Search for the answers I knew all along

I lost myself, we all fall down

Never the wiser of what I've become

Alone I stand, a broken man

As the rain pelted down upon him, it was then that he knew that the price had been paid. The heaviness he felt in his heart seemed to only weigh down his beaten body. As crimson stained the newly formed valley ground, he knew that he could no longer turn back. A pang of sorrow coursed through him. His home, his clan, his best friend…

He could never return to them now.

He coughed, spraying his lifeblood out in a shower of red raindrops. He was so tired. With much difficulty, he pushed the sword piercing his chest out of his back. Steel clattered with stone, ringing a hollow echo that reverberated off the canyon walls. With a determined frown, he forced himself to stand. Soaked raven locks cascaded down, clinging to his bruised face. Coal-colored eyes morbidly stared at his blood-caked gloves. He clenched his fist, fury and shame coursing through his veins.

He had lost to Hashirama. Again.

No matter what Madara did, Hashirama was always a step ahead of him. Perhaps he was forever destined to be a failure. He could not attain anything compared to his old friend. He still had his brother. He achieved his dream. He…found and married someone he truly loved. Now that Hashirama believed he had killed the Uchiha, there was nothing left for Madara back at Konoha.

Madara coughed violently, falling to his knees. He no longer had the strength to keep it up. For a moment, he was silently thankful there was no one around in the immediate vicinity. With the last of his strength waning, it dissipated before his eyes.

In an instant, slight yet significant changes occurred. Features softened and broadness had curved. Key traits had switched.

Madara let out an annoyed sigh, looking at the reflection in the water. A smooth and gentle face stared back. No matter how many times it was seen, it never ceased to disgust Madara. Even though no one knew, there was always a certain fear that someone—namely Hashirama—would discover Madara's secret.

The great Head of the Uchiha Clan, one of the greatest shinobi to grace the land with incredible power and skill, was a woman.

As a child, she was shunned simply because of her gender. No one, not even her own clan members, had taken her prowess seriously. When her elder brothers had been killed in battle, the elders were disgusted at the fact that the next heir to the Uchiha Clan would be a woman. It was only until Izuna's birth that the old farts relaxed. Seeing this, her father had decided to keep her true gender a secret to the rest of the clan and raised her as a boy. Only a spare few of the Uchiha knew that she was a girl and Madara was thankful that it was kept that way. She was able to experience the thrill of battle to the fullest when her opponents didn't underestimate her. She gladly kept up the farce as long as it ensured Izuna's safety.

But then she met Hashirama.

When she met the Senju, it was then she began to doubt her place in the world. She began to experience things she normally would never feel when she was around him. As they continued to meet, these uncertain feelings only grew. They became friends, but thoughts of becoming more than that began to invade her mind. She even considered telling him her secret.

But it was not to be.

They were enemies, destined to face each other in battle. Throughout the years, she kept up her façade and even went as far as to wear a near permanent Henge to keep her true identity hidden. Even as she tried to convince herself that Hashirama was no different from the rest of the despicable Senjus that had killed her brothers, her previous feelings never diminished. In fact, they had only grown. Before that fated day, she finally understood what those feelings truly were.

She was falling for Hashirama.

With Izuna's death, small parts of her clung to that love like a lifeline. With all her siblings dead, Hashirama was the only one worth living for. After they formed Konoha, she had tried to her best to summon the courage to reveal her secret to Hashirama. Doubts persistently clouded her mind on every attempt. It disgusted her that she could be so weak. Just when she felt like she could finally tell the man what she felt for him, she appeared.

Mito Uzumaki.

When Hashirama jovially announced he was getting married to his distant cousin, her entire world collapsed. She could no longer live for the last thing she cherished with her very life. She secluded herself away, finding hope within the words of the stone tablet within the Naka Shrine. If she could not change the world before her and wash it away of all the filth that tainted it, she would simply make a new one. A world where her brothers lived. A world where war would not exist. A world…where she could be with Hashirama, holding no secrets behind his back.

Until the day she could destroy this hell, she would survive. Nothing, not even an old love, would stop her. With a hardened glare, she forced herself to move. Hand placed over the wound in her chest and a fire blazing in her eyes, she stumbled forward.

No matter what happened, she would make sure Project Tsuki no Me would come to pass.

The years that passed since that epic battle were largely a blur to Madara. Days bled into weeks, months into years and years into decades as the rogue Uchiha plotted Project Tsuki no Me and healed her own injuries from the small chunk of flesh she "received" from Hashirama.

Before she knew it, the First Shinobi War came to pass and its cause was the destruction of Madara's light. Whatever kindness or "good" that remained within her was snuffed out as her sun, her Hashirama was killed; killed by something so trivial as poison from a Suna shinobi, someone that wouldn't even register as an ant on Madara's power spectrum, let alone the God of Shinobi. But alas, their battle at the Valley of the End had left Hashirama both physically and emotionally weak in his final years. He let his guard down and he paid the price for it.

Hatred and anger towards three sources consumed Madara's heart: the Suna nin for directly causing Hashirama's death—and oh how she made him suffer in his final moments once she got her hands on him—and the incompetent fools of Konoha; especially the two people she hated the most, Mito Senju-Uzumaki and Tobirama Senju.

Not only did Tobirama kill her beloved baby brother, the only blood relative she had left, but he let his own brother die. Everything could have been avoided had that white-haired bastard not been so prejudiced, unable to see past his own nose and leading the Uchiha to their inevitable demise.

As for Mito…Madara held a special loathing for her. As petty and childish as it sounded, Madara couldn't help but wish that useless red-headed woman would cease to exist. All she was good for was childbearing and for keeping the Kyuubi under wraps, letting her husband die while she sat at home in relative safety. Madara knew she could have done that for Hashirama and so much more. If only she hadn't been so adamant on keeping her actual gender a secret. If only she could have just told him…

But most of all, there was anger towards herself. She had led him to the decision he made that day. It was her "death" that had weakened him to such an extent. She was the cause of his suffering and she could do nothing about it. Guilt ate away at her at this revelation.

However, no matter which perspective she took, regrets weren't going to get her anywhere. Even though the loss of her best friend and first love pained her greatly, she had to continue with her plan. Once Project Tsuki no Mei was complete, Madara would get her wish. Hashirama could live…and his dream of peace could finally become a reality for him in the Infinite Tsukuyomi.

The First Shinobi War passed with the death of the second Hokage, Tobirama Senju. It was satisfying to hear that bastard had finally gotten the death he deserved, though Madara wished she had done it herself. Years later, the second war came and went. Then the third approached.

By that time, Madara was withered and old, using the Gedo Mazo statue to sustain her own life so she could search for a younger, ideal pawn to use to complete her plans after her passing. She praised her luck when two of the artificial humans she had created with the Gedo Mazo and Hashirama's clone brought back an Uchiha boy. The child was fortunate to be alive judging by the story the two beings had spewed out to her. Getting crushed by boulders in an effort to save his friends; how disgustingly noble of him.

Obito Uchiha was his name and he had no idea he was actually talking to an old woman. Madara frowned at the boy's antics. He reminded her of her dear friend from so long ago. He had the same optimistic ideals and the same sickeningly sweet demeanor. If he was ever to become a valuable pawn, she needed to corrupt those set beliefs. So she took away the light of his life, just as the war had done to her light.

She killed Rin.

Without the foundation, the rest crumbled away. Obito became a true Uchiha and agreed to carry out Project Tsuki no Me in her name. Satisfied with her new pawn, she knew her time had come. With her dying breath, she passed on her name to Obito until the day came when she could be revived.

When Madara awoke again, nothing could have surprised her more. Everything that she had planned was being foiled by the work of one boy. She sneered in disgust when she learned he was of the same despicable clan as Mito. She would personally make sure to crush his unwavering resolve like the trash he truly was.

Yet, he overcame everything. Even after she had finally had cast the Infitinite Tsukuyomi, her own dreams had crumbled before her. She was just a mere pawn. Black Zetsu, Kaguya's will, had played her for a fool for years. Everything she had done…was a mistake.

As she lay on the ground, helpless and dying, it was then that everything was made clear to her. Hashirama was right after all. His approach towards achieving peace…was the right choice. How foolishly naïve, yet she couldn't help but form the rueful smirk that spread across her face. Her vision became fuzzy and her chakra control was slipping. She looked at the face of the man she loved, seeing a look of pity cross his features as he explained that they were still friends in spite of everything.

And he still had no idea.

"Hashirama…wait…"

The idiot Senju blinked. "Madara?"

Using the last bit of strength she had, she threw her arms around the man. Her Henge dissipated, causing Hashirama's jaw to drop when he felt two round things pressing against his chest. For the last time in her life, she let the tears fall.

"I'm sorry…for everything…" she managed to whisper. "I meant to tell you, but…I was too much of a coward to do so."

"Madara…" Hashirama said as he slowly wrapped his arms around her torso, returning the hug. "So this entire time…?"

"Yes."

"Well…I suppose it explains a lot!"

Madara gave the man a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, all those times you were super moody! And the fact that you disappeared into thin air every time I invited you to the hot springs! And…"

"And what?"

"The feelings I held for you…escalated beyond friendship. I never understood why since you were a man…but now I do."

Madara let out a humorless laugh. "This is my punishment, isn't it?"

"Don't say that."

"Hashirama…" she said softly, her grip loosening. "There are so many things…I wish I could change…But in the end…I was finally able to say what I have wanted to express for so long."

"Madara?"

"I…love you."

As her eyes shut for the last time, she felt herself falling. She had the faintest sensation of someone catching her and something wet landing on her cheek before everything faded to black.

He was a man of many accomplishments, most of them bloody. He ruled a proud warrior race and he openly enjoyed in the destruction of entire races and planets. However, he was also only a puppet figurehead controlled by the tyrant Frieza. His very blood boiled in his veins at the very thought of that demonic freak. One day, the Saiyans would rise again and reclaim their proud heritage as the strongest warriors in the universe. He would see the day when Frieza would be defeated by a Saiyan from the Royal Family.

It was a desperate wish, but even King Vegeta held onto that sliver of hope that one day it would come to pass.

Imagine his surprise when he received word that a female Saiyan without a tail had mysteriously appeared on the Royal grounds…or at least someone who looked like a Saiyan. Despite fury coursing through him for the audacity this woman had for trespassing, he was more intrigued by the fact that the woman lacked a tail. It was a symbol of a Saiyan's pride. It was the symbol of their race. To have it removed was similar to being disgraced in battle or to have one of their vital organs destroyed.

When he was finally standing before her in the healing tank, he could understand why she had been mistaken for a Saiyan. But despite similar appearances, she was no Saiyan. She never had a tail in the first place according to the medics. That led to a series of more questions. Who was she? Why was she here? Was she one of Frieza's spies? Was she even a threat? From what the scouters indicated, her power level was too low to be a danger to him, much less some of the lower classed Saiyans. Maybe she'd give some of the third-class losers a hassle, if that.

Slight twitches of the eyes.

Deep crimson irises with a strange circular pattern pierced through him. In an instant, the scene erupted into chaos as the healing tank nearly exploded on everyone. Strange skeletal limbs had formed around her, an eerie blue light glowing before him. He didn't bat an eye when those bony arms formed energy swords of some sort, stabbing and killing some of the medics. She stared him down, as if challenging him to try and stop her.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "And where am I? If this is Hell, I'm already not enjoying it."

"I'm under no obligation to answer you, woman," he coolly replied. "You are the one who attacked the people who saved your life."

Her frown deepened. "I'd get some less perverted medics if I were you."

He scoffed. "You have some nerve, talking to me of all people as if I were a mere bug to you."

"Because you are one," she snapped, a sudden pressure weighing down on him. "Now talk; or do I have to make you?"

He smirked. Her killer intent was…exhilarating. It was similar to being before Frieza; able to instill fear simply by looking you. However, she was no Frieza. Her power was weaker than his. He knew he could easily take on whatever she could throw at him.

One of those skeletal arms threw a hook at him. With ease, he stopped it with a single hand. She was beyond shocked at his display of strength, as if she had never seen such a feat before. The brief display of emotion didn't last long. Within a few seconds, he appeared before her and punched through the ribs that were shielding her. They broke apart easily, allowing him to grab her by the neck. She let out a brief squeak, clawing at the hand that was grasping her windpipe.

"Do you understand the futility of your actions now, woman?" he sneered. "I could kill you in an instant."

"Then why don't you?"

He raised an eyebrow at her words. Her eyes darkened to black, much like the Saiyan's natural eye color. A mist formed over them, as if she was drifting away into some part of her mind she wished she could stay in.

"I shouldn't even be here. I've already lost everything. I've been living in a Hell far deeper than you can imagine."

"You know nothing of what Hell truly is."

She snapped out of her reverie long enough to recognize the spite in his tone. Whatever this woman had been through, it was nothing compared to the humiliation and powerlessness he felt while serving under Frieza. He dropped her, letting her fall to the soaked floor. She stared up at him, giving him a pitiful look.

He backhanded her.

"Don't look at me like that, you miserable wench," he growled. "I don't need or want your pity."

She glared at him, but she took his words in without batting an eye. He hated the look of determination and defiance in her eyes. She was weak. She should be cowering fear, just like the rest of the pathetic vermin that appeared before him.

Trembling like the coward he was before a greater power.

"I suppose I can find some use for you," he said, grabbing a fistful of her hair. "You would make a fine servant…and those eyes of yours are special."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Or would you rather become another head on my mantle? I've destroyed countless races and planets. I can easily add one more woman to that list."

She growled, hanging her head in defeat like the wench she was. He felt satisfied to see her crumble like that. She would know her place soon enough. She was now his personal toy and he would break her resolve, slowly and painfully. She was expendable, easily replaced, and too weak to resist.

Just like everyone else was to Frieza.

Meh, my muse has been BEYOND dead for the past couple months. I wasn't even mad when this plot-bunny formed. I took any inspiration I could get. I'm actually a bit excited since this idea has never been used before, like EVER, so I hope people end up liking it too. I'm planning on it spanning through parts of DB and through the majority of DBZ. This is gonna one monster of a project, but I'm willing to take it on if enough people like it!

First time writing King Vegeta, so I hope he came out okay.