At the moment when the words echoed in his mind, Madara felt his body plunging into an icy abyss. He wasn't just drowning—he felt the darkness, thick and merciless, enveloping him like a living entity, trying to tear away the last remnants of warmth and light from him. His mind, sharp as a blade, instantly analyzed the situation. He couldn't see the bottom or the surface, but it didn't matter. Madara didn't need sight to survive. He needed only his will, his unshakable pride, which burned brighter in him than any flame.
He surfaced, sharply inhaling air, but even above the water, the darkness was almost tangible. It pressed down on him, trying to break him, but Madara only smirked. His lips twisted into a cold smile, full of contempt for this world that dared to challenge him. He wasn't afraid. Fear was for the weak, and he was born to rule.
His gaze, sharp and ruthless, caught sight of a small ledge rising above the water like an ancient sentinel. Madara didn't hesitate. He leapt sharply, his body gliding like a shadow across the surface of the water, and he ran. His steps were quick and precise, each one a challenge to the darkness, to the monsters he knew lurked in the depths. He wasn't just running—he was taunting them, provoking them, knowing they wouldn't dare attack him. But he was wrong.
The moment his foot touched the stone ledge, a deafening splash sounded behind him. Giant teeth, sharp as daggers, snapped shut in the void where he had been just a moment ago. Madara turned, his eyes flashing with cold fire. He wasn't frightened. He only felt a slight irritation. "Insolent beasts," he whispered, and his voice carried not a threat, but a promise. A promise that one day he would return and destroy them all.
He surveyed the rock. Ten meters wide—enough to set up camp. Madara retrieved a set of clothes from his serpentine storage and donned the Gray Robe, a symbol of his past victories. It was simple, but within its simplicity lay a power that no one but him could understand. He sat down on a stone, his cold, calculating eyes staring into the darkness. He was thinking. Not about salvation, not about escape. He was thinking about power. The power he had lost and the power he intended to reclaim at any cost.
Madara knew that this world was merely a tool. Power, monsters, darkness—all of it was just a stepping stone on the path to his true goal. He didn't seek to rule this world. He sought to rise above it. To become a god. And for that, he was willing to do anything.
Suddenly, the water began to recede, and in the distance, a crimson sphere ignited atop a blood-red spire. Madara stood, his slender, confident figure standing out against the grotesque landscape. He scanned his surroundings. The coral forest, the hollow mountains, the gray wastelands—all of it was part of the game he had been drawn into. But Madara wasn't a pawn. He was a player. And he intended to win.
He created three clones, his shadows, and sent them in different directions. He himself moved toward the blood-red spire, toward the place where, he knew, the gates lay hidden. The gates that could restore his power. His steps were swift and silent, as if he were not a man but a ghost gliding through this world. But when he encountered his first monster, his movements became sharp and deadly. With a single swing of his kunai, he beheaded the creature without even giving it a chance to understand what had happened. Madara didn't waste time on thought. He acted with cold, calculated cruelty that made even the darkness tremble.
He continued on his path, killing monsters, absorbing their souls, accumulating power. Every step, every strike, every glance—it was all part of his plan. He wasn't just surviving. He was preparing. Preparing for the moment when he could reclaim what had been taken from him. And when he finally reached the blood-red spire, his eyes burned with cold fire. He knew that trials awaited him inside. But Madara wasn't afraid. He was ready. Ready to destroy anything that stood in his way.
He stepped into the darkness, his figure dissolving into the crimson gloom. But even the darkness couldn't hide his pride, his cruelty, his unyielding will. Madara wasn't just walking toward his goal. He was walking toward his rebirth. And nothing—not the monsters, not the darkness, not the world itself—could stop him
***
Hello everyone! This is the author. You know, I had an idea to make it so that Madara kills a monster and escapes through the gates, or simply escapes through the gates. And this doesn't even contradict his flaw. I specifically wrote that it happens on the periphery, not in the very center of the events, so there are two options. Either he escapes now, or he somehow stays behind. I'm thinking of making the monster stronger.
If he escapes, then I'll focus more on the real world and the other regions of the Dream Realm. But if he stays, then I'll devote more time to the Forgotten Shore and the battles there. But you know, either way, it won't be too much.
I'm getting tired of writing at this pace. And I'm lacking inspiration, so I have to push myself really hard.
Write your opinions or suggestions in the comments. I'll carefully review them and then decide how to proceed. So, there won't be a second chapter today. Until at least one, or preferably two, people choose an option, I won't write.
Hope you enjoyed it!