Chapter Text
Madara was trying to remember the exact moment that dignity had become a foreign concept to him. Was it when Hashirama had finally beaten him and spared his life? Or was it when he had been forced to get down on his knees along with his father and younger brother and kneel to the Senju clan, begging for the survival of the rest of their clan?
Maybe it was when the entire clan had been taken to a “settlement” that was guarded by Senju shinobi at all times, in other words, a glorified prison, but none of the head family had been permitted to stay. Madara had a collar wrapped around his neck, the same as his father and brother, and had been taken away.
He was sitting in a building in the settlement with his family. They were on the floor with their hands tied in front of them, and their feet bound. Three guards were standing inside as well. He recognized that bastard Butsuma Senju when he walked through the door, accompanied by two strangers, more guards from the looks of it.
He gave the man his darkest look, and the Senju looked down at Madara with a sickening smile. “This is your eldest, isn’t it, Tajima?” Butsuma questioned lightly, as though speaking to an old friend, and not a beaten mortal enemy.
“Yes,” his father replied after a few seconds.
“He seems to be rather spirited still,” Butsuma observed. “Do you think it’s because of all of your brethren that we’ve slaughtered?” It was a mocking inquiry that set Madara’s blood on fire.
“Burn in hell!” Madara shouted. He tried to push himself up and gather chakra. It was as though his reservoir had gone completely dry, however. Nothing was coming out. He hissed in frustration right before he felt a searing pain in his side and felt himself flying across the small room, crashing on the ground with a low thud on the grimy wood floor. He grimaced in distaste as the side of his face rubbed against the grainy dirt. He didn’t make a sound from the pain, refusing to give the guard that kicked him any gratification for hurting him.
“I think that this one shall do nicely,” Butsuma sighed. Madara heard footsteps moving closer to him and struggled to at least sit up, but he was scrunched up in too much of an awkward position and he was too disoriented to raise himself up.
He felt a foot sit on the same spot that he’d been kicked before and press down harshly on it. Madara bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood in his stubborn effort to keep quiet. A moment later, the foot went away, and a heel went straight into his stomach, pushing him over until he laid supine. The air left his lungs in a whoosh as he looked up at Butsuma with wide eyes. He quickly changed it back to a snarl. He wanted to curse at him again, but there was no more air in his lungs to make it happen.
“Tell me, boy,” Butsuma said, “do you know what I like to do to my enemies after they’re defeated?”
Madara remained silent, refusing to so much as acknowledge the man’s existence. He would not stand for this disgrace to his family’s name.
“Tajima,” Butsuma said, “I’d tell your boy to be more cooperative if you want him to make it through this meeting.”
“Madara,” Tajima said sharply. “Cooperate!”
He turned and looked at his father, who had beaten obedience into them from the day that they were born. He knew better than to disobey him, but this was going a bit too far. He wanted him to cooperate with the enemy? His father was glaring at him, his eyes were angry slants, and Madara knew that look. He was furious. If this would have been a situation when they were younger, it would have meant a serious ass-whooping was imminent.
Swallowing back his pride, he slowly turned away from his father and looked back up at the head of the Senju clan. “No,” he muttered.
“Good boy,” Butsuma said, nodding his head in approval. “Next time, I’d better hear a sir. You will address me as your better, understood?”
Madara’s teeth ground together as he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Let me tell you what I like to do with my enemies, boy,” Butsuma said, “I like to break them down mentally. I want to completely crush them and annihilate their spirit. You’re Madara Uchiha; you’re very famous amongst both of our clans. You’re the most promising warrior that your clan has seen for many generations, and it just so happens that you’ve got a strong will about you. You’ll be what breaks your clan down.”
“What do you intend to do, Butsuma?” his father questioned.
Madara head a slapping noise and turned to see one of the guards backhand his dad across the face. He felt his own face contort with rage as he began moving. Izuna shouted in protest as he attempted to jump at the guard as well. Neither boy had been close to their father, who’d been cold and obsessed with the war against the Senju, but that didn’t matter. He was still their dad, and neither of them would stand for him to be disrespected.
Madara felt another blow to his other side, and saw his brother fly across the room and slam into the door of the building. He landed with a loud thump and didn’t move.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to, Tajima,” Butsuma advised him. “Since you asked that, however, I’ll enlighten you. I’m going to take your oldest son from you and turn him into a servant for one of my sons.”
Madara’s gut clenched at that admission. He felt bile rise in his throat in pure disgust. The thought of serving one of those bastards made him feel physically ill. He’d rather die.
He heard a groan, and realized that it was his brother being picked up from where he was blocking the door. He was unceremoniously thrown back to his original spot next to his father. The door opened a moment later and admitted a pretty woman dressed in armor. Madara recognized her from the battlefield, but couldn’t remember her name, though he thought that it started with a T.
“Is everything alright?” she questioned, looking around. “I heard a lot of banging from outside.”
“Just in time, Toka,” Butsuma told her. “Escort these pieces of trash back to their settlement. We’ll be taking this one,” he felt another harsh kick, “with us.”
Without another word, Madara felt the world sway beneath him before he was thrown into the air and landed on someone’s shoulder. He shut his eyes tightly in anger. Had he really thought that the blow to his pride could not be more acute?