After gaining insight into Hueco Mundo's nature through absorbed Hollow memories, Uchiha Madara found himself increasingly fascinated by this brutal and desolate world.
If strength could evolve through devouring others, then what heights could this evolution reach? What form of power awaited him at its apex? Could it rival—or even surpass—the power of the Sage of Six Paths? Could the energy of a Vasto Lorde Hollow be stronger than Six Paths Chakra?
Haunted by these tantalizing questions, Madara wasted no time. He began his campaign of relentless Hollow hunting. In this unfamiliar realm where chakra no longer existed and the only rule was survival, the sole path forward was to become stronger—no matter the cost.
The desert of Hueco Mundo stretched endlessly under an eternal crescent moon. Madara walked alone, his bone-clad form a ghostly silhouette against the pale sands.
From the absorbed memories of his first prey, Madara knew he was in the outermost fringe of Hueco Mundo—a region where lower-class Hollows wandered. Though their numbers were vast, they lacked individual strength and intelligence. Still, they were adequate stepping stones on the path of devouring evolution.
These weak, disorganized Hollows became his targets.
Madara's footsteps were steady, his vision sharp. Gone was the confusion of his rebirth. His eyes now gleamed with absolute confidence. There was no hesitation in his movements—only cold, calculated purpose.
He recalled the old days: facing Senju Hashirama, manipulating the Uchiha Clan, summoning the Nine Tails. If even Hashirama Senju, the "God of Shinobi," had been unable to stop him… how could mere mindless beasts compare?
Suddenly, Madara halted mid-stride. Despite having only the basic spiritual perception of a newborn Hollow, he sensed the presence of three spiritual signatures nearby—stronger than the last one he had devoured.
His lips curled into a half-smile, and a flicker of murderous intent passed through his single tomoe Sharingan.
"Three Hollows?" he muttered, amused. "With my current strength, they might prove a challenge. But that's exactly why this world is more entertaining than the ninja world…"
He advanced without hesitation, an oppressive aura radiating from his skeletal form. There was a nobility to his posture, but also arrogance—an aura of someone who had once stood above nations.
As Madara moved quickly through the sand, now more accustomed to the lighter, Hollow-like structure of his body, he reached a rise in the terrain. From atop the slope, he finally laid eyes on his opponents.
Three large Hollows, grotesque and twisted. Each had a distinctive Hollow mask, their forms warped by instinct and hunger. But what unified them was the unrelenting greed burning in their eyes. They, too, saw Madara as prey.
Their roars echoed into the dark sky, primitive and bloodthirsty.
Madara looked down on them, unbothered, and sneered.
"You three think you can dance with me? Mindless beasts…"
He closed his eye for a brief moment, and when it reopened, the One Tomoe Sharingan spun into focus.
Flash.
He launched forward, vanishing from the hilltop in a blur of white and black.
The three Hollows snarled, reacting to his presence by lunging upward with gnashing jaws and clawed limbs, driven by the overwhelming urge to consume. But their movements, erratic and wild, were like slow motion to Madara's evolved perception.
He twisted between two outstretched arms and landed a devastating counterattack—his sharpened claws slashing across the shoulder of the closest Hollow.
Rip!
Flesh tore open. Blood sprayed in arcs across the sand. The Hollow shrieked in pain, but Madara was relentless. He pressed forward, lunging low and ramming both hands through its torso.
"Only the weak band together," he scoffed. "Without strength to back it up, numbers mean nothing."
Crack.
With brutal force, Madara tore the creature's body apart from its Hollow hole outward, rending it in two. The severed pieces fell to the sand, blood sizzling as it soaked into the ground beneath the ever-watchful moon.
The next Hollow came charging. But Madara, his senses sharpened by the Sharingan and the devoured reiryoku, danced around its wild attacks with terrifying ease.
Another step, another twist—he moved behind the second Hollow in a heartbeat and repeated the same devastating technique.
Tear.
The Hollow's mask cracked as his claws ripped through its skull. A gurgled howl escaped its throat before it collapsed, disintegrating into spiritual particles.
The third Hollow—perhaps sensing the death of its kin—hesitated. Its primal instinct urged it to flee, but Madara gave it no chance.
He moved like lightning, blurring forward in a flash. With one clean strike, both claws pierced through its back and out its chest.
"Too slow."
The creature gasped and went limp.
With the battle concluded, Madara stood in the moonlight, soaked in blood and surrounded by silence. His chest heaved—not from exhaustion, but from the rush of battle. This raw, instinctive fighting was intoxicating.
Kill. Devour. Evolve.
He bent over the first corpse and sank his teeth into it. Then the second. Then the third.
"I wonder what sort of strength three Hollows will grant me…"
As he devoured, he felt it: his spiritual pressure thickened like storm clouds gathering overhead. Reiryoku surged within him, the energy of his fallen prey fusing with his own. But this time, there was more.
Madara's eyes widened as he felt something new awakening inside him—something familiar.
Katon.
Fire Style.
An ember flickered in his mind, and instinctively, he raised his hand. He shaped the reiryoku as he once molded chakra, his memory guiding the motion.
A spiral of burning energy formed in his palm and burst forth—a flame made not of chakra, but of pure spiritual energy. It scorched the sand before him, flickering unnaturally under the pale moonlight.
Madara smirked.
"So… even ninjutsu can be reborn here. Translated into the language of this world…"
His Sharingan glowed with dangerous light.
"Very well, Hueco Mundo. Let's see how far I can take this power."