Crazy Shinobi: Rise of the uzumaki Clan

Madara's POV

The walk home felt heavier than usual. The air was thick, oppressive, as if it carried some unspoken warning. The forest, which I usually found solace in, seemed quieter tonight. The sound of my footsteps echoed louder than they should have, the crunch of leaves beneath my feet a sharp contrast to the silence surrounding me.

Hashirama's words lingered in my mind, unwelcome and irritating. Attachments give you strength, he'd said. Purpose. It was nonsense, of course. Attachments were nothing but weaknesses waiting to be exploited. I had learned that lesson long ago.

And yet... why couldn't I shake his voice from my thoughts?

As the outline of my home came into view, a familiar unease settled in my chest. Something was wrong. The torches that usually burned brightly near the entrance flickered weakly, and the guards stationed outside stood with solemn faces.

I quickened my pace, my heart pounding in my chest. When I reached the main hall, my younger brother Izuna was waiting for me. His face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his dark eyes—so much like mine—were clouded with grief.

"Madara..." he began, his voice strained.

"What happened?" I demanded, though part of me already knew.

Izuna hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "It's Father. He... he didn't make it back."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. My father, Uchiha Tajima, was dead.

"How?" I forced the word out, though my throat felt like it was closing.

"An ambush," Izuna said, his voice shaking. "Senju forces intercepted his patrol. He fought them off long enough for the others to escape, but..." He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor.

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. "Where was he found?"

"By the river," Izuna said softly. "They brought him back."

I didn't wait for him to finish. I pushed past him, heading toward the courtyard where I knew the bodies of the fallen were laid. Each step felt heavier than the last, but I couldn't stop. I had to see him.

When I entered the courtyard, the sight before me brought me to a halt. My father's body lay on a simple wooden platform, draped in a dark cloth. His once-imposing figure now seemed small, frail, as if the life that had made him so formidable had taken everything with it when it left.

I stepped closer, my legs trembling beneath me. His face was calm, as though he were merely sleeping, but the gash across his chest told a different story.

"Father," I whispered, my voice cracking.

The grief hit me in waves, threatening to drown me, but I refused to let it show. Not here, not now. I had to be strong—for Izuna, for the clan, for myself.

The words Hashirama had spoken earlier surged back, taunting me. Attachments give you strength.

No, they didn't. Attachments tore you apart, left you vulnerable. This was proof. If I hadn't cared, if I hadn't allowed myself to feel anything, this pain wouldn't exist.

Izuna's presence at my side pulled me from my thoughts. He stood silently, his shoulders tense as he looked down at our father's body.

"Izuna," I said, my voice low but steady, "we can't let this go unanswered."

He nodded, his jaw tight. "We won't. The Senju will pay for this."

"We'll make them regret ever crossing us," I said, the bitterness in my tone surprising even me.

But deep down, a part of me hesitated. Hashirama's face flashed in my mind, his words ringing in my ears. Could he have known? Did he sense this would happen?

No. This had nothing to do with him. He wasn't part of this.

This was war.

And in war, there was no room for attachments, no room for weakness. My father's death was a reminder of that—a lesson I would carry with me.

But as I stood there, staring down at the man who had raised me, who had shaped me into who I was, I couldn't deny the ache in my chest.

Maybe Hashirama was right. Maybe attachments gave you strength. But they also left you with scars.

And as I clenched my fists, vowing vengeance against those who had taken my father, I realized I would carry this scar with me forever.

To Be Continued...