Three Sentence Ficathon

". . .holy hell!" Madara threw himself across the room, clasping Tobirama's arms - the crimson streaks scarred into his skin with chakra and ink had been muddied and joined by streams of blood, which was spattered all around him along with torn flesh and ashy paper.

"It- It worked," Tobirama said, his eyes wide and agonised, "I had them back, Madara, they came, and- and they were broken and screaming," he sobbed, fingers curling into Madara's sleeves, clutching at him, "they fought and they weren't right, and I- I had to- I couldn't-"

Madara swallowed thickly, trying not to be sick, and drew his lover close, feeling the shudders rolling through Tobirama's entire body and looking over the bloody mess of the room with new horror.