The Moon is White

Chapter 1

Time travel. Dimensional travel. Alternate universes.

Those words kept repeating like a broken tape recorder in his head, theories upon theories forming within the speed of light, yet easily discarded not a second later. Denial and Madara often went hand in hand, their perpetual bond developed from an early age until he was all but married to that foul mistress.

He wished that it was Hashirama who had been granted this second chance and not him. His war buddy, his best friend, his comrade, deserved it more than Madara, who was and still am a broken and delusional man who failed spectacularly throughout his entire life.

With so many useless and pointless thoughts circling in his head, Madara cut himself off by hugging Izuna, a toddler no older than three winters, tighter to his chest, rocking and humming the child to sleep.

Madara knew he was a failure of an older brother, but this time, despite the lack of will to live (his body was constantly tired, his soul far too old to accommodate), he would do his best to protect his younger brother(s). If he needed to remove Tajima early in order to take his rightful place as clan head, just to shield his brothers from entering the battlefield too early, he would do so in a heartbeat.

With intimate knowledge of the future in his hands, he knew how exactly to bring an end to the feud with the Senju, to bring forth an era of peace. This time, however, it would not be at the cost of Izuna's life or eyes. Madara swore that he would see all of his little brothers grow old - or as old as Madara could live with his borderline suicidal mentality. He would be the first of his family to perish, never them. Not again.

But before his demise, he would rid the world of that abnormality. Never again will Dokuzetsu, that parasitic bastard, tempt and manipulate another human to do its bidding. At this point in time, that literal backstabber would be easier to seal away as it did not have Hashirama's cells to disappear swiftly via Mayfly.

Carefully tucking the sleeping toddler until his brother was warm and comfortable underneath the blankets, he turned his head slightly to stare out the window. He knew it was all in his head, but his eyes refused to see the moon as any other color than blood red. Idly, Madara wondered if he was ill in the head. Or if there was something wrong with his optic nerves.

What if everything was but an illusion?

His eyes darted to the sleeping Izuna, compulsively burning into his brain the sight of those soft features and pure innocence exuding from his baby brother. With hesitant fingers - bloodied hands that only brought forth unimaginable terror and misery to others - he stroked Izuna's cheeks and eyes, before leaning to kiss his brother's forehead, his lips lingering as he breathes in Izuna's nostalgic and poignant scent.

If this was an illusion, he wouldn't mind being trapped inside for all eternity. Ultimately, reality consisted only of pain and suffering; a futility to someone as old as him.