一个徘徊于文于画之间的初中生。
最近忙于学业,貌似转载比较多。
为了梦想,为了我的故事。
活着?活着。

用绳命诠释薛定谔的更新
入坑慎重
追更更加

但还是小迷妹。

没事作个死,神清又气爽

脑子有那么一点毛病的我(望天/)

来呀造作啊不怕啊!

@幽 吹爆她(づ′▽`)づ
不接受任何反驳

人好求勾搭,已有专属文手and画手。

但你还是可以勾搭我,随便来聊聊天呗~

有人吗?

病态之爱 1[原文]

  翻译点击头像查看





- So you don't want this battle to continue, am I right, Hashirama? – Madara spat in a sort of impatience one could easily mistake for some angry feverish blabbering of madman… though Madara technically was one, so the comparison wasn't really that far-fetched; or so Hashirama mused; slowly circling around his sworn enemy.


Indeed, he didn't want this useless fighting to continue – for it promised nothing but destruction, wounded people, the imminent increase of hate towards the already damned Uchiha – an in all honestly, the fight solved nothing.


Madara would continue his assaults; while he, the Shodaime Hokage would keep on performing his duty of protecting the village.


There seemed to be no end to this twisted rivalry.


Hence Hashirama had nothing else to state but agree with Madara's words, that sounded more like a Katon in disguise – if only Madara could incinerate the Hokage with the power of his voice alone – he wouldn't hesitate a second to do just that; consequences be damned (for if he really could be that powerful… He'd be left alone in the wilderness pretty soon. He knew that).


.


- You're well aware I've never wanted to fight you in first place, Madara. – Hashirama tried once again to play the role of the reasonable.


Each time it was getting more and more difficult to involve Madara into a conversation that'd distract him from mindlessly destroying the terrain around them; burning each and every Hashirama's creation to ashes.


Each time Hashirama would attempt to address what human was left in this shell of a ruthless warrior with bloodlust and purest ire shining in his brother's eyes – but again to no avail. Madara wouldn't listen to his rival of all people; or rather; the only one he labeled as a person besides himself.


Oh, sure he was not interested in listening, it was well past the times when words could be of any use, for the frantic joy of slaughter and the exhilarating scent of blood that was gushing from the innumerable throats Madara cut like flower stems with his scythe; all of this cursed murderous bliss had long ago replaced the remnants of human feelings Hashirama knew Madara possessed.


In the past. In that past which no one but Hashirama cared to remember.


Of course, it was fruitless to guard those memories; while the sheer embodiment of evil stood before Hashirama with the heinous laugh proclaiming the Shodaime as weak and worthless.


Sometimes Hashirama was tempted to believe him – maybe he truly was representing that every abominable definition Madara kept in store solely for his persona?


.


What if he really was that disgusting weak fool who couldn't even keep his friendship? Who dwelled on dreams of the past, afraid of facing their inevitable future that contained nothing but death, ugly inexorable death filled with hatred even more than with pain.


May be he, the Shodaime Hokage Hashirama, the bringer of peace to the Fire country; was in fact the sole reason why Madara kept fighting for some distant peace that was real?


May be Madara knew some truth that he himself could not reach, and thus instead of promised life in harmony he was leading the people of Konoha to hell, instead of what appeared to be the peace the people strived for?


Hashirama couldn't answer his own doubts, and Madara would never listen. Not that he was ever going to voice his concerns, especially in front of a lunatic.


A lunatic that used to be his friend; the friend who favoured betrayal to their bonds; the one whose mind was now clouded with arrogant sense of being self-righteous…


But what if Madara really was right?


What if… Yet Hashirama couldn't lose to him on purpose. Madara would recognize the ploy anyways. He would never accept his enemy's intentional weakness – for he was the only one to make others weak; and nobody had the right to express their own free will at that matter.


It was futile; as was everything when it came to Madara.


Hashirama just kept listening to the insults; not even bothering to provide anything in return; which only seemed to enrage Madara more.


.


- If you don't want to fight like a man… If you truly are that hopeless; pathetic so-called leader of the weak… What pride do you even have in that Hokage name of yours? Ruler of the despicable? Detestable the almighty?


- What, you've nothing to disagree with me, right? Or is the truth too painful? Or wait, shocking? What could you possibly know about pain? Clearly nothing! Stop feigning ignorance, Hashirama, and fight me.


- It won't solve anything, Madara. You must know it.


- It's none of your concern what I know and what I want to do. If your Hokagedom rendered you so worthless, then do not fight. Yes, why, you say you're not ready for a battle. Not ready, my scythe! Don't fight then. Really, don't. Just stay here like a fool that you are and bask in the mortification. You have to know who you really are, after all. If so, then – learn it.


.


Hashirama honestly tried to stay indifferent. Madara was known for his picturesque manner of swearing; the battle with him just wouldn't be the same without the flamboyant strings of curses that wove smoothly into the names of deadly spells they cast upon each other.


Thus Hashirama thought he could care less. Truly.


However, this time was different. While he could push off the accusations aimed at his own persona, he still was utterly affected by the mentions of the order he established, of the village he literally built, of the peace he fought for – Madara still managed to get through his mental defenses even without the use of the Sharingan.


.


Hashirama was praised for being incredibly immune to Sharingan which was quite the unique trait among the non-Uchihas. Madara knew it well from first hands, so he developed weapons that worked better than those cursed eyes. Words turned out just the perfect solution, since he wasn't labeled genius for nothing.


Albeit the mad genius. Wicked and seemingly aimless. Hating and probably heartless.


Heartless – whether they told the lies or not; but the heartbeat was here, evident and racing, fueling the blood with rage that only Hashirama's presence could ever provoke.


- Come at me. Drop your weapons. You don't want to fight; so you don't need them.


- I'm not suicidal, Madara.


- Ha, and yet you refuse to fight? Just come at me. See, here I leave my scythe. And here I fade my Sharingan. See, pretty safe. Safe even for a weakling like you. C'mon, closer. Or are you afraid of me even when I'm weaponless?


That was, of course, an understatement; for the amount of kunai and other objects useful in battle were always at one hand seal away from both of them, since being completely weaponless was clearly the disgrace for a shinobi, yet Madara did drop his scythe, much to Hashirama's confusion.


In the established course of things that Hashirama was used to, Madara would just get tired of cursing him, maybe they'd exchange few non-lethal blows afterwards, and the vengeful Uchiha would disappear in the darkness of the impending night once again, promising to return at whichever time would be the less convenient for the ever-so-busy Hokage to defend his village (and his values) again.


.


Yet Madara continued surprising him.


After he dropped the scythe, he really faded his Sharingan back to his regular jet black eyes that were so deep dark they couldn't even reflect the light. Which so suited him, - or so Hashirama thought, slowly and carefully stepping forward.


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