The breath of the wind swept over the vast plain, stirring the black grass that rolled like a calm sea. Madara walked forward, his steps heavy but steady, each stride echoing strangely in this unreal space. Behind him, the scene from his past had already faded, as if wiped away by an invisible hand. Ahead, a solitary hill stood out, its summit crowned by a white silhouette, shining in this veiled world.
Sitting on a simply elegant chair, a woman was waiting for him. Her pale hair gleamed like suspended flakes, and her eyes seemed to probe every fragment of his being before he had even climbed the slope. In front of her, another chair, empty, turned toward her like a silent invitation.
Madara slowed his pace. He understood. This place was no ordinary illusion: it was a summons. He raised his eyes one last time to the sky, then continued forward.
Every step he took seemed to resonate in a void without echo, as if the plain itself bent around his advance. And yet, deep within him, a disturbance he had not felt in a long time took hold. A nagging impression… déjà vu. This summit, that white silhouette seated up there, the mute expectation hanging in the air: it all felt familiar, even though he knew no concrete memory could be tied to it.
His Sharingan scanned every detail, but nothing responded to the laws of the world he knew. No chakra flow, no familiar distortion of a genjutsu. Here, everything escaped his senses. Even his own chakra felt diffused, as if absorbed by this dimension. It was a disturbing sensation, almost inconceivable for him: vulnerability.
And yet, despite that realization, his steps did not slow.
Running had never been an option. Not for him. That woman in the distance could only be the key, the reason he had been torn from his past and cast here. She was the origin, the explanation, or perhaps the obstacle he would have to break through.
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
Absurd as it was, he felt like he knew her. A veiled trace in his memory. But no name came. Only one certainty: she was waiting for him.
So he kept climbing the hill, his red armor vibrating with each movement.
The empty chair was waiting.
He stopped.
A silence.
A breath.
His eyes met hers.
And for the first time in a long while, Madara wondered if this world had finally found someone capable of understanding him.
The woman slowly raised her gaze to him, a thin smile stretching across her unnaturally white face.
Echidna — I am Echidna. But perhaps you know me better under the name the Witch of Greed.
Her voice, soft and clear, clashed with the gravity of her title.
Echidna — Your suspicious attitude wounds me. Despite appearances, I am nothing but an innocent young girl.
Madara's gaze stayed fixed on her. No open hostility emanated from him, yet he remained on guard. His tone was sharp, clipped:
Madara — Where are we?
Echidna's smile widened by a fraction, as if she were savoring the question.
Echidna — Your body hasn't left the place where it stood. Let's say… you've been invited to have tea with me.
She delicately set her fingers on the white porcelain, without taking her eyes off him.
Echidna — Would you sit down, before the tea gets cold?
The nonexistent wind of this dimension made the cup ring faintly, as if to punctuate her invitation.
Madara remained still for a moment, his crimson gaze locked onto Echidna's. The invitation sounded polite, almost innocent… but he knew better than anyone that no outstretched hand came without a price.
A faint smirk pulled at his lips.
Madara — A witch inviting me for tea… Sounds like the beginning of a bad fairy tale. People have tried to trap me many times, but rarely with fine porcelain.
He advanced a few steps, slowly, each word carried by the weight of his deep voice.
Madara — You play your role very well, "innocent young girl". But know this… I've never believed in fairies, nor in saviors.
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the muffled sound of his sandals in the grass. Then, without taking his eyes off her, he pulled the chair toward him and sat down.
Madara — Very well. Show me what your tea is hiding, Witch.
Echidna tilted her head to the side, a subtle smile forming on her pale lips. Her eyes, dark with depth, never left Madara's. She slowly set her cup down, as if to savor this unexpected game a little more.
Echidna — Oh… such a biting tone. How refreshing.
Most men, when they find themselves here, lose their composure… or desperately try to flatter my supposed benevolence. But you… you spit venom without even trembling.
She straightened slightly, the mocking lilt of her voice contrasting with the flawless elegance of her movements.
Echidna — Yet you should be reassured: I don't need to set a trap for you. You're already seated at my table of your own free will.
A calculated pause, her eyes gleaming as if amused by her own paradox. Then, in a lower, more intimate tone:
Echidna — Tell me… is it suspicion that keeps you alive, or the pride of believing that nothing and no one can reach you?
She delicately took her cup again, bringing the tea to her lips as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
Madara finally leaned back into his seat, his armor creaking slightly against the wood of the chair. He let a short silence hang, as if he were considering her words, then a faint, almost invisible smirk cut across his face.
Madara — Suspicion… pride… you ask the right questions, but I doubt you're ready for the answer.
He rested his elbow on the table with casual ease, his tone wavering between mockery and glacial wisdom.
Madara — If I'm still alive, it's neither thanks to your tea illusions nor your nice manners. It's because I learned very early that every smile hides a knife, and every promise is just a trap wrapped with a ribbon.
His gaze darkened, burning with an almost cruel lucidity.
Madara — So, Witch of Greed or innocent maiden… it makes no difference. I don't trust masks.
A thin, mocking smile curved his lips.
Madara — But since you had the audacity to invite me, I suppose you intend to serve me something more than a simple cup of poison.
Without even deigning to touch the cup before him, Madara tilted his head slightly, his eyes locked on Echidna with that intensity that always forced others to look away first.
Madara — That memory… the river, the stones, Hashirama. You're the one who forced me to relive it, aren't you?
Echidna's smile broadened, revealing as much satisfaction as mischief.
Echidna — Forced? You exaggerate. I merely… lifted the veil. Memories always sleep inside you, Madara. I only wake them up.
She raised her cup to her lips, her eyes fixed on his over the rim.
Echidna — But admit it: wasn't it… delicious? To see that original fracture again, that moment when destiny was sealed. An instant so pure, so perfect… it deserves to be tasted again and again.
Madara's mouth twisted into a faint smile, cold and bloodless.
Madara — Delicious? Hn. You're the one who enjoyed the show. For me… it was just a reminder. No sweetness, no bitterness. Only a wound that will never heal.
Echidna slightly furrowed her brows, feigning displeasure, but her eyes shone with even sharper curiosity.
Echidna — You speak as if you could choose not to be affected… Yet your gaze betrays you. That moment still defines you today.
Madara(leaning toward her, voice low and mocking) — Or maybe you're wrong. Maybe I use my scars… instead of serving them.
A silence settled, heavy but electric. Echidna fluttered her eyelashes, almost fascinated.
Echidna — Interesting… very interesting.
Echidna — What intrigues me even more… isn't your past. It's what you are, here and now, sitting in front of me. You're not shaped like the others. Your body breathes neither mana nor the blessing of dragon veins. And yet… you're boiling over.
She stretched a slender hand over the table, as if to brush the invisible aura around him.
Echidna — A foreign energy, pulsing, that obeys none of this world's rules. Not a flow, not an offering. But… a forge. An inner fire that burns and renews itself, as if it were feeding on itself. Fascinating.
A half-smile, almost cruel, appeared on her lips.
Echidna — You are an anomaly, Madara. A crack in the foundations of this world. A man standing without the dragon's breath, without the flow of mana… so tell me. What is this "chakra" I feel in you?
Madara stared at her for a moment, his Sharingan slowly flaring to life, two red suns slashing through the hushed atmosphere of the tea table. His tone, low and mocking, rang out like a blade brushing a throat.
Madara — If you call it an anomaly, then this world has never known what strength truly is. Chakra isn't an offering or a blessing. It's the weight of your will, forged in your own body, amplified by your hatred, your hope, or your despair. Here, you beg the dragon. Where I come from, we shape our own weapons.
A glacial silence fell. Echidna blinked, but her smile did not fade—on the contrary, it widened as if she had just heard a forbidden melody.
Echidna — …A power born from man, not given by the world. A force that owes nothing but to its bearer. How… obscenely alluring.
She leaned forward slightly, her elbow resting on the table, her chin resting in her hand.
Echidna — You understand, don't you? Here, you're an impossible being. And that is precisely why you fascinate me so.
Madara — Fascinating, truly. Here they call me an anomaly, elsewhere I was an inevitability. Perhaps it's this world that is… incomplete.
He sank a little deeper into his chair, arms crossed, his air relaxed.
Madara — You speak of seductive obscenity as if you wanted me to believe I'm some rare gem that fell into your case. But jewels always attract two things: greed… and thieves. So, which one are you?
Echidna's smile tightened for an instant, not in embarrassment, but as if pricked by the provocation. Yet her eyes gleamed with a curious, almost childlike light.
Echidna — …You wield words like a blade. But don't be mistaken. I don't covet your energy, I… contemplate it. Because it defies every law I know.
Madara — Contemplation always leads to envy. And envy, sooner or later, demands its due. You say you're the Witch of Greed… but I know that kind of gaze very well. Yours is not so different from the eyes of the men who sought power where I come from.
A brief silence. Then Madara leaned in slightly, his shadow falling across the table, his words sliding out like poison wrapped in silk:
Madara — But if all you want is to understand me… then listen carefully: chakra is a promise. The promise that human will is sharper than any law written by gods.
Echidna remained still for a moment, frozen between irritation and fascination. Her lips finally parted in a troubled smile, as if every one of Madara's words only deepened her curiosity.
Echidna — A promise, you say… How poetic. And ironic. I built this place on promises no one keeps.
Madara brought the teacup to his lips without truly drinking. His eyes darkened, and his voice grew deeper, slower.
Madara — There's a boy… Subaru. Weak like few others. Incapable of wielding a weapon, let alone surviving on his own. And yet… every time he opens his mouth, the world seems to flinch, as if his absurdity rewrote fate.
(he pauses, his gaze sharpening)
You know him too, don't you?
Echidna held his gaze without blinking. Her smile remained, but her fingers tightened around the handle of her cup.
Echidna — …Why speak of him, when you're the one sitting in front of me? You, the man who thinks himself a statue of granite but still reeks of old flames.
Madara raised an eyebrow, ironic.
Madara — You dodge. Like a merchant refusing to show her wares for fear that the scam be spotted too quickly.
Echidna(softly, but with eyes shining with greed) — No. I choose. Subaru is… a fragment. You, you are a complete anomaly. I have centuries of research on this world's laws, and yet you… you shouldn't exist. Your chakra isn't mana, your veins aren't draconic, and still… you breathe as if this world had been built for you.
Madara straightened a little, the corner of his mouth twisting into a sharp smile.
Madara — So you want to turn me into an object of study ? How familiar. I've been watched like that before. Right before they started trembling.
Echidna — And you think I tremble? (she laughs, a crystalline little sound) No… Madara. I observe. You and I… we are two fascinating anomalies, but I'm ready to bet that between the two of us, you're the more dangerous.
A heavy silence settled. The nonexistent wind in that space seemed to freeze even more.
Madara — (coldly, with a hint of irony) You're not wrong. But you forget one thing, Witch… I'm not the one who sought to have tea.
Echidna finally set her cup down, her smile growing thinner, almost cruel.
Echidna — Then tell me… why did you cross the Tomb's threshold?
Madara frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing.
Madara — …Tomb? I thought I was entering a temple.
A clear laugh, laced with irony, slipped from Echidna's lips.
Echidna — Temple, tomb, prison… Words are just mirrors for the ignorant. But you… you knew you weren't walking into an ordinary place. You felt it. You wanted it.
Madara — I went in because I have never run from what intrigues me.
Echidna leaned toward him then, her silver hair sliding across the table like strands of moonlight. Her gaze grew sharper, almost loving.
Echidna — Yes… I saw it. All of it. Your childhood steeped in blood, your vows by the river, your brother's fall, your clan's pride, the birth of a dream, and the betrayal that reduced you to ashes. Madara Uchiha… back there, you were more than a man. You were a god walking among mortals.
She let a silence hang, then resumed in a soft voice, almost a whisper trembling between fascination and cruelty.
Echidna — But here? Here, you're nothing but flesh and shadow. The rules you knew no longer apply. Even your Sharingan loses its way. So tell me, Madara… what have you become, in a world where no one knows your name?
Madara kept silent for a moment, his gaze sinking into the black surface of his tea. Then a bitter, ironic smile split his face.
Madara — A forgotten god is still a god, even in a blind world.
Echidna laughed softly, but this time without irony.
Echidna — Or perhaps you're just a ghost who doesn't yet know he's dead.
Their gazes locked, two abysses measuring one another, neither willing to yield.
Echidna watched Madara for a long time, her fingers idly playing with the handle of her cup. Her eyes sparkled as if she were amused by every beat of his silence. Then, in a gentle, cutting voice:
Echidna — You haven't touched the tea. Why?
Madara tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning.
Madara — Because it's never just tea when a witch smiles.
Echidna's breath stopped for an instant. Then a clear peal of laughter rang across the white plain. She clapped her hands, delighted like a child caught in the act of mischief.
Echidna — Just as I thought… No one had ever said it with such certainty. You're right, it isn't tea. It's… me. My essence, my memories, my knowledge, distilled into every drop. Those who drink open themselves to me — and I open myself to them.
Madara didn't answer. His red eyes rested on the untouched cup before him as if it were an obvious trap.
Echidna then leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her lips curved in an almost tender smile.
Echidna — And if I told you that beyond this drink, I could offer you more? I propose a contract, Madara Uchiha. A bond through which I'll share with you everything I know, everything I've seen, everything I've devoured of this world and the others.
Her voice turned to silky murmur, heavy with promises.
Echidna — You, who once dreamed of perfect peace… you, who tried to bend the world to your ideal. I can help you attempt it again. I can bring you the keys you seek, the knowledge to shape this world in your image.
Her gaze blazed, incandescent.
Echidna — So? What do you say, Madara? Will you forge a pact with the Witch of Greed?
Madara remained motionless for a few seconds, his face shut, his red gaze fixed on Echidna. Then, slowly, the corner of his lips lifted.
Madara — A contract with a witch… Sounds like the kind of tale you tell children so they'll learn to fear the dark.
He took the cup before him, lifted it without drinking, and turned it between his fingers, as if to remind himself the choice was still his.
Madara — You offer to share your knowledge, to open the doors of a world that isn't mine. But tell me…
His Sharingan lit up, two rubies cutting through the white veil of the plain.
Madara — If your tea isn't tea, if your smile isn't just a smile, then your contract is certainly not just a contract.
He paused, then, in a tone edged with icy irony:
Madara — But fine. I've already made pacts with shadows more treacherous than you. If this is the game you want… then let's play. Consider that I accept.
He set the cup down on the table with a small, sharp click, locking his gaze with Echidna's without so much as a blink.
Madara — But remember this, Witch. In every contract I've ever sealed, there has always been a master… and a slave. The only question is who will be holding the chains in the end.
Echidna stayed silent for a fraction of a second, caught somewhere between irritation and fascination. Then her lips stretched into a tremulous smile of delight.
Echidna — …You really are exquisite, Madara.
Echidna did not move, her hand resting on her own cup. Her smile was no longer that of an innocent hostess, but a slow, calculated curve, a thin line stretched between temptation and predation. Her eyes gleamed with a devouring clarity, utterly captivated by the creature sitting across from her.
Echidna — Exquisite… yes.