Chapter Text
SoulBound
A Matching Scars 'verse recursive fanfiction
In which Jashin is Sir Not-Appearing-in-This-Fic and no one is happy
(This sounds wooden and awkward as all Hell but eh we all start somewhere. If it inspires anyone else typing this out will be worth it.)
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When Madara was younger and had only just broken his friendship with Hashirama, he traveled with a group of several clansmen to restock an Uchiha base hidden a day's journey from the border of the Land of Hot Springs. It was an unusual mission for him, as he was being trained primarily as a front-line fighter, but Tajima had decided that his eldest (surviving) son needed to be reminded exactly which clan he belonged to. It was a child's mission and therefore all the more humiliating for him.
He learned a lesson there, though. One he's not sure he's grateful for now.
The body he and his distant Uncle had found was...gruesome. Three stripes tattooed on the face what remained of it was only the beginning (he can't bear to think of the rest now) of the clear torture that had occurred broken arms raised in the air like a mockery of worship. Madara had seen cruelty before, but only on a battlefield between warriors. Not staked in a clearing lips dyed black open mouthed horror for all to see. This thing...is was not right. It had felt like it wasn't really a part of reality, though his Sharingan confirmed that it was no genjutsu. And yet if he looked at it for too long, it felt as if something was staring back.
Madara shuddered. (Even now, the memory of wrongness brings a cold weight to his gut)
His Uncle Jiro was silent as he inspected both the corpse and the surrounding area. After what seemed like an eternity, the scarred man turned to Madara and motioned him to come closer. He obeyed. Reluctantly.
"This is something you're going to need to know about." Jiro had set his hand on Madara's shoulder, as if to ground the both of them.
"There's a group in Hot Springs..." He hesitated before continuing "There's a group in Hot Springs that has the ability to tell whether a person has a soulbond or not. They're not a clan, not really. No one's sure how they do it and trying to get close enough to find out..."
He trailed off again. The chill Madara felt had nothing to do with the clouds slowly obscuring the sun. His uncle shook himself minutely.
"They worship some sort of god. Jashin. They believe this 'god' gave people soulbonds. Something about the matching wounds and glorifying pain. When they find someone with a soulbond."
He'd gestured to the woman's face. red tattoos like open gashes tear tracks in the grime
"They start with the tattoos. Three lines. It has something to do with their holy symbol. They give it a day after that before they start in on their victim, supposedly to let the soulmate know they're about to be sacrificed. So they can be 'honored'." The word is sneered.
Madara had interrupted him, glad to pay attention to anything else but the travesty before them "If we know about them, about what they do, why haven't we stopped them?! That...What they're doing...They should all die!"
Jiro blinked as in the idea was incomprehensible before he looked back to the body. The body that was suddenly much closer to them. When had they gotten so close to it? He still can't recall, all these years later. Even with the Sharingan active, he doesn't know. Uncle Jiro grabbed him around the waist and leapt away as if he expected the dead woman to reach out to them. Once more at a safer distance, he is set down. Jiro turned abruptly from the clearing, back toward the hidden base. Madara had to scramble to keep up with his pace, quietly grateful of the distance they were putting between them and...that.
"Our Clan has been hired to wipe them out before. It never sticks. There's always some new group that pops up after a decade or so. It's always a well-paid mission, too. Usually after some Noble's favorite wife or kid winds up screaming themselves to death. Otherwise, it's not our problem, just a danger to be aware of."
Madara had felt ill, but had kept quiet. He was still being monitored after what had happened with the Senju. Just before they rejoined the rest of their group (before they dismantle the base due to the potential risk), Jiro had stopped him again and made him meet his uncle's slowly spinning Sharingan.
"Madara. If ever you know someone who's soulbond is being tattooed like that...if you have any shred of fondness for them you will slice their throat immediately. It would be kinder, than to let them suffer what would come next."
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"Slice their throat immediately."
Jiro has been dead for years, but his words resonate in Madara's head as he mentally plans the quickest route to the border of the Land of Hot Springs. Two days ago Mikako's so small too small wrists and legs had become red and chafed and she complained of a gnawing hunger no matter how much she ate. Bruises appeared with frightening regularity. The cold terror of knowing that her soulmate weak, unworthy, bastard was likely held captive was nothing compared to the utter horror Madara had felt when the first red line had slowly appeared on her chin. Not a real tattoo, just pain and swelling from the needles, but what it meant-
They had a day to make it to the border and find the cult's current base. It was a two day journey, but they'd been preparing for a rescue mission since Mikako had first reported her new injuries.
He and Izuna practically fly out of the Uchiha Compound, their hand-picked squad not far behind them.
They'd make it in time.
They had to.
