"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.
He paused, then added casually, "But, to answer your earlier question... you cannot kill me in this form. No matter what you do. Destroy half my body, vaporize me completely – it doesn't matter. I will simply reform." Madara wasn't one to usually explain himself, but these... things... barely registered as a threat. Annoyances, perhaps, but not threats. Sharing this much felt inconsequential.
"This form?" Geto spoke up, his analytical mind latching onto the word. He had been quietly observing, waiting for the Prison Realm to finish its work on Gojo. "Are you implying you have others? Or is this state something unique?"
"As I said," Madara replied, his eyes subtly scanning the station, taking in the layout and the people involved. "In this body, I am essentially immortal. I don't tire, I don't feel pain, and I cannot be destroyed... unless I allow it." He watched their faces. They didn't believe him, of course. Immortality sounded absurd.
"Enough about me," Madara shifted his focus. "Now, answer my question. Where is the Hidden Leaf Village?" Since reviving, he'd tried reaching out to Black Zetsu mentally, but there was nothing. Stranger still, these people... they had no chakra. Even the weakest civilian in his world possessed some chakra. This was wrong.
"Hidden Leaf Village?" Geto repeated the name slowly. "Never heard of it. No village by that name exists, as far as I know."
Madara's eyes narrowed slightly. 'He's not lying,' his Sharingan confirmed, detecting no tell-tale fluctuations in Geto's expression or pulse. 'But... impossible. Even a child from the smallest nation knows of Konoha, the strongest of the Five Great Villages.' He processed the implications rapidly. 'No chakra in these people... no knowledge of the Leaf... I can't contact Zetsu... Could it be? Am I... no longer in the Shinobi World?' The conclusion fit all the bizarre facts. It was a startling revelation, but reacting with shock wouldn't help him now. 'I need more information. This is too little to understand my situation fully.'
"Did my answer help you understand anything?" Geto asked, observing Madara's unnervingly calm reaction to the news that his home village was unknown.
"Somewhat," Madara admitted curtly. The confusion was real, even for someone familiar with space-time ninjutsu. "But moving on... what exactly are you people doing here? Why is there so much blood? And why are all these people just... standing frozen?" He gestured towards the unnervingly still crowd of civilians scattered throughout the station. He hadn't used any large-scale jutsu yet, partly out of caution in this unknown environment, but also because the frozen civilians intrigued him. They hadn't reacted to the fighting, the destruction, or the Cursed Spirits. Was this normal here?
"Ah, them," Geto glanced at the transfixed crowd. "I figured you wouldn't understand, given your ignorance of Cursed Spirits. Let's just say they were caught up in a... small part of my plan." He offered a vague smile. "As for why they're standing like that... well, that wasn't our doing, precisely." It wasn't the whole truth, but enough to deflect for now.
"I see," Madara said, piecing it together simply. "So, you're the villains in this scenario."
Just then, a man with tired eyes and distinctive markings under them stepped forward from beside Geto. He wore traditional Japanese clothing. "Enough talk, Geto," he said, his voice low and intense. "Let's finish this quickly. I still need to hunt down Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara... they killed my brothers." He thrust both hands forward towards Madara. "Piercing Blood!"
Thin, hyper-compressed streams of blood shot towards Madara at incredible speed. But to Madara's Sharingan, tracing their trajectory was effortless. He simply shifted his weight, letting the crimson spears zip harmlessly past him.
"Honestly," Madara said, settling back into a combat stance, a dangerous glint in his eyes, "you just read my mind." He was ready to fight again.
….
"Ember Insects!" Jogo shouted, unleashing his technique. A swarm of glowing insects instantly flew towards Madara at high speed.
Madara had just dodged Choso's Blood Piercing attack and turned to face his enemies, ready to counter. But before he could move, the screeching insects were right upon him. He made no move to dodge, not even thinking about it. Instead, his Sharingan eyes spun rapidly, the three tomoe blurring and merging into a new, intricate pattern – the Mangekyo Sharingan.
He stood firm as a crackling blue energy erupted around him, quickly forming the shape of a giant skeleton. This was his Susanoo. The insects slammed into the blue construct, their sharp stingers stopping dead against the spectral ribs. The sheer force of the insect swarm hitting the Susanoo shield caused the ground behind Madara to crack under the pressure.
Just then, Mahito rushed in from behind. He morphed his hand into a large, fleshy hammer and swung it hard, catching Madara's Susanoo in the back. The impact sent Madara flying, crashing hard into a nearby pillar.
Despite the force, Madara emerged from the dust unharmed, protected by his Susanoo which faded slightly. He landed lightly on his feet, then leaped forward, landing directly in front of Mahito. He looked down at the curse with his cold, crimson eyes.
"If you actually want to kill me, try putting some real power into those weak swings… like this." Madara shot a fist forward, striking Mahito squarely in the chest. The curse was blasted backward, smashing into a far wall. Mahito gasped for air, his chest completely caved in from the single, simple punch.
Madara then turned his attention to Jogo. "And you, volcano head. Are you just going to stand there trembling? Come on." He focused his chilling killing intent solely on Jogo. The curse froze, unable to move, paralyzed by the intense pressure.
'What… what is this feeling?' Jogo thought, sweat beading on his head. 'This killing intent… it's immense, far stronger than Gojo Satoru's! It's suffocating… Am I… scared? Of this human?'