"Indeed, people sometimes speak of the 'brutal' cruelty of humans, but this is terribly unfair and offensive to animals: a beast can never be as cruel as a human, so artistically, so artistically cruel."
***
Madara opened his eyes, the cold metal of the sleep pod pressing against his skin. He slowly lifted his eyelids, as if awakening not from sleep, but from a long, deep oblivion. His gaze, sharp and piercing, slid across the walls of the basement, illuminated by dim light. He hated this place. Hated its dampness, its darkness, its weakness. With a sharp motion, he pushed open the pod's lid and climbed out, his body, carved like stone, moving with the grace of a predator. He dressed slowly, savoring every touch of the fabric against his skin. This was his last day here, and he knew he would never return.
Leaving the basement, he ascended into the house, his steps quiet but weighty, as if each one echoed in the void. He immediately felt the gaze on him. Irritating, intrusive, full of contempt. Madara didn't turn his head, but his lips curled into a faint smirk. He knew who it was. And he knew that, for now, he could do nothing about it. But it was only a matter of time. He hated weakness, hated those who allowed themselves to be weak. And he vowed to himself that one day, that gaze would disappear forever.
After packing his belongings into a bag, he left the house, turning off the electricity, gas, and water. Every movement was precise, calculated, as if he had long planned this moment. He left no traces, no memories. This house was merely a temporary refuge, and now he was heading to where true power awaited him.
The streets of the city were deserted, as if the world itself had frozen in anticipation. Madara walked, ignoring the surrounding darkness. His gaze was fixed ahead, on the future he already saw. The headquarters of the Clan of Valor. He knew what awaited him. And he was ready.
When he approached the building, he was stopped. The guards, weak and insignificant, tried to appear intimidating, but Madara only smirked in response. He knew they meant nothing. Then a car pulled up. The window rolled down, and he saw Morgan. Her gaze was cold as ice, but Madara merely grinned. "Get in," she ordered, and he reluctantly obeyed, climbing into the car. He hated obeying, but for now, it was necessary.
Silence filled the car, broken only by the sound of the engine. Morgan opened a briefcase resting at her feet and handed him a strange brown piece of paper. On it, in red ink, was written a text in an ancient language. Madara knew it was an oath of allegiance to the Clan of Valor. He laughed inwardly, clinging to the underside of the car. He had expected this. Even as he left the pod, he had created a clone, while he himself clung to the car's undercarriage. The clone, with complete calm, signed the contract, dripping blood onto the paper. Madara knew this was just the beginning of the game.
They drove for an hour before stopping on the outskirts of the city. Madara stepped out of the car, his gaze sweeping over the dilapidated buildings, the gloomy streets, the people who had long since lost hope. He hated this place. Hated its hopelessness. But he knew it was only temporary.
They entered a stone building, passed through crumbling corridors, and Morgan touched a wall. It slid aside, revealing a passage downward. Madara noticed the resemblance to Orochimaru's lair. He smirked. As if they would experiment on him... But he knew they had no idea who they were dealing with.
Descending further, they found themselves in a damp dungeon. A rusty iron door in the corner, darkness surrounding them on all sides. No one spoke a word. The door opened, revealing a completely new corridor. White plastic, the smell of bleach, bright lights overhead. Madara felt his hatred for this place grow with every second.
"This is where you'll live for the next three months," Morgan said, her voice dripping with mockery. Madara nodded, his face remaining calm, but inside he laughed maliciously. He knew this was just the beginning. And he was ready for anything.
When they entered the hall where six people were already seated, Madara felt their gazes. They looked at him with superiority, thinking themselves above him. Fools. They didn't realize that a true monster stood before them. Madara smiled, his smile cold and merciless.
As soon as the door closed behind Morgan, they immediately lunged at him. But Madara was faster. He appeared behind one of them, struck his palm against their back, sending them crashing into the wall. Blood splattered across the surface. He moved with such speed that they couldn't even comprehend what was happening. One by one, they fell, their bodies breaking under his blows. He was merciless, like a predator tearing apart its prey.
When the last one fell, Madara stood in the
center of the room, his breathing steady, his eyes burning with a cold fire. He approached one of the bodies, grabbed them by the hair, and lifted them up. "What irony," he said, his voice loud and full of mockery. "You wanted to gang up on one, to prove your strength. But what happened instead? That's right. I showed you your place, pathetic fools. Now I am the king and god here, and you are nothing but worthless dogs."
He threw the body to the floor, his gaze sweeping over the others. They lay there, groaning, their blood mixing with the dirt on the ground. Madara smirked and walked to the far corner, where he sat on a couch. He waited. Waited for the healers to arrive. But in his mind, plans were already forming. Plans that would turn this bleak, hopeless world into his personal arena.