Ancient Vampire.

Egyptian Desert – 1680

The desert was obviously full of sand and the color of gold.

The ruins, half swallowed by sand, stretched across the location, and temples were erased by time.

The wind whispered and carried secrets older than language.

Amun stood in the shadows of a temple, worn but smooth by centuries of sun, as its stone had no name now—only the memories of worship.

His red eyes scanned around his place, and beside him was Kebi, his mute mate, as her hand tightened around his wrist—

a warning that was silent but immediate.

Something was coming.

Something dangerous.

Then torches lining the ruined altar flickered.

Not from wind.

From him.

A figure emerged from the darkness. His body was cloaked in black, and his coat was long and slightly ragged from travel, as his high collar obscured half of his face with scars on the left side.

As he walked, his footsteps made no sound on the stone.

Amun's instincts screamed with danger.

It was not a vampire nor a shapeshifter, but how did that stranger's eyes go from black at first to crimson, spinning with three dots?

But Amun's breath froze through his long life as he saw the crest on his back. Normally, he wouldn't be so scared, as it's just a symbol and anyone could wear it, but the red eyes...

They were like proof of identity.

The Sharingan.

The Memory – Nile River, 910 AD

He had seen the symbol on the corpse of a vampire. On his back, it was carved as a warning.

And later found cloth that was tattered and abandoned among the relic trade in Alexandria, sold by a merchant that did know its worth as the fabric was high quality and could be used as clothes.

It had nothing particularly impressive except the high-quality fabric, but what had his attention was the stitched, half-preserved mark that Amun had seen before on a human he passed by.

He had bought the cloth and searched for information.

He doesn't remember that human's appearance clearly, as he thought it was just a human passing by, but he saw the symbol as he looked back at the human's back for a second and left.

A red and white fan.

And only when he met Quileute shapeshifters, he got information. An elder of that clan.

He said that a century ago, they got help from a human in red armor and long black hair, and his eyes could be red and black anytime.

And when they asked what he wanted in return, the man said words they remembered clearly: "I don't need debts. I do as I please."

And then two pieces of intel they shared were... Uchiha and his nickname... The Red Armored Yokai.

And over the next centuries, he heard about the Uchiha again.

They were vampire hunters, and vampires named them Van Helsings.

They hunted any threats, which were mostly vampires, but always one had appeared every generation—and one day, they disappeared, which was a century ago.

And now you say... it's back?

Back to Present

The stranger looked at them as Amun had a dilemma but snapped out of it real quick.

His body shifted stance—loose but prepared—his years of experience and command,

surviving wars and coups, burned into his body.

Kebi didn't move, but her grip on his wrist turned from warning to support.

The man took another step forward, quiet as always.

"Hello there," Madara said, or in Obito persona said, voice calm and cold.

Amun's eyes narrowed.

"I thought your clan was extinct, or that it was in retirement—but I assume the latter."

Madara answered, "And here I am."

Kebi wanted to help him, but he stopped her as his patience snapped, and the ground beneath him cracked as he moved forward in a blur, and their fight began.

Stone exploded as Amun struck first, faster than any human eye could follow, but the stranger vanished from his spot like smoke.

Behind him.

Too late.

A strike to Amun's side—precise and sharp, not brute force but technique older than any school of war.

Amun spun, his palm forward, trying to catch him in a burst of raw force, but Madara leapt back in the air,

flipping once before landing and going silent again. But then, a flick of his hand.

A hand sign.

Fire, but not a natural one.

A wall of flame burst between them—shaped, spinning, and alive.

The stones glowed red under the heat as Kebi retreated slightly from it.

Amun growled, "Your attacks speak of combat experience that I never met before, and yet your appearance looks that of late 20s."

Madara said neutrally, "What can I say? I'm Uchiha."

The fire raged between them, and Amun stepped through it as his cloak caught ember and smoke. His skin burned but after seconds healed slowly—this fire was more powerful than the original.

He knows, as he had walked through fire before.

"Then come, Uchiha," Amun hissed, his fangs now bared. "Let's see what makes your bloodline so feared."

Madara didn't respond but did another hand sign.

The flame vanished instantly, sucked into the air like it had never existed.

And then he was gone again.

No sound.

No breath.

Amun looked around but this time caught a glimpse—just a flash—of the eyes,

those cursed spinning red eyes, and ducked low.

Madara's kick flew over his head, as Madara lightly smirked at the sight when he saw Amun dodged—barely.

Amun lunged forward with vampiric speed, grabbing Madara's coat mid-air and slamming him into a broken pillar.

Stone shattered, but when the dust cleared, the expected body of Madara wasn't there.

Only his coat.

Amun blinked.

Illusion.

Too late, unfortunately for him.

A hand was on his shoulder, and then the world twisted.

For a split second, Amun wasn't in the desert anymore—he was standing in a battlefield full of ash and under a sky surrounded by corpses.

Mountains of them.

Humans, vampires, shapeshifters.

And one sitting alone at the center of it all.

Him.

Madara.

Amun roared and broke the genjutsu with sheer will—a sight Madara saw for the first time through his vampire hunting—but that didn't change anything. After all, if Madara wanted, he could kill him in the real world when even a few seconds define death.

But when Amun returned, he said, "Why are you here?"

Madara took a slow step forward. "I came for you."

Amun replied, "Why?"

Madara was looking at him while looking at his two coven members, tense, and then looked back at Amun.

"Because you are old and maybe someone worth fighting—and maybe you will challenge me a little."

"And you think I will?"

"Honestly, no. But I have nothing better to do."

Amun stepped forward, his tone sharpening. "You're insane."

Madara's voice was calm. "No. Just bored."

The words barely faded as he moved with no more words.

A blur.

Faster than before.

Amun didn't dodge—he couldn't. Instead, he hardened his body like ancient stone and met the strike head-on, hoping for the best.

The strike hit him, and he hurled into the temple wall as it cracked, and dust erupted nearby.

Kebi shielded her eyes as chunks of temple rocks shattered behind her.

Amun was already standing as Madara twisted in mid-air, his foot aiming for Amun's head—but when Amun caught it, the leg disappeared, and he appeared on another side, with the leg hitting his jaw,

which threw him away again, multiple meters away, as another crater formed.

"Faster than I expected," Amun muttered, standing from the rubble.

"Not bad," Madara said. "You lasted more than sixty seconds."

Amun's eyes were crimson as always, but they burned with anger and humiliation. "Your arrogance is thick enough to taste."

A flash of movement as Amun vanished, reappearing beside Madara mid-sentence, his elbow aimed at Madara's jaw.

Madara blocked smoothly and perfectly, but the force behind it pushed him back several meters, feet dragging deep into the stone like carving lines into clay.

Amun followed with a brutal uppercut, and Madara let it, if it was going to finally do some damage—and this time Madara flew.

He flipped mid-air, landing in a crouch, his lip tasting the metallic taste he had not sensed in a long time—blood.

His smirk widened.

Finally.

He weaved hand signs faster than mortal eyes could follow. "Katon: Gōka Mekkyaku!"

A sea of flames appeared from his mouth, aimed at Amun, but he dodged and hid behind a wall.

Then Madara was in the fire, charging through it.

His silhouette merged, and a punch landed in Amun's gut, then another to his face, and then another.

Echoes of punches were heard in the air as Madara unleashed a flurry of precise, brutal strikes, his red eyes spinning—reading and predicting every move before Amun made it—and kicked him into the air through the temple ceiling.

Madara followed.

Amun was breathing heavily and regenerating, while Madara's breath was controlled and calm as usual—not affected at all.

Amun stared and spoke, his voice low with fear and paranoia.

"Tell me your name, Uchiha."

Madara raised his eyes, the Sharingan glowing brightly.

"Uchiha Obito."

Amun unexpectedly smiled.

"You're not here to kill me, are you?"

Madara tilted his hand just slightly—his face gave nothing away.

"I don't know yet," Madara said on purpose to annoy him.

Amun's smile faded as Madara, in Obito's appearance, descended through the cracked hole in the ceiling with slow steps, landing on the ground.

Kebi stood behind, still unmoving, though her eyes glowed faintly, ready anytime at her mate's signal.

Amun said, his lips curling into a dry, grim line, "You came here seeking battle, but you keep holding back..."

Madara answered, "I'm not here to lose, but to win—and feel combat."

Amun scoffed and stepped forward. "You've seen too much death, and now you walk like a man chasing it."

Madara's voice was calm. "Is that so? But aren't you the same?"

Amun just ignored that—he is paranoid, and he wouldn't seek death like this—but he knows that even if he wanted to escape at the start, he wouldn't have succeeded.

Madara vanished again, but this time Amun was ready. His eyes tracked the faint shimmer in the air and raised his hands.

Boom!

Knocking Madara back mid-air, but he just landed like a ballerina, landing on his feet, his face expressionless.

"Good," he said. "You're learning."

Amun didn't smile at that.

"I don't want to learn," he growled. "I want to end this."

"Then end it if you can."

Kebi stepped forward—couldn't hold it back, seeing her mate fall to this monster alone—as Madara turned his eyes toward her.

"Your mate? Quite loyalty, I see."

Amun stepped between them. "Don't speak to her."

Madara raised an eyebrow. "Protective and paranoid. That's rare in your kind."

Amun didn't respond. He launched again at him, this time silent like a weapon.

Madara caught the strike, but Amun broke his arm by twisting and slammed his punch into Madara's face—as Madara dodged casually with his head.

"Well," he muttered, "you are entertaining,"

Madara said as he was holding Amun's hand while struggling, and kicked him in the stomach as he launched back like a cannonball.

Amun stood with a groan, his breath ragged but slowly better each second. "What are you waiting for? Finish it."

Madara just said, "No. I don't want to."

Amun blinked, confused, as he thought he wouldn't be spared. He asked before if he would kill him. "What?"

"You heard me and maybe we will see eachother again" said Madara. And he left into the night