The Farewell.

One morning, without warning, Madara told him to get up.

"Time to go back to the city."

Carlisle froze. "Why?"

"To see if what you've learned means anything."

He protested but followed.

They arrived at a small village on the city's edge, and Madara took him to the market square during the day while it was raining. The clouds blocked the sunlight, and everything was foggy.

The crowd was thick with people, and the smells were stronger than ever—

Sweat, smoke, meat, and blood.

A child ran past and brushed his sleeve as Carlisle inhaled sharply.

But he did nothing.

Madara stood beside him like a statue, unconcerned.

"You feel it?" he asked.

"Yes…" Carlisle whispered with hope.

"Then command it and make it obey. Do not fear it, but own it."

Carlisle shut his eyes. He felt the thirst rise—hot and sharp—but he didn't give it a chance.

He opened his eyes. The child was gone, and the world was the same.

And for the first time, so was he.

They got back to the tower, and Carlisle spoke with gratitude and many emotions.

"Thank you for your help, Obito…" he said, looking at Madara.

But Madara did not say his true name; he used Obito Uchiha—a new persona that fit into the category of Madara's descendant. He had grown quite engrossed in the acting over the long years.

Madara looked at him calmly. "You're welcome, I guess… Try not to die next time." He didn't refuse the appreciation from Carlisle.

Carlisle chuckled lightly for the first time.

"I heard you wanted a family? Good luck in the future, and Carlisle…"

"I am leaving soon," said Madara.

"But… Obito, you've been helping me this whole time—"

"I helped because I chose to," Madara said, turning his head slightly, his voice calm and even. "But now you don't need me."

Carlisle stood. "That's not true. I still have questions, and I'm not ready—"

"You're never ready," Madara said. "But you're better than I found you."

"I wouldn't have survived because of you, Obito."

"Wrong. You would have survived even without me," Madara responded. Carlisle did not reply and looked at the empty bowl of blood on the table.

"What if I lose control again?"

"Then remember what you learned, and if that fails… leave before you kill."

He stepped toward the door, picking up his travel pack from the corner.

"Will I see you again, Obito?" Carlisle said as Madara stepped outside.

Carlisle followed him into the clearing.

"Maybe… if your path crosses mine or if the world becomes too noisy and I come to quiet it again."

Carlisle frowned in amusement. "You talk like a ghost."

Madara smirked faintly with arrogance. "I've been called worse, but you can call me Obito Uchiha, as I said before."

With those words, he turned and walked toward the forest with steady steps, while Carlisle etched his appearance into his mind.

Short black hair that was trimmed. Black trench coat with a high collar. Black eyes like coal. The left side of his face scarred and twisted, with cracked skin texture—but that didn't diminish his handsome appearance; rather, it enhanced it.

The rain had ceased hours ago. The city streets still shimmered with sheen, and above it all, on a rooftop, stood Madara Uchiha. His black trench coat fluttered faintly in the cold wind.

His scarred appearance on the left side was half covered by the high collar of the trench coat.

He wasn't here as Madara. Though for centuries he had worn many masks as an Uchiha descendant of Madara, and played the Van Helsing vampire hunter, like many others of his personas, tonight he was "Obito Uchiha."

A name he borrowed to manipulate from the shadows without invoking the full weight of his true legend—for the amusement of it—awaiting their reaction at the sight of the "Dead" red-armored Yokai in the future.

Three hundred years ago, while he was using another persona—which was Uchiha Fugaku in his appearance from memories—as always, using transformation jutsu, in a forgotten village bathed in blood and ruin,

Madara had encountered a fledgling new vampire—but one who had already killed humans.

A pitiful creature, barely more than an ant in the night.

The vampire had rushed at him recklessly, wild with desperation, hunger, and untrained skill—a pathetic display unlike his experienced peers.

Madara did not even break a sweat.

Instead of ending the creature called Vampire, he spared him.

Amusement flickered in his onyx eyes. To Madara, the vampire was nothing more than an ant—insignificant, disposable—and he said, "Survive if you can… and one day… maybe you will be worth my time."

Now… the ant was unfortunately back.

Madara's gaze shifted to the shadows below, where the city murmured with restless talking and rumors.

Reports of brutal killings had surfaced months ago… vampires or vampire torn apart their victims and drained the bodies, but not completely. Bodies left as warnings?

Madara's gaze shifted to the shadows below, where the city was, and he jumped into a dark alley.

Homeless people glanced at them with raised eyebrows, their questions silent—"How?" He jumped from a high building and shook it off like nothing.

Nonetheless, that spoke of danger, and they minded their business when the red eyes that were spinning with three black dots intimidated them 100% as Madara walked.

In the deepest shadows of the city underground, in a cathedral forgotten by time, his appearance had changed drastically.

Gone was the weakling from centuries in the past. In his place stood a towering figure cloaked in cliché tattered black robes, his eyes glowing crimson as he whispered into the night while looking out the window, "Uchiha… that bloodline full of monsters will end by my hand… the new generation Van Helsing, Obito Uchiha will die… Uchiha Fugaku…"

When he said the Fugaku name, he clenched his fists so tightly that his hands would bleed if they could. He couldn't take revenge on him personally, specifically because he "died" of old age at seventy-six years old in a secluded village, but when he wanted to confirm his death by trying to search for his body, his funeral, he never found it.

Madara's approach was silent as the grave—no haphazard displays of power, only the calm reassurance of centuries of battle.

When the two finally met, it was under the ruins of a war-torn temple.

The vampire named Alaric said calmly but with suppressed rage, "Uchiha… the new blood and the famous family that hunted vampires for generations."

Madara's ears turned deaf at the cringe introduction, but it would be maybe amusing if he used a shadow clone and used transformation jutsu in the appearance of Uchiha Fugaku.

Alaric, of course, saw he was being ignored by Madara's body language and just eye-twitched. With no more words, the battle began.

Madara moved first. His hand shot out like machine-gun fingers slicing in the air, and with a snap of his fingers, a jet of flame erupted from his palm like a volcano.

Sharp and fierce, burning enough to melt stone. But the rival, when he saw the fire, just with fluid motion, Alaric extended his hands, palms upward, and the rain obeyed him, twisting and thickening until it became a solid wall of water.

That rose instantly to meet the fire.

Where the flames licked the water, steam hissed as moisture thick as fog blurred the battlefield.

Madara said, "Water, huh? That's quite an impressive and useful gift."

The fire dissipated in the water's embrace, leaving only steam as Madara stepped forward, closing the distance. His body moved fluid as water. The onyx eyes flickered into the Sharingan and tracked every movement of Alaric.

Madara's lightning-fast punch aimed at his ribs, but water surged beneath his feet, forming slippery slickness to throw off Madara's footing.

But Madara was, as always, ready and adaptable.

With a flick of his wrist, a burst of flame ignited beneath him, melting the water and giving him firm traction. His fist connected with Alaric's jaw in a sharp, controlled strike that echoed quite loudly.

Alaric snarled but retaliated immediately with a spinning kick, a classic combat move that he had seen millions of times, fueled by the water's thickness and density, crashing against Madara's ribs—but he already blocked it with both arms.

But it knocked him back a few meters as he landed smoothly with his hands beside his body.

Madara was, of course, toying with him. He was letting him attack and show what he had gained over the three centuries. If he wanted, he could end it now, but why would he? This was his first time seeing an elemental gift in this world.

Benjamin should be the next elemental with a gift like this, but he is not limited to water; he has fire, earth, air, and water—but in another 200 years or so.

While he thought about that, he dodged casually a vicious sweep of Alaric's arm. As Alaric saw it was dodged, he launched a hurricane of water toward Madara—the water fast and sharp as any blade. But Madara dodged with his body.

Rather, Madara's eyes were locked on the liquid dagger, and with burst speed, he vanished and reappeared behind Alaric in a flash.

His fist slammed into the vampire's back—a precise strike aimed at disrupting his concentration or control over the water.

Alaric gritted his teeth. The impact threw his balance off as he roared, summoning the rain around them into jagged spikes and transforming droplets into deadly projectiles that hammered Madara from all sides.

Madara raised an eyebrow for the first time, quite impressed, as this was a lethal move—small holes melting through the trench coat fabric, but no blood came from the fabric.

"You use rain well," Madara said, his voice low and calm, as he formed a final series of seals with blurred speed—Ram, Horse, Tiger, Monkey, Boar—and summoned a towering pillar of flame: Katon: Gōka Mekkyaku.

Alaric summoned a wave of rain and water, swelling it as the fire struck it head-on.

When the steam cleared, Madara stood calm.

Without hesitation, Madara closed the gap. His hands moved fast and in precise strikes enhanced by chakra.

As Madara was playing with him, letting him dodge, he landed a blow infused with Katon: Hiken—a burning blade of fire that sliced through Alaric.

He fell to the soaked ground on his knees—defeated but alive.

Madara said, looking at him, "Stand proud. You've grown quite strong."

When he heard that, it was excellent.

But the beautiful buildup moment was destroyed in an instant.with a karate hand chop, he sliced his head with chakra.