The room was quiet now, except for the soft, wet sounds from the goon on the floor who couldn't move. The other goons were just still bodies, sprawled in messy piles. Blood was everywhere, a dark, sticky carpet.
Madara looked at his hands. They were red. The floor was red too. He lifted his gaze, staring blankly at the plain ceiling above.
As he stood there, lost in thought, a small tug pulled at his crimson armor. He looked down. It was one of the children, the little one with soft cat ears and a twitching tail.
The child's eyes were wide, reflecting the horror of the room. Yet, she had bravely stepped over the still forms and through the puddles of blood to reach him. Her tiny hand was still on his armor.
Madara met her gaze. His own eyes, usually so hard, held a flicker of something unreadable. The child, perhaps seeing a sadness that wasn't quite there, or maybe just needing to offer comfort, suddenly wrapped her small arms around his side as best she could.
"Don't worry, mister," she whispered, her voice a little shaky. "It will be okay. You don't have to be so sad."
Before Madara could react, the other children came running. They too, hugged him, their small bodies pressing against his legs. Madara realized then that he had been wrong.
They weren't scared of him, not anymore. They had simply been too frightened to speak before, too overwhelmed by everything that had happened.
"Thank you," one of the older children managed, tears starting to spill from their eyes and trace paths through the grime on their faces. "Thank you for saving us." Another child sniffled, "We're sorry... we're sorry that we aren't strong..."
Madara looked down at the small group clinging to him. "Strong?" he said, his voice low. "You don't have to be strong. Children shouldn't have to be strong." He paused, his gaze sweeping over their tear-streaked, hopeful faces.
"Children your age should be playing, out in the world, full of life. Children should not see someone die... yet you children, you saw your parents hurt, taken from you." He looked at them again, a strange light in his dark eyes. "Weak? You are stronger than many trained warriors I have fought."
Then, in his usual calm, stoic voice, Madara added, "Don't worry. What good is an adult if children have to fight to save their own lives? You aren't weak."
Madara gently shook his hand, flicking droplets of red onto the already stained floor. Then, in a gesture that surprised even himself, he reached out and softly ruffled the hair of the child with cat ears.
"Don't worry," he said, his voice a little softer than usual. "I will take care of this. You don't have to worry about something like this happening to you again."
One of the older children, a boy with wide, curious eyes, looked up at him. "H-how are you so strong?" the boy asked, his voice still a bit shaky. "You only look a few years older than us… did you train a lot to get this much stronger?"
Madara paused. Young? He wasn't young, not by any normal measure. But then the realization hit him again, as it had before.
This body he was in, it was younger, though his power felt as immense as it had in his prime.
A fleeting, painful thought crossed his mind: if he had been this strong when his brother Izuna was still alive, then perhaps… He quickly pushed the thought away. 'Let's not think about that for now.'
Turning, Madara called out, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet inn. He addressed the inn owner, who was likely listening from downstairs with a mix of fear and curiosity.
"We will need a different room," Madara stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And have this one cleaned thoroughly. I have some small business of my own to attend to, a bit of a cleanup."
He had initially planned to wait a few days, to learn more about this strange new world before dealing with the rotten core of this town.
But it seemed the town, or rather, its darkness, couldn't wait even that long. The attempt on the children had forced his hand.
After securing a new, clean room for them, Madara made a decision. He wouldn't leave the children alone again.
"You will come with me," he told them. It wasn't a request. He wouldn't risk another group trying to snatch them while he was away.
A short time later, Madara and the five children stood before a large, imposing building. It was the town's slave market.
Even from the outside, the air around it felt heavy and grim. Cages were lined up near the entrance, and inside them were not just demi-human children, but also creatures Madara recognized as monsters from this world.
They were all there, on display like goods in a shop, probably to attract buyers or to show off the merchant's wares.
Madara stepped through the wide doorway of the slave building. The air inside was stale and thick with despair.
Even for someone like Madara, who was usually cold, thought things through carefully, and often used others for his own plans, he found his gaze drawn to the small demi-human children.
They were locked in cages, their small forms chained, their eyes dull and empty.
Around them, buyers and sellers chatted loudly, their voices echoing in the large space. They haggled over prices, discussed the "quality" of the children, and gestured towards the cages as if the lives within meant nothing at all.
The five children who had followed Madara stood close behind him. Their faces were pale, and their small hands were clenched, but they tried their best not to show their fear. They were trying to be brave, just as he had told them they were.
Madara walked forward, his steps unhurried but firm, until he stood before one of the sellers. The man, dressed in slightly better clothes than the others, wore a wide, practiced smile, the kind that salespeople often used.
"Hello there, customer!" the seller said, his voice cheerful. "What can I do for you today? Are you looking to buy some fine slaves?" He then glanced quickly at the children standing behind Madara and added, with the same oily smile, "Or perhaps you're here to sell those pretty ones?"
Madara looked directly at the seller, his expression unreadable. "I want to meet the owner of this building," he said, his voice flat and direct. "The one in charge of this business here."
The salesman's smile didn't waver. He answered in a polite, professional tone, "I'm very sorry, sir, but the owner is quite busy at the moment and cannot be disturbed. However, if you could tell me what you need, I would be happy to help you in any way I can."
Madara tilted his head slightly. "So, you are speaking for him, or her, right now?"
The salesman seemed a little unsure how to respond to the young man's blunt statement and somewhat rude way of speaking.
But a customer was a customer, and business was business. He gave a small, confirming nod. "Yes, you could say that. I am representing the own—"
The very next moment, as the word "representing" left the salesman's lips, a massive, glowing blue hand appeared out of nowhere, right from Madara's own body. Before the salesman could even gasp, the blue skeleton hand shot out and grabbed him.
….
A/N: Been a while since i wrote a chapter for madara fic. So do share your thoughts.
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