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Clearly, his estimates were wildly off.
He’d thought that such a low amount of chakra fueling the seal would bring them back to a familiar time, but Tobirama has learned that risk has to be factored in his calculation as an independent, yet ever present, variable and weighed carefully.
That does not dampen his will to wring his own neck for even thinking that this absurd idea would yield anything remotely good.
“So, Senju? Where are we?”
And just maybe, he’d also like to strangle the other man right beside him, glaring at Tobirama from his only good eye, and pretending as if this hasn’t been his idea in the first place.
“Are you completely blind, Uchiha?” he asks, spiteful.
“No, but,” Madara starts, only to be interrupted again by Tobirama’s imperious baritone.
“Would you like to be?”
Madara does not answer, and frankly, Tobirama is all the better for it. He needs silence, as he tries to formulate hypotheses on where they are, and on how to go back to where they have come from, and with luck on his side, bury Madara alive while he’s at it.
“Do you think it worked?”
“Do you believe me to be omniscient, Uchiha? Have I not been clear enough before you decided to follow me here, wherever we are?”
“You’re still a piece of shit, you know.”
“I take pride in that,” Tobirama answers, to which Madara snorts.
For a while, they quiet down, trying to gauge anything somewhat useful to understand how big of a fuck up they have landed in.
The silence does not last long, as chakra-enhanced, but silent steps creep up on them and they are suddenly surrounded by five warriors, all armed to the teeth, eyes tracking every single one of their movements.
“Identify yourselves, foreigners,” one croaks.
Madara and Tobirama glance at each other, if only to be sure neither would be opening their mouths.
Yet, Tobirama catches his own mistake first, as he feels it slither from his shoulder to his neck, a smooth hand wrapping every single digit against his throat, a quiet but warm litany filling his ears.
“You run, you die. You move, you die. Tell me who you are, now.”
“I am guessing that if I don’t, we die?” Tobirama challenges, and he can sense the spike in Madara’s chakra, almost as well as the widening of the satisfied grin of the man holding him in a chokehold.
“Smart man,” he praises.
Tobirama does not have to look towards Madara to know that he’s also paralysed on his feet, their chances of escaping dwindling the longer they stand still.
“Ghost,” Tobirama calls for Madara’s attention.
Then, he throws all caution to the wind as he forms a one-handed seal that teleports him right out the enemy’s clutches, using the split moment of distraction.
“I’ll come back for you,” he mouths, a pang of regret twisting his insides.
He hopes Madara’s Rinnegan has caught the motion, before he starts to run.