could process the scene, time itself seemed to unravel.
The moon reversed its course, racing backward across the heavens. The sun followed, then the moon again, and the sun once more. The trees began to rise, their broken forms mending as if by some cruel mockery of life. Grass sprouted from the barren ground, covering the wasteland in a sickly green blanket. When the chaos subsided, time resumed its normal rhythm, and the sun rose steadily above the horizon.
[Contender! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for the first test...]
Before Madara could react, he felt himself being pulled somewhere. The scent of decay and damp earth filled his nostrils, and his vision blurred. When it cleared, he stumbled, nearly tripping over his own feet. Regaining his balance, he took a moment to assess his surroundings.
Fearful of drawing attention, Madara moved cautiously. He was walking in a procession of men cloaked in tattered beige robes. He quickly noticed two distinct groups: some struggled under the weight of heavy sacks, their faces hollow and lifeless, while others carried short swords at their belts, their eyes sharp and wary. Madara, thankfully, was among the latter. A sword hung at his side, and he felt a small measure of relief.
As he walked, he tried to summon his chakra reserves, only to be disappointed. His once vast reserves had dwindled to the level of a chunin. He could no longer manipulate minds as easily as before. The forest around him was unfamiliar—twisted trees, unfamiliar grass. This was not his world.
Despite his weakened state, Madara remained calm. He moved with the column, his mind racing through hundreds of thoughts. He was no stranger to adversity, and he wasn't about to act impulsively now.
Five hours passed in silence.
Throughout the day, Madara observed the strange behavior of the porters. They moved mechanically, their eyes empty and lifeless. But not everything was orderly. At one point, a porter suddenly lashed out, striking a nearby warrior with surprising force. The warrior retaliated, dragging the porter away and leaving a trail of blood on the grass.
Minutes later, a man in a dark robe appeared. He collected the body and replaced the porter with a new one. Madara's eyes narrowed. Someone—or something—was controlling these slaves, but the control wasn't perfect. There were cracks in the system.
By evening, the convoy halted. The group settled for the night, and food was distributed. Madara ate without hesitation, washing the meal down with water from a flask. As he finished, a warrior approached and assigned him to night watch.
The moon rose, casting its pale light over the forest. Madara stood near a tree, his senses sharp, his mind alert. Suddenly, a roar shattered the silence. It came from the front of the column, growing louder with each passing second. Madara turned, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword.
A massive bear burst into view, its sides bleeding, its eyes wild. It tore through the column, killing indiscriminately. Madara retreated, his mind racing as he formulated a plan. But before he could act, a stone spike erupted from the ground, piercing the bear's skull and ending its rampage.
To the left stood a man in a dark robe, holding a staff. He glanced at the bear's corpse, then turned and walked away without a word.
Madara's suspicions were confirmed. This was another world. The trees, the people, even the moon—everything was different. And the sorcerer's attack had not used chakra. Madara was truly free from his old obligations, but he had much to learn.
The next morning, the convoy resumed its march. Days passed uneventfully until, on the third day, wolves attacked. One lunged at Madara, only to lose its head to a swift strike.
[You killed a dormant beast, Wolf.]
Madara froze. The voice was back.
[You have received Memory: Gray Clothing.]
He wiped his sword clean and sheathed it, his mind racing. No one else seemed to have heard the voice. It was meant for him alone. He tried to communicate with it, whispering commands and requests, but there was no response. Frustrated, he began to piece together the clues.
The first time he had heard the voice, it had said:
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for the first trial...]
At the time, he had been too preoccupied to pay attention. But now, the words echoed in his mind. He focused on one phrase in particular:
[...Nightmare Spell...]
Madara whispered it aloud: "Nightmare Spell."
Suddenly, runes appeared before his eyes, glowing faintly in an unfamiliar language. Yet, he understood them perfectly.
**Name:** Madara Uchiha
**True Name:** -
**Rank:** Contender
**Soul Core:** Dormant
**Memories:** [Gray Clothing]
**Echoes:** -
**Attributes:** [Rebel]
**Aspect:** [Cultist Warrior]
**Aspect Description:** [You are a cult servant.]
Madara glanced around, ensuring no one had noticed the runes. Satisfied, he continued to study them, his mind alight with possibilities.