Or rather, not many, but ones that counted, ones that mattered. Tobirama wasn't the same person he was when Izuna was alive, not if he was bending the very walls of nature to his own whims, and his brother was apparently different as well. Though, if there was a truce and a village, could that change be for the better?
But judging from the way Tobirama spoke, he didn't think so. And he knew Madara better than anyone else; he would have taken Izuna's final words, his dying request at not trusting the Senju, at revenge to the fullest extent he could. Maybe he was as twisted as Izuna was now. Maybe they were a family in all ways.
No. Madara wouldn't take it - this - well. He knew that already. He would yell about puppets, about making a mockery of Izuna, of trying to trap him or manipulate him or a whole host of things that could go on forever. It was part of the reason he never told his sibling of their illicit affair, knowing that Madara wouldn't understand, and the shame it would bring down on the family, on himself. This? This would be worse.
Looking across at those red eyes, he snorted, laughing under his breath. "You don't understand, Tobirama: once Madara sees me, there will be a battle. Can you say he would see this as anything other than abomination? As an insult? He would try to kill me himself to keep me away from the man who killed me and made me into his puppet."
There was a moment of silence, before he muttered and looked away. "If I had brought back your brother after killing him, wouldn't you rather kill us both than let him stay with me, his murderer? Would you think I had any good intentions at all?"
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Or rather, not many, but ones that counted, ones that mattered. Tobirama wasn't the same person he was when Izuna was alive, not if he was bending the very walls of nature to his own whims, and his brother was apparently different as well. Though, if there was a truce and a village, could that change be for the better?
But judging from the way Tobirama spoke, he didn't think so. And he knew Madara better than anyone else; he would have taken Izuna's final words, his dying request at not trusting the Senju, at revenge to the fullest extent he could. Maybe he was as twisted as Izuna was now. Maybe they were a family in all ways.
No. Madara wouldn't take it - this - well. He knew that already. He would yell about puppets, about making a mockery of Izuna, of trying to trap him or manipulate him or a whole host of things that could go on forever. It was part of the reason he never told his sibling of their illicit affair, knowing that Madara wouldn't understand, and the shame it would bring down on the family, on himself. This? This would be worse.
Looking across at those red eyes, he snorted, laughing under his breath. "You don't understand, Tobirama: once Madara sees me, there will be a battle. Can you say he would see this as anything other than abomination? As an insult? He would try to kill me himself to keep me away from the man who killed me and made me into his puppet."
There was a moment of silence, before he muttered and looked away. "If I had brought back your brother after killing him, wouldn't you rather kill us both than let him stay with me, his murderer? Would you think I had any good intentions at all?"