In the vast twilight of Hueco Mundo, yellow sand stretched endlessly in every direction. Amid the dunes and shadowed hills of this desolate realm, one particular hill stood out—only because atop it sat a solitary figure.
Uchiha Madara.
He rested quietly, motionless, his bone-clad form bathed under the cold, merciless gaze of the eternal moon. His crimson eye, marked by a single tomoe, reflected the void above. There was a strange serenity in his gaze—a quiet storm masked beneath the surface.
And yet, bad news came one after another.
Madara had come to realize that his rebirth had changed more than his surroundings. His physical form was no longer that of a human. It had been completely reshaped. His skin—gone. His flesh—replaced by bone and spirit matter. The chakra system, once a source of endless power, had vanished entirely. In its place was a foreign yet potent energy—reiryoku.
This was the spiritual energy native to the world of Hollows. Composed of reishi, it was the lifeblood of all entities that called Hueco Mundo home. Yet Madara, with only a One Tomoe Sharingan, could not yet perceive the reishi particles in detail—only faint pulses of motion, like heat mirages in the desert.
Worse still was the gaping void in his chest. A black hole, perfectly formed—his heart, gone.
A Hollow hole.
He stared down at the emptiness where his heart once beat and let out a dry chuckle.
"Ironic… Not only has my appearance changed… even my heart is gone. So… am I still human?"
His voice was calm, but it carried a biting sense of self-mockery. The heart was not just an organ—it was the seat of emotion, the root of sorrow, joy, and longing. Without it, what remained of a soul?
Emptiness. Instinct. Hunger.
Madara didn't want to accept it, but he had no choice. He was no longer Uchiha Madara, the god of the shinobi world. Now, he was a Hollow—one of the lowest forms of life in Hueco Mundo.
But there was a flicker of solace: he retained his mind. His soul, though changed, still carried the memories of his previous life—his knowledge, his ninjutsu, his Sharingan, his battle experience. He hadn't become a mindless beast.
That was enough—for now.
He exhaled slowly, suppressing the cascade of conflicting thoughts, and turned his gaze to something behind him. A corpse lay sprawled out at the base of the hill—a grotesque creature with a gnarled, mask-covered face and a wide, empty hole in its chest.
A Hollow.
It was the first entity Madara encountered since awakening in this forsaken realm. The battle had been swift. When the beast saw him, it let out a soul-piercing screech and charged without hesitation. Its claws gleamed under the moonlight like daggers.
But for someone like Madara—reborn in a humanoid form eerily similar to his Susanoo's skeletal structure, more agile than most newborn Hollows—it posed no real threat. And with his One Tomoe Sharingan, he could clearly predict its erratic movements.
He struck swiftly, efficiently. The creature collapsed before it could even understand who it had challenged.
Now, as he looked upon its lifeless form, Madara felt something stir deep within him. It wasn't anger, or pride. It was… hunger. A gnawing urge. An instinct that clawed at his spine.
Devour it.
His brows furrowed.
"Why do I feel this… this urge? Could it be…"
Then it clicked. His eye sharpened.
"Devouring… leads to evolution," he muttered. "Perhaps… if I consume this Hollow, I'll grow stronger?"
Madara never ignored instinct. He moved without hesitation, stepped toward the corpse, and tore into it with bone-white jaws.
There was no revulsion. No hesitation. Only satisfaction.
The sensation was surreal—warmth, energy, knowledge flooding into him like a rushing tide. As if his very essence was absorbing more than just flesh. It felt natural, like a part of his very being demanded it.
And when it was over, the body was gone.
Erased.
Absorbed.
Madara stood still, feeling the change within. His spiritual energy had grown denser. He could feel the shift in his reiryoku—its flow was smoother, more potent. Even the Sharingan in his eye pulsed with greater clarity, as if feeding off the influx of power.
More astonishingly, fragments of memory not his own flashed before his eyes—brief, jumbled images of life as a Hollow, battles fought, others devoured, screams heard in the dark.
A strange realization dawned.
"…These memories… they're not mine. I inherited them from the Hollow I consumed?"
It was a gift, though unintentional. Unknown to Madara, this was an ability similar to that of the Ninth Espada, Aaroniero Arruruerie, who could absorb the abilities and memories of others through devouring.
Through this fragmentary knowledge, Madara began to understand Hueco Mundo—this cruel, barren realm where only the strong survived. No villages. No streets. No peace. Just endless white dunes under a black sky, ruled by instinct, power, and hunger.
It was the law of Hollows. The law of the jungle.
Fight. Evolve. Devour. Repeat.
Madara stood up and looked out over the vast expanse of white sand and broken rock. A smirk slowly curled across his masked face.
"Compared to the ninja world that could barely contain me… this world seems far more entertaining."
At that moment, something invisible stirred around him. Not chakra, not reiryoku—something deeper. A latent pressure, a cold sense of purpose. A spiritual aura not unlike the spiritual pressure—reiatsu— released by powerful beings in Hueco Mundo.
He stood there, calm and poised, as if he had never fallen.
As if he had never died.
In that moment, Uchiha Madara radiated an unshakable confidence—as if the man who once brought the ninja world to its knees had simply changed battlegrounds.
Hueco Mundo had gained a new predator.