"Do not trust quotes from the internet." - Joseph Stalin
***
Madara stepped into the passage of the dark tower, his cold, calculating eyes scanning the surrounding horror. He didn't just enter—he strode in like a master, ready to subjugate this world, even if it was turned inside out. His pride cloaked him like a mantle, and the cruelty hidden behind his calm mask waited for its moment. He wasn't seeking power—it was merely a tool. His true goal was deeper, darker, more personal: to reclaim his strength, the one that had been stolen from him, the one that had made him a god among mortals.
As he passed through the entrance, he was met with a grotesque sight. A vast hall, covered in pulsating, blood-red growths that seemed alive. The walls and floor were eaten away by crimson crystals that had consumed the remnants of stairs leading upward. Darkness, thick and impenetrable, hid what lay above. But Madara didn't fear the darkness—he was part of it.
He moved forward, each step cautious but not out of fear—out of calculation. His mind, sharp as a blade, analyzed every detail. He was searching for the gates, not to escape—to return. Escape was for the weak. He wanted to understand how to use this world, how to extract everything he needed for his goal.
Suddenly, he heard a shuffling sound. In an instant, he merged with the shadows, becoming invisible, like a ghost. His cold, merciless eyes fixed on the creature emerging from the darkness. It was a skinless humanoid, its flesh pulsating with a crimson glow, its eyes and mouth black voids filled with endless agony. The creature shuffled across the hall, its movements slow but no less repulsive.
Madara felt the temptation to kill it. His hand instinctively reached for his sword, but he stopped himself. He noticed others like it—a dozen, maybe more. They wandered aimlessly, their existence a torment, but Madara wasn't one to grant mercy. He was the kind who used others' weaknesses for his own gain. Killing them might attract the guards, and he wasn't ready for an open confrontation. Not yet. Not here.
He continued moving, blending with the shadows like a predator stalking its prey. His concealment technique was flawless, his chakra flowing through him like a river, fueling his strength. He passed by one of the creatures, leaving no trace of his presence, and entered the next hall.
The halls blurred together, each similar to the last, but Madara didn't lose his way. His memory, his intellect, were his weapons. He memorized every detail, every turn, every hint that might lead him to the gates. He wasn't just searching—he was studying, analyzing, planning.
In one of the halls, he found a giant well filled with dark water. As he approached, the water stirred, as if sensing his presence. Madara peered into its depths, but the bottom was lost in endless darkness. He smirked. If the guardian of this place was the sea, he was ready to fight it. But not now. Now, he was a hunter, not a warrior.
He continued exploring the tower, his eyes catching every detail. Statues with severed heads, frescoes depicting battles and sacrifices—it was all part of the puzzle he was assembling in his mind. He saw how the civilization had fallen, how the darkness had consumed them, how their sacrifices had been in vain. He felt no pity. He saw only weakness, stupidity, an inability to understand that strength wasn't given—it was taken.
Finally, he found the gates. They were a massive disc, covered in runic inscriptions, surrounded by columns coated in bloody coral. Madara approached them, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. He circled the disc, studying every detail, every symbol. He knew this was his chance. His path to power.
He stepped into the circle, expecting to vanish, but instead, he was surrounded by a white light. A terrible roar echoed around him, and a crushing aura descended, draining his strength. Madara stood firm, his hand clutching his chest, blood seeping from the wound, but he didn't falter. His pride, his rage, his unyielding will refused to let him fall.
From the darkness emerged the tower's guardian. Its head was covered in faces screaming in agony, its eyes burning with red light. It charged at Madara, but he only smirked. At the last moment, his body shattered into hundreds of shards, like a phantom weapon. His voice, cold and mocking, rang out in the air:
"Your nightmare is just beginning."
And he was gone, leaving the guardian with nothing but emptiness and hatred. Madara hadn't just escaped—he had taken a step toward his goal. The strength he sought was closer than ever. And he was ready to do whatever it took to claim it.
[Your nightmare is over.]
[Prepare for certification...]
***
Well, here's the new chapter. I decided to take a non-standard path and create my own story separate from the narrative of Nephis and Cassie. One of the reasons for this is that I'm not particularly fond of Nephis, and especially Cassie. And the second reason is Madara's character. He would rather kill her than negotiate.
Something like that :]