His Last Act
Two hours before “His Last Act”-
Location: Senju Compound, Quarters
Perspective: ???
“I think my resignation was the only way to avoid bloodshed.”
-Eduard Shevardnadze
His fingers carefully traced over the edges of the letter in his hand, the pages decorated with simple letters. His writing wasn´t beautiful, nor were the words he had written, but beauty in his words wasn´t what mattered. It was the simplicity, the detachment that would make this letter as painless as possible for the intended readers.
A goodbye. A short explanation as to why he would soon do what he needed to do. Swing his sword one inch to the left so that it would miss its target. A short explanation as to why he would refuse to move, let himself make a final, fatal mistake.
A wise man once said that bravery was to be found in well thought out resignation, especially if one resigned with their head held high.
He felt anything but brave.
But he´d seen it all. Watched as the young ones died and fought battles not their own. Watched as the world was torn under their feet, splitting open the gates to hell and letting out what could be considered the doom of everything. He had watched and fought by his loved ones sides, as they each suffered losses.
Some kept on marching. Some gave up.
Some were taken from him too early.
He sighed deeply, gently closing the letter in his hand and placing it next to the one already written and sealed on his table.
Not many came into this room, too resentful of him and his work, but after today it would be emptied out eventually. What he could not explain in person, lest someone stop him, he would explain on paper. Distant, like people always assumed him to be. His words cold, like most of his kin made him out to be. Short and to the point, which was so in his very nature.
“I´ve made mistakes and I´m willing to pay the price.”
He wasn´t entirely at fault, no. But he was aware that a large part of the outcome had been his responsibility. His inability to listen to what his brother had so often tried to tell him. His burning need to protect what he held close to his heart, despite it tearing him to shreds.
He wouldn´t apologize. Not for protecting them.
But he does feel sorry for the difficulties his decisions – the difficulties he has caused his loved ones.
Never again.
“Someone else will take my place as your heir.”
It needed to be said, despite him being sure that his soon to come actions wouldn´t cause too much trouble for everyone involved. They would get over it eventually, but he felt the need to say this either way. Those words spoke of him being ready to be replaced. Him being ready to be forgotten and for someone else to take his place by his brothers side.
In hindsight, he always had known that it would happen eventually, for “that man” had always been more of a brother to his own brother than he himself was.
Love was so incredibly cruel sometimes.
“Fulfill your dream with him by your side, for the two of you are the sun and the moon. You are what the world needs to achieve peace.”
Unnecessary pleasantries. Too poetic for his style, but that did not mean he meant those words any less. The shaking in his hands was clear on the paper, seen in the way his usually steady hand messed up some of the letters, but this was the cleanest version he had managed. Every other time it had been worse, leaving the result of crumpled papers in his room scattered over the floor.
“Do not blame him.”
Words meant for someone else, not his brother. The only other person in his life that hadn´t forgotten who he was – the only person in his life that hadn´t forgotten who he was.
His brother had
She would be angry, but he needed her to know that this was entirely his own decision. She would grief, as she loved him like he was her brother and he loved her like she was his sister. It pained him to leave her behind, to know that she would rage and search blame in someone – anyone – but he knew that she was strong.
She would survive, she would thrive, and maybe this time she would find love for herself, as she had always wanted to.
There would soon be no responsibility in the form of her cousin holding her back from her own life.
She would live freely without him.
“Take care.”
Words for his brother, because he doesn´t know how to say “I love you” without it sounding insincere, and he wants these words to be anything but. He doesn´t say thank you – can´t say it – because of the history of one sided petty resentment in their relationship, but he loves his brother nonetheless. Loves him to pieces in a way he has never loved anything before. Loves him too much. So much that as much as this course of action scared him, he would never hesitate.
Anything for his brother. For his future.
For the people who could have been so much better brothers than he had been.
His feet carried him across the room to where his sword was neatly displayed on the wall. A priced possession of this - a gift from his almost sister. Quietly and with a gentleness not many have seen him display he ran his finger over the polished blade, ignoring the droplet of blood that slow tainted the gleaming silver a damning red.
This blade will break someone´s skin today, but will not leave permanent damage. Instead someone else´s blade will take his life, in a battle where no one but the watchful eyes of his sworn enemy would see.
“I think my resignation was the only way to avoid bloodshed.”
Not entirely true. Blood would be shed between him and them.
But this time, only his own for the sake of preventing doom.
Ten minutes before “His Last Act”-
Location: Naka river, Battlefield
Perspective: Uchiha Izuna
“I did not like the look of him at all. Something significantly ill-omened which I could not yet define emanated from him.”
-Iris Murdoch
Red glowing eyes scanned the battlefield, aware of every last detail from the smoke particles in the air to the muscle twitches of the people around him. And yet Uchiha Izuna could not make out what had the hairs on his neck standing up in a horrible sense of foreboding.
It wasn´t Madara. His brother was holding his own against the so known “God of Shinobi”, the optimistic fool obsessed with the notion of a dream that would never come true. Not in this reality, not in this life. Not when so much blood had been shed between their clans and their fates have been sealed by their never ending hatred for one another.
It wasn´t Hikaku. His cousin was doing good, recovered from the injury he suffered to his leg not too long ago. Across from him was Senju Touka, a fierce woman with genjutsu abilities that could rival those of the sharingan, but Izuna wasn´t worried. Hikaku was good as what he did, third in their clan and talented despite his young age. He and the Senju woman traded equal blows.
What was it?
His grip tightened in his sword, knuckles whitening at the force of it.
What was it?
Beads of sweat rolled down his neck as his eyes scanned the field.
He was missing. The white demon. The man Izuna swore to be his enemy and that Izuna was keen on striking down before he could kill any more of his kin.
Where was he?
His eye twitched and Izuna was starting to feel the strain of the constant activation of his doujutsu, but he couldn´t afford to be off guard. Tobirama was cunning on god days and downright wicked on the worst. One second of inattention would cost the Uchiha heir his life.
“Uchiha.”
Izuna whirled around at the deep baritone coming from behind him – too close, too close, act, act move! – speaking in a calm and unshakable voice. He almost did a double take when he took in the form of his mortal enemy, outwardly his eyes only narrowed as to not give his uncertainty or his surprise away.
Tobirama looked ragged.
Deep dark circles under his red eyes, a shade not quite like his own, that spoke of multiple restless nights. Hair longer than the last time he had seen him, just a few months ago. This time, it was not held back by the man´s signature happuri. Instead it loosely hung in his face, just barely obscuring his vision and leaving strands to flutter in the wind.
He had blood running down his chin coming from his nose. The streak wasn´t bothered with apparently and by the somewhat dazed look in the man´s eyes, Izuna wasn´t even too sure the demon had noticed.
His armor was chipped in multiple places that spoke of strong strikes having hit him, and that made Izuna suspicious. As much as he despised the Senju with a burning passion, he would have to admit his skill.
Senju Tobirama was almost untouchable by anyone aside from him and Madara.
For him to look so ragged and beaten, he must be off his game.
Izuna couldn´t stop the snarling of his teeth and the widening of his stance, ready to pounce like a predator would its prey. His brain was yelling at him to use that vulnerability. Today was the day that Izuna would kill Senju Tobirama, his sworn enemy.
His instinct however was yelling at him. Screaming to hold for just a second.
“Something is wrong. Something is wrong with him.”
The red eyes of the white demon scanned him up and down, expression not changing in the slightest.
Izuna felt another jolt down his spine.
Tobirama was anything but expressive, but with his sharingan, Izuna could always make out the few twitches at the corners of his mouth or the narrowing of eyes when Izuna was being particularly stubborn. He could always see the way his breath seemed to stop each time he could sense a shift on the battlefield – during the fight between Madara and that blasted Senju.
But now?
Nothing.
Nothing but one emotion.
Fear.
It was something so unusual in the stone cold man that Izuna almost found himself staggering a step back, glaring at the impostor of his enemy.
Tobirama did not fear Izuna. They begrudgingly respected each other´s abilities and hated each other´s guts, but fear? Terror of this kind? This was new.
And it was a concern.
“Senju.” Izuna snarled at the bland tone, his voice carrying much more resentment than that of Tobirama. He made no effort to conceal his hatred.
Tobirama arched an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed – also new, what was going on dammit – but Izuna could make out the small twitch in his muscles, the way he tensed.
He didn´t grab for his sword just yet however.
Instead his eyes seemed to soften around the edges, looking at him with something akin to grief, and emotion that Izuna could not at all imagine that stone cold man feeling.
It unnerved him and he snapped.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like shit? Where´s the rest of your armor, Senju. Don´t tell me you´re getting tardy?”
Comparing Izuna to Tobirama was like comparing Ice with fire.
Where Tobirama was composed, calm and calculating, Izuna would flicker around in anger, provoking the enemy with what he had. Where Tobirama would pull back, Izuna displayed his emotions on his sleeve, particularly anger. When either of them snapped, Izuna became loud and intimidating. Tobirama became harsh and quiet.
Somehow Tobirama always seemed to be immune to his words and his actions. One of the reason he despised the man so much.
“Why thank you. I hadn´t noticed,” the man drawled dryly, and Izuna almost startled at the casual response. The Senju was anything but a talker. Izuna counted every single time he managed to annoy this demon so much that he got a snapped response back.
Izuna wasn´t having that.
“Alright, cut the act. Either you start fighting or I´m going to kill you while you stand there staring off like a moron. I´m not kind enough to let you recompose yourself.”
But then something happened that no one had anticipated.
Tobirama smiled.
It was crooked and ugly, not quiet reaching the eyes. It seemed more like a grimace, showing all of his teeth in threat, and the sides of his face kept twitching in effort, like the motion was foreign to him. And in that same exact moment Izuna could feel the blood in his veins turn to ice.
“I did not like the look of him at all. Something significantly ill-omened which I could not yet define emanated from him.”
This was not Tobirama Senju, the man that fought to slay his enemies and protect his brother.
This was Tobirama Senju, the man who had nothing to lose, not anymore.
And somehow, Izuna found himself fearing him more than the other one.
One and a half hours before “His Last Act”-
Location: Senju Compound, Garden
Perspective: Senju Hashirama
“A love-sick heart dies when the heart is whole, for all the heart´s health is to be sick with love.”
-Anonymous
The air has shifted.
Hashirama tilted his head as nature talked, distressed and concerned that something was wrong. Nature was skittish today. Plants were wilting and his trees were swaying in the wind too hard. Branches were cracking somewhere and the air seemed colder than usual.
But for the first time in a long time Hashirama doesn´t understand what nature wants to tell him.
Hashirama breaths through his nose, closing his eyes as he lets his lungs be filled with the unusual air in the atmosphere. It tasted of sorry, of warnings and off loss, urging him to find the source, but not giving him the means to find it.
His hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly and he could feel his connection to the nature flicker. Staying still wasn´t one of his best traits, but nature had no time to talk to those unwilling to sit down and to listen.
As if to try and mess up his effort at reconnecting even more, the door to the garden opened with a soft thud, almost too quiet to make out when one didn´t pay attention. Hashirama however felt like he could feel everything. His senses were a mess and his body felt strange and every presence around him felt warped, his perception not properly working.
“Elder Brother.” A deep voice, always so strict and formal despite being around family greeted Hashirama. The clan head didn´t turn to look. Instead he kept his eyes closed, squinting and pressing them shut trying to figure out what his trees were saying. It was so unlike himself to not understand. Hashirama always listened.
Hashirama didn´t realize that he didn´t listen when his brother most needed him.
He didn´t notice the way Tobirama shifted behind him. Didn´t care to notice the pained look in his eyes as he looked his brother up and down for what would possibly be the last time they saw eachother.
He only noticed the evenness of the familiar voice.
“We´re departing soon. You should prepare in case –“
“So eager to go into battle?” His tone was harsh, he knew, but right now he was still trying to make out the warped and furious whispers in the air and was too busy to notice the way his younger brother´s mouth clamped shut with more force than necessary. The way his jaw set and clenched in an attempt to speak his next words with careful consideration.
“I´m a shinobi. It´s what we do,” was the simple answer that was said as if to explain it all.
Somehow, neither brother had managed to say the right words to one another in a long time.
A deep sigh escaped Hashirama, but he still didn´t turn to look. Maybe he would have seen the dark bags under his eyes or the hint of desperation in his features, looking for a reason to hang on, to change his mind.
Hashirama continued to look at the plants in front of him.
“What do you need, Tobirama? You don´t usually come here before battle.”
There was a tense silence for a few seconds and then –
“You seem distressed.”
This time, Hashirama did turn and look. His eyes narrowed a little as he took in the natures all around him – all around Tobirama – and the voices in the air began to whisper even more fiercely, almost deafening him in the process. Tobirama looked unfazed to Hashirama.
His little brother was so detached from nature.
Tobirama was so attached to him
“It is not important. Just leave, Tobirama. I will sort this out.” He waved a hand, a little impatient but also very much irritated by the screaming in his ear and his senses going haywire. Hashirama was sulking and Tobirama was not helping.
Tobirama shifted – since when did he do that? His brother´s posture was impeccable. Always so sure of himself and confident in the way he speaks, acts and walks – before nodding once. It was a short and harsh movement and Hashirama could feel the bones in his brother neck crack from the fast movement.
Nature screamed.
As Hashirama hid a wince, Tobirama dipped his head once again, voice level as he spoke. “Goodbye brother. I will see you in battle.”
There was something unspoken after that sentence, something that Tobirama refused to say. It drove Hashirama mad. Not only did his mokuton stop resonating with him today, but now his little brother was being vague.
The air shifted again.
As soon as Tobirama´s presence left the garden, it quieted down. Hashirama could feel himself let out a slow breathe of relief and failed to notice the way the air seemed to still now. Disappointed and scared of what was to come.
“A love-sick heart dies when the heart is whole, for all the heart´s health is to be sick with love.”
Hashirama didn´t know just yet, but today his heart would become whole. Today, despite what nature seemed to be telling him, Hashirama would find himself with his moon at his side – with his brother in all but blood in his side.
But nature was smart.
It knew that for what Hashirama would gain, he would also lose. So despite his heart being whole, a small part, hidden behind petty resentment and ignorance, would wilt away, like the flowers at his feet.
“His last act”-
Location: Naka river, Battlefield
Perspective: Senju Tobirama
“Life demands nothing from us Except, To die. It is the ultimate act of humility. It is the ultimate act of final humanity.”
-Stark Hunter
It was so easy.
So laughably easy to just play the part of the fight. He remembers it like it happened yesterday when it really had been a lifetime long since his last fight with Uchiha Izuna.
Tobirama knows this man, knows Izuna´s way of fighting like he knows no other, because in the end his enemy has come closer to knowing his way of the sword than his very own brother.
Tobirama regrets a lot of things.
He regrets not telling his brother to his face that he loved him, but that regret was senseless. Even if he had been given the opportunity to do so, Tobirama knows he would not have been able to say those words. Not in the way his brother wanted to hear them.
Tobirama regrets being an imagine of his father.
Don´t misunderstand, what he did not regret is following his father´s footsteps. Because by doing so and taking on the role as his father´s little food soldier, Hashirama had been able to get as much freedom as he had in the first place. It was because of Tobirama distracting the man that Hashirama managed to sneak out during the middle of the day, as if assuming no one would notice, to talk to their enemy and bond with someone who would soon take Tobirama´s place.
But what he does regret is giving the impression of being like that man. He regrets Hashirama thinking of him as nothing but a war hungry man. Nothing but a weapon, cold and calculating at all times.
Not the scientist that hungered for knowledge. Not a person who loved to read in his free time. Not the teacher, who loved to teach the younger generation. Not a man who dreamt of having children himself some day and dreamt of giving them a future that he could not have. Of giving them the same freedom he had granted Hashirama by being what Hashirama refused to be.
Izuna´s sword slices through his arm and only then those he slowly creep back into reality. His body is fighting on pure muscle memory.
He is physically and mentally tired in a way he has only ever been once before.
After the death of his youngest brothers.
But there was no time to waste. Tobirama hadn´t done all this for nothing. Hadn´t risked the universe falling apart just to fail here. Hadn´t risked his life sealing away the creature with a special designed seal, so that all that this future had left to be worked on was the first step towards peace.
Tobirama feels himself tiring, feels his arms start to lose their hold on the sword.
Up until now, he hadn´t allowed his body to catch up with his exhaustion. But now that it came naturally, Tobirama at least wouldn´t have to pretend to not be able to dodge.
Izuna´s movement never slowed, but Tobirama could feel the confusion in his gaze. Could feel the utter surprise at the resigned way that Tobirama was carrying himself.
Somewhere in the distance a shout rang out – Hashirama´s voice – but it was not calling for him.
“Life demands nothing from us Except, To die. It is the ultimate act of humility. It is the ultimate act of final humanity.”
For the first time ever since the first time they have battled, Tobirama confidently and purposely met Izuna´s eyes.
The pale red of his own eyes clashed with the flaring red of the sharingan, three tomoe spinning in shock at the last bit of resolve, solely focused on pinning Izuna down with his stare. And before Izuna could think otherwise, could even begin to question what this was, Tobirama could feel the cold blade of steel wielded by his enemies hand sink into flash, right into his ribcage and between the ribs.
There was a choked noise form Izuna – surprise? Triumph? Tobirama didn´t know, nor did he care to – before he let his eyes fall closed for the last time, smiling as he accomplished what would result in a batter future.
Seconds before “His Last Act”-
Location: Naka river, Battlefield
Perspective: Uchiha Madara
“Brother will kill brother, spilling blood across the land.”
-Dave Mustaine
Hashirama was acting strange.
Madara could tell that his friend his enemy wasn´t really there as they were fighting. They struck one another, some blows landed as others missed, but there was no conviction behind Hashirama´s actions. No burning passion, no persuasive speech that Madara was forced to listen to each time they fought.
And each time they fought the possibility of the peace Hashirama spoke of seemed so incredibly tempting. Something beautiful, something safe for his little brother – anything for Izuna – where he could grow up in safety for the rest of his life.
But Madara was a clan head. As much as the idea of running into the sunset holding hands with his old childhood friend seemed like a good dream to have, Madara had responsibilities and his own goals to follow.
Either way, there was none of it today. Only a pinched look on the face of the “God of Shinobi”, one that seemed to unfitting on the features of this man.
“Hashirama!” The yell was accompanied by a heavy blow of his gunbai that Hashirama managed to dodge, eyes still dazed and expression still pinched. If one was paying close attention, one could notice the way Hashirama seemed to be listening to something else.
To someone else.
When no answer came, Madara surged forwards once again, steel clashing against steel.
Red sharingan eyes pinned Hashirama´s warm brown ones, but the Senju looked right through him.
Madara scoffed and forced him to take a jump back with a well-aimed kick for the head, hoping to knock some sense and awareness back into the idiot´s head.
“Snap out of it, you moron!” Just loud enough for Hashirama to hear, but not loud enough for anyone else. What was between him and Hashirama was no one else´s business but theirs, and as long as it was a conversation like this that did no harm to anyone around them – Izuna – Madara did not mind exchanging a few words.
Though if he were being honest, the exchange was rather one sided right now.
As if reading his thoughts, Hashirama´s eyes snapped up right to him, staring straight into his sharingan. Madara bristled but didn´t try to put him under a genjutsu – Hashirama´s chakra was much too vast and thick for even trying it. With a lot of effort, Madara might be able to produce a genjutsu long enough to throw him off, but it would take too much chakra, and during a fight like this, against a literal chakra monster, he had to be careful with his own reserves.
“It doesn´t make sense!”
The words were gritted out through his clenched jaw and Madara had to jump back as wild and jagged branches sprouted out from directly after him. The Uchiha hissed a curse as the mokuton grazed his side.
However the curses died out when he saw what was happening.
His eyes wide in surprise, Madara watched as the moktuon wilted. Folding in on itself and loosing it´s healthy strength.
What in the world-
That has never happened. In all the years Madara had known Hashirama, never had his moktuon ever wilted.
Something was wrong.
Hashirama seemed to agree, because his dazed gazed suddenly fixated on the wood slowly gaining in gray color, slowly draining of life, and he clenched his fist. The two of them momentarily stood still before Hashirama took a deep breath, bracing himself.
Madara thought he was about to hear his friend his enemy yell for the first time. Curse out his own abilities and his rotten – no pun intended – luck.
However Hashirama did none of that.
Instead he called for a retreat, eyes blazing in confusion, desperation and something else that Madara couldn´t quite make out.
“Retreat!”
It was the voice of a god.
The God of Shinobi.
Senju and Uchiha alike on the battlefield froze, but Senju were the first to snap out of their stupor. As shinobi, one did not disobey their clan head as he ordered them in such a tone, so the quick retreat from all Senju capable of doing so was sudden, but understandable.
Madara did not call out. Not when he knew that his words would not reach Hashirama. Not in this state.
Instead, he turned to look at Izuna, finally free from having to keep up with his opponent-
Only to freeze when he finds Senju Tobirama lying on the ground, eyes glazed over and Izuna´s sword stuck in his chest.
“Brother will kill brother, spilling blood across the land.”
Madara watched his little brother´s face morph into surprise – a flash of utter terror, because apparently something had happened – before quickly turning his head to Hashirama, watching his retreating back.
There lies Senju Tobirama bleeding over the ground of the battlefield, defeated by his mortal enemy, but Senju Hashirama was already leaving the battlefield with the clan in tow in too much of a daze to see, back turned on his last living brother.
Madara was at his brother´s side in an instant, not quite knowing what to do.