The force of the impact was enough that a two kilometer crater was formed when Madara’s body collided with the ground. The turn of the battle had shifted sides, and it felt as if he was now facing off against something much larger than the Shinobi Alliance. Resilient though he was, he could still sustain damage, and as blow after blow came, they began to take a toll on his body.
He was a shinobi, bred and born at the time the world was bathed in blood. There had been superficial peace over the years, but it had never managed to last. Always, always man had sought out reasons to fight, to kill and maim, mutilate and torture. That had never changed. Before chakra man had fought, after ninshuu man had fought, after truce man had still fought.
Madara had fought, had climbed over the corpses of his friends, his family, even his beloved brother, in an effort to claw his way to peace. The lull in battle that had been created by the founding of Konohagakure was one that he had struggled