Cursing the Asura

Madara's left eye streamed with blood, and the shriveled skin on his face twitched in the shadows.

Inside the cave, viscous gurgling echoed as wooden conduits transported vitality.

"Decades have passed since the battle at the Valley of the End. The names on Hidden Leaf's memorial monument have changed batch after batch."

Qian Ye stood with both hands in his pockets, casually watching the man before him.

"The village records portray you as a madman who betrayed the village, but anyone who understands the Ninja World knows an old fossil like you wouldn't rot away in the mud so easily."

Black Zetsu, sprawled on the ground, shuddered. His shrill voice rang out beneath the statue.

"Lord Madara, this brat absolutely cannot be allowed to live! He knows far too much!"

Qian Ye did not even spare Black Zetsu a glance.

"Shut up. You're just a pile of stinking mud too afraid to see the sun. This isn't your place to interrupt."

Madara did not flare up. His scarlet Three-Tomoe Sharingan fixed on Qian Ye's face.

"Not only do you know I'm still alive, you can even tear apart my genjutsu with your bare hands."

"I have fought all my life and seen countless gifted ninjas, yet I have never heard of anyone like you emerging from Hidden Leaf."

Madara spoke slowly, his voice rasping like sandpaper.

"I know Tobirama's underhanded sensory ninjutsu inside and out. You have no Uchiha blood, nor are you a descendant of the Senju clan."

"You can resist the mental erosion of the Mangekyo with sheer physical strength alone. What kind of monster are you, and where did you come from?"

Qian Ye raised his foot and kicked away a piece of rubble blocking his path. The crisp impact echoed through the cave.

"You guessed right.