Deep beneath the earth, far from the noise of marching shinobi and burning villages, here the world was silent.
In Mountain Graveyard sound did not traverse, it was swallowed by layers of stone. What little light existed came not from fire torch, but from the faint, sickly glow of an enormous silhouette embedded in the cavern wall.
The Gedo Statue.
It loomed like a god carved out of despair, its hollow eyes staring into nothing, its massive ribs and skeletal limbs fused into the rock as though the mountain itself had grown around it. Thick, pale bone-like conduits extended from the statue, three of them piercing directly into the neck of an old man seated beneath it.
Madara Uchiha.
His body was withered, reduced to a husk sustained only by forbidden techniques and sheer will. Tubes of chakra and life force connected him to the statue, feeding him just enough to remain conscious. His chest barely rose when he breathed. His hair, once wild and proud, hung long and brittle with white hair. Yet his eye remained sharp, burning with the same arrogance and conviction that had once challenged the world.
Beside him stood two figures.
One was White Zetsu, his expression perpetually warped into a mockery of cheer, body half-melted into the cavern wall. The other was darker, more sinister. Black Zetsu clung to White Zetsu's side like a shadow given form, his black, viscous body wrapping around the pale shell.
Black Zetsu spoke. "Madara-sama… something bad has happened."
For a moment, there was no response.
Madara did not turn his head. He did not shift his body. He barely even breathed. But his eyes twitched... just once.
That was enough.
Bad news was relative. Nations rose and fell without his concern. Entire clans had been erased while he slept beneath the earth. But if Black Zetsu, his own will, chose those words carefully, it meant something had disrupted the flow of inevitability.
"Speak," Madara said at last, his voice low and dry, like stone grinding against stone as he would go days without uttering a word.
Black Zetsu inclined his head slightly, his tone cautious. "The Nine-Tails jinchūriki of Konoha… and the Four-Tails jinchūriki of Iwa… have been captured by Kumogakure."
Madara did not react.
If anything, his lips curled faintly.
"So?" he said. "They were always destined to be mine. Whether they sit in cages of their villages or other makes no difference."
In truth, the information pleased him. The more jinchūriki consolidated under one banner, the fewer variables he would need to hunt down later when will be bought back alive. Nine-Tails. Four-Tails. And Kumo already possessed the Two-Tails and Eight-Tails.
Four beasts in one place.
It was a good news.
Black Zetsu continued quickly, sensing the need to move forward. "Konoha retaliated by using the forbidden reanimation technique. They summoned Hashirama Senju… and Tobirama Senju."
Madara's fingers twitched against the stone.
His eyes widened... not in shock, but in something far more dangerous.
Interest.
"Hashirama…" he murmured.
For a fleeting moment, the mountain graveyard felt heavier, as though the name itself carried weight. Memories surged... wooden titans rising from the earth, fists like mountains, a man who smiled even as he crushed armies.
Madara drew in a slow, rasping breath.
"Tell me," he said, voice sharper now. "Who did he fight? How many did he kill? Where is he now? I would have gone fought him but not in this condition."
Black Zetsu hesitated. That alone was enough to irritate Madara.
"Well?" he demanded.
"They were… defeated," Black Zetsu said carefully. "Both Hashirama and Tobirama fought the Third Raikage of Kumo… and the Eight-Tails jinchūriki."
Madara's chakra flared violently, rattling the bone conduits attached to his body.
Defeated.
Hashirama Senju... defeated by someone who was not Madara Uchiha.
His first reaction was fury. Pure, sharp, instinctive. Not because Hashirama had lost... but because he had lost to someone else. Hashirama was Madara's rival. His equal. No one else had the right.
For a brief, dangerous instant, Madara's killing intent filled the cavern.
Then… it faded.
Madara laughed. A dry, broken laugh that echoed faintly through the underground chamber.
"So," he said slowly, amusement bleeding into his voice, "there exists a man capable of standing against Hashirama Senju…"
That was unexpected but intriguing.
Madara's mind moved quickly now, peeling away assumptions. Edo Tensei was an imperfect technique. Anyone summoned through it would be bound by the caster's limitations. If Hashirama had been defeated, it was not a proof of his weakness... it was proof of caster's own skills.
Still…
"To fight him at all," Madara continued, "means this Raikage is no ordinary brute."
He paused, then added almost casually as he guessed the events that would have happened, "The Raikage and the Eight-Tails jinchuuriki are dead, then. And Eight-tails has appeared in the Mountain graveyard and causing a massive ruckus. Well that would be a problem."
It was not a question.
In Madara's world, outcomes were simple. Hashirama fought, Hashirama killed. Even if someone managed to threaten Konoha, Hashirama would destroy them... even his own child, if necessary. That was the kind of man he had been.
Therefore, if Hashirama was defeated, the only logical conclusion was mutual annihilation.
Black Zetsu froze. There was no clean way to correct Madara's assumption.
"Madara-sama…" he began carefully, "the Raikage and the Eight-Tails jinchūriki are not dead."
Madara's smile vanished.
"What?"
"They sealed Hashirama and Tobirama," Black Zetsu said. "Using the Sage of Six Paths' tools. The Raikage expended most of his life force to do it, but he succeeded."
For the first time in decades, Madara was genuinely surprised not shocked.
Surprised.
"Sealed…" he repeated softly.
His gaze drifted toward the Gedo Statue, toward the ancient relics of the Sage's era. Tools capable of binding gods, weapons Madara himself had once coveted but never possessed.
"So they still exist," he said. "Those relics… in the hands of a mere village."
Madara's amusement returned, deeper this time.
"And this Raikage used his life force to seal Hashirama Senju," he mused. "What a foolish… magnificent gamble."
For a moment, Madara's thoughts drifted dangerously toward the idea of battle. Of standing once more on the surface. Of meeting this Raikage in combat.
"I want to fight him," Madara said suddenly.
The words were quiet, but absolute.
Black Zetsu stiffened and thought Damn it, This would derail the eye of moon plan if made appearness to the outside world... I have to divert his attention to the successor. Just as he was about to say.
Madara sighed, the fire dimming as quickly as it had ignited.
"No," he corrected himself. "I have no time."
The world he was building required patience. A future shaped by others. He would not rise now just to indulge nostalgia.
"The world will look different when I return," Madara said calmly. "I will not spoil that surprise."
He turned his attention back inward, recalibrating his expectations. The Raikage's survival changed little. Hashirama being sealed was… inconvenient, but temporary. Edo Tensei was not true resurrection. Those souls could be summoned again until unsealed.
"Where is my successor?" Madara asked.
Black Zetsu relaxed slightly. This was familiar ground.
"That proceeds according to plan," he said. "I instigated some Iwa shinobi they fought and well... he was found crushed beneath a boulder. White Zetsu units are retrieving him as we speak."
Madara closed his eyes. Images formed in his mind of his vessel.
"Good," Madara said. "Pain will shape him."
Madara Uchiha smiled, confident that no matter how chaotic the present became, the end had already been decided.
~~
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So, Madara sulking because hashirama lost to someone who is not him. I am sure that would be his reaction. How else would he have reacted.