"I am... Uchiha Madara."
The declaration hung in the air, but it didn't get the shocked reaction Madara expected. He glanced around, frowning. This place... it wasn't familiar. The structure, the layout – none of it matched his memories. 'This must have been built long after I died,' he thought. 'Just how many years have passed?'
Madara looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists. No sensation. Just the dull reality of being an Edo Tensei puppet. 'Reanimation Jutsu,' he noted silently. He couldn't feel, but he could sense his power. It was a shadow of his prime, certainly, but still immense – more than enough for now.
"I am Suguru Geto," the man with the stitched forehead replied calmly. "And this place is Shibuya Station. As for how you got here," he tilted his head slightly, "perhaps you could enlighten us?"
"Hmm... Shibuya Station?" Madara confirmed Geto's words. "Definitely new. Nothing like this existed in my time." He paused. "As for how I arrived... I'd like to know that myself." 'These people seem weak,' he thought, his eyes scanning them. 'Gathering information should be easy enough.'
Madara crossed his arms, his cold gaze settling on the grotesque figures flanking Geto. "And what are these... creatures beside you?"
"Oh?" Geto raised an eyebrow, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "You can see them? Interesting. They are Cursed Spirits."
"Cursed Spirits?" The term was foreign to Madara. "Never heard of such things. They certainly aren't human." He narrowed his eyes. "And what do you mean, 'you can see them'? Are they normally invisible?"
"Geto, why are you wasting time talking to this relic?" the volcano-headed Cursed Spirit, Jogo, grumbled impatiently. "Just kill him so we can move on!"
"Patience, Jogo," Geto replied calmly, gesturing subtly towards the nearby Prison Realm. "Just killing time while it finishes its work. Consider this a way to ease the boredom."
But Jogo wasn't listening. With a roar, he shot forward, fist wreathed in fire, aiming to incinerate Madara on the spot. It was fast, but to Madara, it felt sluggish. He sidestepped the blow with contemptuous ease, not even bothering to look surprised.
"Wow, Jogo, having some trouble?" the patchwork Cursed Spirit, Mahito, piped up, grinning. "Can't even land a hit? Don't tell me you're playing with him!"
Ignoring the jibe, Jogo smirked as Madara dodged the initial punch. Simultaneously, several small, volcano-like vents appeared on the nearby walls, aimed directly at Madara. Before Madara could fully react to the secondary threat, they erupted, spewing intense fire that completely engulfed him, instantly vaporizing his upper torso.
Jogo scoffed, turning back towards Geto and his group, the kill seemingly secured. But then, a calm voice cut through the fading roar of the flames.
"Impressive. A delayed attack... I almost didn't notice it until the last moment. What was that technique?"
Jogo whipped around, eyes wide with disbelief. The man in the red armor stood amidst the dissipating fire, his upper body rapidly reforming as countless pieces of ash and paper-like material flew together, knitting him back into solid form.
Geto and the others watched, stunned by the impossible regeneration. As Madara's torso reformed, they all noticed something bizarre: a distinct, pale face embedded in the armor on his chest, its eyes closed.
"Whoa, what's that face on his chest?" Mahito asked, fascination mixing with confusion. "And how did he just regrow his body after being blasted like that?!"
Jogo demanded, his voice laced with shock, "How are you unharmed?! I destroyed you!"
Madara adjusted his armor, now fully restored. "How?" He sounded almost bored. "This is simply how this body functions. It's perfectly normal." A flicker of annoyance crossed his face. "Frankly, I'm more embarrassed that I allowed myself to be hit by such a clumsy attack."
Fully recovered, Madara's eyes snapped towards Jogo. In less than a blink, he crossed the distance between them, appearing directly before the volcano-headed spirit so fast Jogo didn't even have time to flinch. Looking down with cold disdain, Madara thrust his hand forward, impaling Jogo straight through the chest. He withdrew his hand just as quickly.
Jogo gasped, stumbling back hastily, shock evident on his face as he looked down at the hole in his torso. He stared down as smoke or energy hissed from the wound, rapidly sealing the hole. In mere seconds, his chest was completely healed, as if untouched.
Now it was Madara's turn to raise an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "Hoh? Your own healing is quite impressive," he remarked, the compliment sounding genuine despite his cold demeanor. "Recovering from a pierced chest that quickly... Not bad."
Madara didn't linger on the compliment. He moved towards Jogo again, preparing another strike. But years of honed senses screamed danger from behind. He paused mid-motion.
"Now, now, you shouldn't ignore the rest of us," Mahito's playful voice sounded far too close. A hand rested lightly on Madara's back. "We're getting bored just watching. Let's see what interesting shape I can turn you into..." Mahito began, forming the words, "Idle Transfigura—!"
But before Mahito could finish the name of his technique, Madara was gone, instantly leaping several meters away, escaping the touch.
"Wow, you're quick—!" Mahito started to say, impressed, but the word died in his throat. Faster than Mahito could track, Madara closed the distance again, his fist connecting with Mahito's face in a brutal punch. The patchwork curse flew backward, crashing hard into a concrete pillar. His face caved in from the force of the blow, teeth scattering like pebbles.
"Ugghh mffh sshhh!" Mahito garbled, trying to shout, but the words were unintelligible. His jaw and mouth were completely mangled from Madara's single punch.
With a sickening squelch and twist of flesh, Mahito reformed his face, smoothing it back to its usual, unnerving grin as if nothing had happened.
"You bastard!" Jogo roared, his single eye blazing with fury. "How are you perfectly fine?! I blasted half your body away!" He remembered his humiliating first encounter with Gojo Satoru, unable to land a single blow. Now this man, clearly hit dead-on, had regenerated instantly and countered with blinding speed, punching a hole clean through his chest before he could even react. The frustration boiled over.
"Hmm?" Madara tilted his head slightly, looking utterly unimpressed by Jogo's rage. "Why so angry? Just because one attack failed?" He let out a small scoff. "What am I fighting here... a child prone to tantrums?" He completely ignored Jogo's question, opting instead for a dismissive insult.