You're not a monster nor a savior

Chapter 7

Was this what fury felt like? Because, Madara was having his fun. Another arrow whisked past his cheek as he stormed toward the compound ahead.

Ah. Another victim for his treatment. Madara's senses were heightened, every fiber of his being thrumming with adrenaline as he moved with deadly precision through the chaos unfolding around him. Arrows whistled past him, the rush of air against his cheek serving only to fuel his fury further. His movements were fluid and calculated, a deadly dance of combat that left destruction in its wake.

As a man lunged at him with a rusty machete, Madara's expression remained impassive, his Sharingan eyes glinting with anticipation. With a swift and decisive strike, he brought down the blade, severing not only the weapon but also the hand that wielded it. The man's agonized screams fell on deaf ears as Madara swiftly dispatched him, leaving him to writhe in pain on the ground.

But there was no time for mercy, no room for hesitation.

"Murderer!" a woman cried out and rushed him, wielding an ax as large as she was tall.

Madara dodged and flowed backwards, allowing the ax to crash into the ground, and touched a hand to its metal haft.

"Yes, keep dancing for me." Mumbling the ghost. he taunted as sparks shot forth from his fingers, racing up the length of the weapon to find her flesh.

As the woman's skin smoked and she twitched in pain, Madara planted a bloody boot into her nose, producing a visceral crunch as he obliterated it. She toppled backward like a fallen elm.

Two men tried to flank him from behind; he shattered their minds with a glance and turned them on their comrades.

"GET HIM!" someone brayed, stabbing a finger in his direction. "He's just one man!"

Madara just laughed at their attempts. His movements were fluid and calculated, a deadly dance of combat that left destruction in its wake. With each blow he landed, each adversary he dispatched, his confidence only grew stronger. For Madara, this was not merely a battle—it was a symphony of destruction, and he was the conductor, orchestrating every move with deadly precision.

Such a senseless slaughter. Once upon a time, Madara might have enjoyed this, even taken pleasure in the suffering he inflicted. Now? This was a waste of his time, and his mood grew blacker with each kill. They thought they were strong, the fools. This wasn't strength. This was stupidity. Fallacy at its finest.

Meanwhile, Koi was staring at the carnage of a man that had an aura of death roaming around him. They were just toys in his choosing.

He carved a bloody swathe through everyone and everything, yet still, they came. Mercy meant nothing here. They wouldn't stop until they were unconscious...or dead.

Finally, the chief stood before him, eyes wide and trembling. Not solely through his own merit at that, but because the survivors had finally pulled back. They were bloodied and battered to a man. He'd carved through their ranks like a holiday ham and none of them had managed to land so much as a single blow on him. He glowered at them and they shrank back, cowering in fear.

Hmm. Seemed they had some sense of self-preservation after all.

"Monster," the chieftain spat at his feet. "You damn demon!"

Madara just stared at the leader. He was a great big brute of a man in dark leathers, standing head and shoulders above the rest. An eyepatch dominated the right side of his scarred face, a telling tale of the battles he'd won and the wars he'd waged. He might've been intimidating...if he weren't sweating like a pig.

"What's the matter?" the ghost of the Uchiha flicked a dead body towards the leader with the sigma of his prowl strength. "You clearly respect strength and nothing more. Am I not strong? And besides, you're making poor choices for the people in the villages. You're a bandit anyway."