Madara Uchiha in Twilight?

As expected, they did not attack Madara—for obvious reasons.

They didn't follow him, either.

They had licked their wounds, bled into the snow, and vanished into the forest.

Madara, meanwhile, moved through the morning light, seemingly enjoying his brief stay in Romania.

When he prepared to leave, it was at night—under a full moon.

Inconvenient, perhaps.

But for Madara?

No problem.

The reason he hadn't departed during the day was simple, something had caught his interest.

He'd followed the signs for hours—clawed trees, tracks broken by uneven footsteps in the snow.

Eventually, he found her not far from a frozen stream, curled beside a ruined elk carcass.

The blood was still steaming in the cold air, elk ribs cracked apart with a strength far beyond human.

And she—or it—was crouched low in the snow, half-covered in ragged fur, breathing in a wheezing, broken rhythm.

A failed transformation.

Not fully beast.

Not fully human.

Fused and trapped.

Her spine was twisted. Legs bent at mismatched angles.Her arms had lengthened like a wolf's forelegs, but the fingers retained a human structure—now gnarled and tipped with thick black claws. One arm was mangled, the elbow dislocated and the bones cracked.

Patches of her face were furred, but around the mouth the skin had peeled away—old burns or self-inflicted wounds. Her left eye was missing, replaced with a hollow, crusted-over scar.

Madara said nothing.

The creature turned its head slowly toward him, sniffing the air—blood, and the ugly breath leaking from her mouth. Then she tried to rise.

A low, wet growl rumbled from her throat—a warning.

"Stop," Madara said casually, his tone neutral, analyzing her like an unfamiliar specimen. A failure.

She didn't listen.

With a raw, animal scream, she lunged.

The attempt was weak, obviously.

Her muscles betrayed her; one leg gave out entirely. She staggered forward, unbalanced. The claws came too wide.

Madara stepped inside the blow with a shift of his shoulder and drove his knee upward into her ribs.

She crumpled.

Snow burst beneath her fall.

She choked, rolled, then growled again—lunging on all fours.

Faster this time, but still uncoordinated.

Her broken arm flailed uselessly, while the other swung down like an axe.

Madara caught it easily.

This time, he didn't counter. He just stared at her.

Her single, wide eye met his—bloodshot and terrified.

"You were supposed to be stronger," Madara said coldly. "But this...? Pathetic."

She snarled again, but it was shallow now. Exhaustion bled through the rage.

He released her arm, and she stumbled back into the snow, her knees buckling under her own weight.

"Your pack?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

"Dead?" he guessed. "Or did they exile you? I assume the latter."

Still silence.

He stepped forward, slow and calm, like one would approach an injured animal.

"You are not like the others. The full-blooded ones were disciplined—dangerous, yes. But you..."He gestured to her malformed limbs.

"A failure."

The creature's breathing quickened. Her claws sank into the snow, as if trying to hold herself together.

She knew.. if she attacked again, she would die. She could feel it.The only thing stopping him from killing her was interest.

Her face twitched.

"I was... born like this," she whispered.

Madara tilted his head slightly.

"Born?"

"My mother was turned. While pregnant. They didn't know. The others said I should've been stillborn."

She let out a hoarse laugh. It ended in a coughing fit.

"But here I am."

Madara studied her again—not just her body, but the way she tried to hide the pain. The way she trembled when the cold hit her open wounds.

Her condition wasn't from battle alone. She had been suffering for years.

But so what?

Still, he asked

"What's your name?"

She blinked, confused.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't," he said truthfully. "But you're the only one of your kind left within fifty miles. It would be a shame to call you 'it'—if you live through the night."

She hesitated, then muttered:

"Nara."

Madara crouched in front of her, his eyes unreadable.

"Well, Nara... You're dying."

She nodded.

"I know."

"Do you want to?"

A long pause.

Her eye dropped. Her claws curled against her chest.

"No," she whispered. "But I don't want to live like this either."

Madara rose.

He glanced at the ruined elk—some distant echo of nostalgia—then back at her.

"I could kill you now. Quick and clean. Would that be mercy?"

"Do what you want," she rasped.

"No. I'm asking."

She looked up, and for the first time, something new was in her gaze.

Not fear.Not anger.

Resolve.

"I want to stand again," she said. "And I want to learn how to move without pain."

"You want revenge?"

"No," she said—surprised by her own answer. "Just control."

The moment Madara heard that word—control—he decided.

"Then get up."

"What?"

"Get up and follow me," he said. "If you can."

Nara stared at his back.

The snow was already filling in his footsteps.

She tried.

It took her three attempts to get her broken body upright. Every step hurt—but she moved.

Madara didn't look back.

Later

A fire crackled low beneath the crowns of the trees.

Madara sat beside it, sharpening a blade—not because he needed to, but because it gave his hands something to do while he listened to Nara breathing beside him.

She lay wrapped in an old cloak. Her body was still half-shifted. Half-burned. Half-broken.

But alive.

He had dressed her wounds with precision—not compassion. But he saw potential in broken things.

Not because he wished to heal them.

But because sometimes...

Cracks let power out in unexpected ways.

The fire had begun to die. Coals glowed faintly beneath collapsing wood, hissing in the cold.

Madara sat cross-legged on a woven mat of bark.

Across from him, Nara lay curled and trembling. Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps. Steam rose from her mouth. Her body twitched uncontrollably—a mix of pain, exhaustion, and cold.

The broken joints of her malformed transformation were swollen.Blood had dried at her mouth and temple. Her left arm hung unnaturally at the shoulder.

She didn't complain.She didn't have the energy to.

"You're going into shock," Madara said calmly.

"I can stop it."

He rose and crouched beside her, extending one hand over her chest.

"You may not survive this," he said neutrally. "But I think it's better than staying in this form."

She didn't understand what he meant at first—

Then his hand began to glow.

Yes, it was the Mystical Palm Technique.

Madara was no medical-nin like Tsunade or Sakura, but with his vast chakra control—and the Sharingan—he could learn or replicate almost anything.

Especially if he had lived for over a hundred years.

Not that he needed it.

But better to have it… than be sorry.

A soft green light, pale and unnatural, pulsed at his palm.

It required delicate chakra control and fine anatomical awareness—skills most Uchiha never cared to master.

But boredom could do wonders.

The muscles beneath her skin twitched, then relaxed. Bone slowly began to reset, fractures knitting beneath the flesh.

It took several minutes of uninterrupted concentration.

When her shoulder was stable, he moved to the ribs—two broken, one puncturing the lung slightly.

Madara frowned. That would take longer.

He pressed his hand gently to her side. The light deepened. He slowed his breathing and began pushing chakra in precise pulses. He could feel the bones responding. With each wave, he shaped and fused them back into place.

She whimpered, low and instinctual.

He didn't pause.

"Stay still."

She did.

Whether from trust—or surrender—he didn't know.

He worked in silence.

The wounds were many. Some internal. Some old. Some malformed.

He couldn't fix the twisted nature of her hybrid body—not completely. Her muscles were misaligned. Her nerves mapped neither like human nor wolf.

But he could lessen the suffering.

He could restore function.

And function mattered.

After nearly an hour, he finally spoke again.

"Your body is unstable. As expected."

His voice was quieter now. Not tired—just distant.

"Your transformation isn't held by will. It's tied to something deeper. Instinct. Or fear."

Nara shifted slightly. Her breathing was steadier now. Her body no longer shook with pain.

"Can you... fix that?"

He was silent for several seconds.

Then:

"No. But I can teach you to endure it."

She opened her eye and looked at him. Really looked.

The pain was still there. But behind it now... was focus.

"Why do this?" she asked.

He sat back, ending the jutsu. The green glow faded.

Snow had begun to gather outside the shelter.

"Because you are rare. Your kind is nearly extinct—slaughtered by vampires. And yet here you are.Not beast. Not prey. Something in-between."

"That makes me broken."

"No. That makes you unknown," he said. "And the unknown is always... interesting."

She turned her gaze back to the fire, digesting his words.

Madara burned the blood-soaked bandages.

"You'll heal over the next two nights," he said. "Don't transform. Don't fight. Walk. Stretch. Learn your limits again."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you'll break again," he said flatly. No threat—just fact.

Then he added, folding his arms and settling against the tree:

"Sleep."

"I don't think I can."

"Then don't."

She watched as his eyes slowly closed.

She repeated the action.