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Godborn part I: Shattered Steel

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Seraphina

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- The Seireitei -
Fourth Division Hospital Wing





“But what she has to do, she cannot do alone. You must stay beside her…No matter what you must do, what sacrifices you must make, what hardships you must endure, she will need you, when the time comes. In all these long years I have watched you through her eyes, I know that you, and you alone, will be capable of keeping up. To break yourself in order to climb to the same heights as she.’

“You’re the only one that loves her enough to do it.”





Birdsong filtered through the heavy mantle of Shadrin Kain's sleep, eliciting a soft grunt from the young man as his his closed eyelids flickered against the intrusion of daylight. The dead numbness of his sleep was replaced by discomfort, the Shinigami shifting his shoulders in a vain attempt to find softness against the hard wood upon which he lay. Awareness was slow in coming, his brain picking its way through the debris field of his scattered dreams until at last his eyes opened, squinting against the bright warmth of daylight that poured through the open window directly above him.

Summer was well underway, creeping slowly towards a lazy autumn. The air was cooling but not yet cool, and even at such an early hour the heat from the waking sun spread over Shadrin's prostrate form to shake off the last of his sleep. Stiff and unsettled, he grunted as he swung his legs from the long bench upon which he had been lying, settling his tab-clad feet onto the polished wooden floorboards of the fourth division hospital wing. Stretching his arms overhead he yawned deeply, torquing his neck to one side until he heard a satisfying crack; the same routine he had endured every morning for the last two months.

Two months that felt like years.

The bench upon which he had slept occupied a spot directly opposite one of the closed sliding doors of the fourth division hospital wing. One of many such doors that marched at even intervals along the interior wall of the corridor in which Shadrin found himself. As he settled into a seated position upon the bench, rubbing the back of his neck to try and ease out the kinks, his azure eyes rested on the doorway with the same quiet expectation he greeted it every morning. Hoping, though he knew otherwise, that it would open.

But it was a door that had remained closed to him for the majority of the two months since its occupant had been housed there.

Beside the door, a wooden placard was secured into the wall with a quartet of sparkling metal pins. Kanji gracefully carved into the wood as only the fourth division would take the card to do, identifying the occupant of the room and reiterating a single instruction that was now long standing canon among those who tended to her.



Reihaii Hitomi
Fifth Division Fukutaichou

No Visitors​



It was an instruction he could understand, however much he may have hated it. In the days that followed her hospitalisation, it had become apparent that Hitomi was utterly dependant upon the care of others. She required the assistance of fourth division orderlies to carry out even the most simple tasks. With her body broken but her mind intact, humiliation had caused her to slip steadily away from not only Shadrin, but all of those who waited eagerly for her to return to good health.

Even Yukimura, who had initially taken on the role of her primary physician, was spurned in place of a stranger. Perhaps, in her current condition, she felt it easier to endure the eyes of strangers that those of her close friends. With the door slammed shut, they had all been forced to turn their attention to their duties and simply wait for it to open.

But none of that had stopped Shadrin spending every night camping on the bench outside, in case by chance that door should open.

“Kain Fukutaichou,” a voice, gruff and cracked with age, drew his attention away from the door. So absorbed in his thoughts that he had barely noticed the man approach, Shadrin squinted at the Shinigami who he now noticed standing a few feet further down the hall – his back stiff as he stood to rigid, military attention.

The title of Fukutaichou was not one that Shadrin was quite used to yet. Despite having assumed the position some time ago, he remained very conscious of the weight offered by the thick Vice-Captain's badge that clung to his left bicep. The position of second in command of the eleventh division did not yet sit easily with him, but it was a promotion that his recent exploits had apparently demanded.

Despite his continued discomfort with the term of address, he nodded for the man to continue; recognising him as Rokoro Nakima – a wizened, veteran Shinigami who was one of several men to hold the rank of twenty third seat of the fifth division. Shadrin had come to recognise the man on sight; stationed as he was to the north gate of the fifth division grounds, guarding the shortest route between the fifth and fourth divisions.

“Kiyoko-Taichou asks for you,” Rokoro responded to Shadrin by barking out the instruction, relaying every word as though it were an order straight from the Soutaichou.

“I see,” Shadrin murmured, raising a hand to peruse the layer of thick stubble that had accumulated on his jaw. “No doubt he wants to give me another lecture about getting on with my life?”

Rokoro did not so much as blink. Sharin didn't expect him to. In the eyes of a low ranking soldier, a Captain and Vice-Captain may as well have been kings; the nature of their exchange was far above his concern, and he offered no commentary on Shadrin's impertinence. Despite that, Shadrin grunted at himself in chastisement at his own choice of words.

“Sorry,” he continued. “Tell Kiyoko-sa....Kiyoko-taichou that I'll be along presently.”

“Hai!” the soldier barked before sharply turning on his heel and striding off to relay the response. Every bit the military man Shadrin would have expected for someone who, years before Shadrin was born, had been a member of the eleventh division.

Shadrin remained seated for a moment longer, his gaze returning to the closed door ahead of him. He wondered if Hitomi could hear his voice on the far side of the thin wooden barrier. Whether or not she was awake. Whether or not she was as tempted to call out to invite him inside as he was to simply throw open the door and go to her, regardless of the instruction on the placard.

But he didn't. Instead he cursed himself for the many hours he had spent, when she was a teenager, lecturing her about a 'Shinigami's pride'. It was her pride that kept the door shut to him, and it was his own pride that kept him from diminishing hers by stepping through it.

Pig headed, damnable pride.

Easing himself from a standing position, Shadrin took a moment to brush down his hakama in an attempt to ease out some of the overnight creases. He supposed that, since he was going to meet a Captain, he should have taken a moment to at the very least shave. However, given the Captain in question he decided to leave himself as he was. Kiyoko Junshin would not stand on formality when it came to him.

Besides, he didn't exactly feel like prettying himself up for the person who would no doubt be there also.

Taking a final look at the closed door, he turned to make his way down the corridor in the same direction as Rokoro, knowing full well that, by evening, he would find himself back there. Staring at the same door that, for all he knew, might never open to him again.


*****​



In the events leading up to the promotion of its new Captain, the fifth division grounds had been the site of a tumulus battle between Kiyoko Junshin and a group of Arrancar invaders. Although the barracks itself had gone unharmed, the conflict had caused significant damage to a large section of the gardens; in particular the artificial lake area that served as the centrepiece of the division's compound. Having been weaponised by Junshin's bankai, virtually every drop of water in the lake had been thrown skywards to vaporise the leader of the Arrancar strike team, cascading back to the division grounds in the form of heavy rainfall.

As a result, the lake had been reduced to a quarter-full shadow of its former self; much of its previous contents having been scattered far and wide. With so many other tasks to attend to, refilling the lake had not bee considered a priority and as such it now existed as a vast shallow bowl of empty earth save for a few feet of water at its deepest sections, forming a narrow moat around the raised centre. Here, some enterprising members of the fifth division had placed a series of bridges – a little more than eight feet long wooden panels – to bridge the water and transform the former lake into an open training area.

This had coincided with a definite militarisation of the division; a far greater emphasis being placed on combat training than had been seen under the previous administration. Although the fifth was, and would remain, a division geared towards research and investigation, its new Captain had made sweeping changes in regard to the combat readiness of its members. It was a move that Shadrin approved of; Junshin, more keenly than any other Captain in the Gotei Thirteen, keenly appreciated the dangers lurking just over the horizon.

After all, he had seen it for himself.

It was due to this shift in priorities of the fifth division that Shadrin did not need to ask where he would find Junshin. Passing through the North Gate without challenge – his status as Vice-Captain granting him almost automatic access to virtually all but the most secure areas of the Seireitei – he made his way towards the thick bristle of trees that surrounded the once-lake. Many of the trees stood at awkward, slanted angles; the effects of the battle having partially uprooted them. But they nevertheless provided cooling shade from the warmth of the summer morning as Shadrin made his way towards what had now become the central hub of daily life within the division.

The deep baritone of Akira Fukuda's voice reached him first; echoing slightly as the sound bounced among the trees, shouting out orders to the current group of squadies undergoing the veteran's punishing regimen. Having served in almost every division of the Gotei Thirteen, and partaken in countless military engagements, the sixth seat was the most natural choice for overseeing most of the training, despite the recent appointment of a new third seat. With the morning barely underway, some fifty members of the division were already running laps around the enormous, dried out hollow of the lake. At Akira's orders, they would stop on the spot to execute a squat thrust, or some other exercise designed to push their endurance.

Fighting skills began with a strong body. It was an approach Shadrin recognised.

Standing on what had once been the lake's edge; a stretch of trimmed grass before the ground dipped into bare soil and stone, Akira turned his head only slightly at Shadrin's approach. Not directing his attention from his charges, he merely offered the Vice-Captain a brief nod as Shadrin moved behind Akira towards a narrow wooden table that had been erected for the Captain's own use. Junshin appeared to believe that the squad would work harder if they could see their Captain working too, and as such he was often be found on the new training grounds himself.

Shadrin had to admit, he was still getting used to seeing the young man in a Captain's haori. He had only just been getting used to considering Junshin a third seat when the latter's meteoric rise through the ranks had continued. Barely a few months out of the academy, and already the commander of one of the thirteen court guard squads; Shadrin wondered, in fact, if Junshin might have been the quickest individual to ever rise to the rank.

Despite his youth, Junshin had engaged the position aggressively. The timidity Shadrin had come to expect from him had faded away in the days that followed his promotion; Junshin's new station had allowed no room for it. At only eighteen years old, the youngest Captain assumed a responsibility that demanded assertiveness. Indeed, with all that had happened recently, and all that was likely yet to occur, it would be fair to say that Junshin had become a Captain in one of the Soul Society's darkest hours.

For now, however, his work was of the more tranquil sort. Standing with his back to Shadrin's approach, the young Captain poured over one of a small mountain of documents piled upon his table; Shadrin recognising them at once as one of the thousands of rubbings taken from the repository of ancient writings discovered beneath the tenth division. That Junshin was continuing his tireless efforts to translate the writings from their ancient script was gratifying; especially given the likely explanation as to who had left them there.

Less gratifying to Shadrin was who had been enlisted to help him do so.

The sun catching on her golden hair – so pale that it could almost be mistaken for silver – a shihakusho clad woman stood shoulder to shoulder with the fifth division's Captain. A delicate finger tracing over the alien kanji engraved into the paper, she addressed him in hushed tones about pronunciation and grammar of a language that she alone, in the entire Seireitei, was still capable of speaking fluently.

It seeing Junshin in the white haori of a Captain was jarring, then seeing Byleth the Seducer wearing the black shihakusho of a Shinigami was downright disturbing. And it was a sight that was not improved even by the presence of the four members of the onmitsukido who stood watching her every move nearby, just within the shade of the trees. Their presence was little more than a token; a measure to keep the Soutaichou happy with having one of the most dangerous entities in existence wandering around the fifth division barracks.

Shadrin gained far more comfort – such as it was – from dark triangular seal that was emblazoned into her arm; just visible beneath the hem of her elbow length sleeves. Similar to the seals employed by the Gotei Thirteen on Captain level individuals deployed to the world of the living, Shadrin had been assured that it would have the same effect on Arrancar; reducing her strength to one fifth of its maximum.

It was one of the many conditions imposed upon her in exchange for sanctuary within the Soul Society.

“Kiyoko-san,” Shadrin called out, raising his voice to be heard over the din of Akira's shouting and the thundering steps of the exercising Shinigami nearby. He offered no similar greeting to Byleth; in fact, he flatly refused to do so.

The pair turned upon hearing him, Junshin's creased brow smoothing itself out as he offered his fellow Shinigami a smile. Byleth – far from being offended at the lack of greeting – offered a smile of her own; though hers was of a far more macabre variety, tilting her head to one side as her lips peeled away from her white teeth in a sight that was more alarming than welcoming.

“Kain-san,” Junshin greeted, placing the parchment he had been examining on the table as he turned to face the other man. “Thank you for coming. Have you eaten? I can have something brought it...”

“I'm fine,” Shadrin interrupted with a tight smile, raising a hand to wave the offer away. Truth be told, he hadn't been able to work up much of an appetite for some days, eating only when hungry pains finally demanded it. “But thank you.”

Shadrin braced himself for Junshin to press the issue. Concerns about his well being had seemed a matter of some preoccupation for the new Captain; most likely because keeping tabs on Hitomi's health had, by proxy, forced him to keep tabs on Shadrin's also. It would not have been the first time Junshin had tried to force feed him a hearty meal.

This time, however, the Captain merely nodded – albeit in a somewhat resigned fashion. Perhaps Shadrin's persistent refusal to cooperate with being nursed had finally broken through. Either way, the question was not repeated.

“I take it there's....no change?” Junshin asked his second question more carefully than the first.

“No,” Shadrin shook his head, absently tucking his thumbs into his white obi. “The same as ever. I heard from one of the orderlies that she can move around on crutches for a short while, but....”

But he hadn't seen her. It didn't need to be said.

“Well, at least that's something,” Junshin ventured, managing a weak smile. Byleth's own smile had long since faded, the woman watching the pair in silence; Shadrin quite certain that she had not so much as blinked since his arrival.

“These awkward little pleasantries of yours are amusing,” she suddenly spoke. “But might I remind you we're not meeting here for a morning coffee. Get to the point and show him.”

Shadrin lifted an eyebrow as Junshin shot the Arrancar a tense sideward glance. The Vice-Captain had fully expected that the meeting was little more than another in a long line of attempts from Junshin to give him a spirited pep-talk. It had never occurred to him that there would be any point beyond that. He watched quietly as Junshin turned back to the parchment that he and Byleth had been examining, tracing a fingertip over the faded rubbing to draw Shadrin's attention to the text.

“We were pretty sure that most of the Archive was left behind by Amaterasu Omikami,” Junshin explained. “She essentially confirmed that to you in the East Rukongai, and Sato-san,” he referred to Byleth by the assumed name given to her by the office of the Soutaichou, nodding in the woman's direction, “corroborated as much.'

“We've been working on translating it,” he continued. “At this point, we've collected over fifteen thousand pages of rubbings, but our best estimate is that's only a fraction of the whole. Of what we've got, only about a third has been translated. We've barely scratched the surface....it'll take years, probably decades to fully comprehend everything that's-”

A terse cough from Byleth cut Junshin off. Realizing he had drifted somewhat from the point, he emphatically stabbed his fingertip into the parchment once again.

“Anyway,” he continued, “the point is that Amaterasu probably left enough to fill in almost every blank page in history for the last twenty or thirty thousand years. At least up until the point the Archive was buried. But it isn't just historical events. She included biographies of the major noble houses, mapped the ancestry of notable Shinigami, included manuals for kido that look almost like blueprints for our own. And she even gave instructions on...”

“We think we've found an instruction manual for building another Pinnacle,” Byleth interrupted, her tone sharp as her patience with Junshin's rambling apparently ran out.

Shadrin blinked, looking back and forth between the two as Junshin offered a frustrated sigh at the interruption. The Captain nevertheless confirmed Shadrin's askance gaze with a nod.

“You mean....” Shadrin murmured. “That prison that the first Royal Guard made to seal Isharie during the sixth Incursion?”

“Yes,” Byleth nodded, answering on Junshin's behalf before the latter could start what she probably feared was another essay. “The Archive contains extensive writings about ancient seals, including precursors to some of your modern bakudo. Instructions regarding Pinnacle are among them."

“I never saw how it worked the first time,” she confessed. “I only knew that it was different from the Sueno Infinito used to seal the rest of the Apocrypha that remained in Hueco Mundo. It more closely matched the sealing technique used on Tamiel and Samyaza when they invaded the Soul Society. It would make sense....as I discovered when I used it on Reihaii, the Sueno Infinito isn't as effective against Shinigami.”

Shadrin scowled; having neither needed nor wanted any reminder of the ambush that – only three months ago – Byleth had launched on himself and his companions in the East Rukongai. It was a strange enough sensation speaking to the woman without recalling the fact that, not so long ago, they had been actively trying to murder each other in a life or death duel.

A duel that, had it not been for the intervention of Amaterasu Omikami, he would have lost. Convincingly.

“It seems that the method used on them was some kind of trial run of the technology used in Pinnacle,” Byleth elaborated. “It's a seal specifically designed to feed upon the spiritual pressure of Shinigami and use their own strength to create the seal....the stronger the victim, the more powerful the seal becomes. Tamiel appears to have been some kind of final test run before using it on Isharie herself.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Shadrin cut in, holding up a hand to try and stop Byleth in mid flow. “Why would that work on Isharie? Wouldn't it...”

“Apparently it did work,” Byleth shrugged in response. “We're standing here, aren't we?”

A blunt reply, but one that Shadrin had difficulty refuting the validity of. Certainly, Shadrin could recall his own encounter with a enormous, prism shaped crystal in which Isharie had been imprisoned; buried a kilometer beneath the earth, far beyond the outer rim of the West Rukongai. The very existence of the prison, and the terrible cargo housed within it, was evidence enough that the ancient Shinigami's gambit had been effective.

“The point,” Junshin explained, tapping his finger rapidly against the paper to regain Shadrin's attention, “isn't really about what happened twenty thousand years ago. The fact that it worked is demonstrable.

“The real point,” he elaborated, “is that we think we can build another one.”

Shadrin started, the implications of what the pair were claiming finally sinking in. As much as his mind had been preoccupied with Hitomi's recovery, the thought of the enemy that lingered in Hueco Mundo had never completely left his thoughts; an ancient foe so powerful that it had taken the collective might of the Soul Society – all thirteen captains of that era, in addition to the Royal Guard – to stop it in its tracks.

He had wondered, more than once, whether it was even possible to defeat such an enemy should she return in earnest. The fact that the seal on Pinnacle had not been completely broken was a small but temporary comfort; everything Shadrin had heard since then was enough to convince him that the damage to the prison was terminal. Whether it took days, weeks, months or years, sooner or later it would fail altogether, and Isharie the Seducer would tear back into the waking world.

A chance, any chance, or finding a substitute prison to hurl the wretched creature into was like a life preserver thrown to a drowning man.

“Wh-” he began, his mouth suddenly dry. “What do you need?”

Junshin smiled – a free and easy smile, with much of the apparent tension drained from him upon hearing Shadrin's immediate acquiescence. Indeed, the young Captain looked utterly relieved, even flashing a grin at Byleth – one the Arrancar did not return.

“Your support, for one,” Junshin replied. “And as many contacts that can bring pressure on the Soutaichou as possible. This will require a significant pooling of resources....the tenth division has already pledged their support, but we're going to need the Soutaichou behind us. If you can convince the noble houses of Mikawa to plead our case, that will help a great deal.”

“Of course....more politics.”

“I'll do what I can,” Shadrin nodded. “I haven't had any contact with Mikawa since we returned, but...I'm sure they'll be receptive.”

“Good,” Junshin replied, though a brief, wordless glance with Byleth left Shadrin with the impression that the Captain had more he wished to say. Narrowing his eyes, Shadrin squinted between the two, having a sneaking suspicion that he was not going to like whatever he heard next.

“I need Uesugi,” Byleth flatly stated when Junshin failed to continue, folding her arms.

“Shingen-kun?” Shadrin queried, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes,” the Arrancar responded. “That boy was able to memorize the ten fold seal after I showed it to him only once. He's by far the most intelligent one among the entire cretinous bunch of you, and if Amaterasu is going to sit in her hidey hole up in the Royal Realm, then I'm going to need someone of his caliber to help me fashion a seal of this magnitude.'

“I'm quite certain,” he grunted, “there is no one else in the Soul Society capable of doing it.”

“...I see,” Shadrin noted, trying to keep the edge from his voice as he wondered whether the Arrancar even realized her offence, or if insults simply flowed from her mouth without thought. “Then....why am I here instead of Shingen-kun?”

“Because...” Junshin began, clearing his throat before continuing as, once again, Byleth's face morphed into a sinister smile of gruesome amusement. “He....that is, Uesugi-san refuses to work with her. His exact words were rather....colourful.”

“I'm not honestly sure what I ever did to make him hate me, either,” Byleth mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe it was when I threatened to murder an entire town full of people if he didn't do as I said?”

“The seventh division still doesn't have a Captain,” Junshin explained, side stepping Byleth's pondering before Shadrin could respond to it. “I wouldn't be stepping on any toes if I simply ordered him to cooperate, but...”

“But you'd rather not have to,” Shadrin finished the thought, his lips tightening into a thin, pensive line. “I understand....I'll speak to him.”

“Thank you,” Junshin signed in relief not for the first time, while Byleth – as though having a sudden flash of realization, slapped a closed fist into her open palm.

“Oh yes! I remember! I'm the one who stabbed him in the eye and turned him into a deformed Cyclops,” she declared with a broad grin. “That must be it. Well....if that's what he's so angry about, then in my defense I would like to say that I was actually aiming for his jugular.”

The two Shinigami said nothing. Their time interacting with Byleth had taught them it was better not to react.

“I'll....have a word with Shingen,” Shadrin reiterated. “Just....if I do manage to convince him, keep her in line.”

Junshin nodded, while Byleth turned her golden eyes back upon Shadrin – offering him a smile that was entirely too sweet to be wholesome before the Vice-Captain turned to retrace his steps back through the division grounds.

It felt good to be working on something again, even such a mammoth undertaking. Despite the weight he had just accepted onto his shoulders, his footfalls felt much lighter than they had been on his journey from the fourth division. Something else to occupy his mind would be welcome; he suspected, as much as anything else, that was why Junshin had approached him to speak to Shingen instead of Yukimura.

However, even if work could take up most of his thoughts, it could not take up all of them. And, no matter what else occupied his mind, some quiet corner of it could not shake the closed door that waited for him back in the fourth division hospital, and all that he wished he could say to the person that lay beyond it.
 

Seraphina

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Act II: Forgotten Crime


- The Rukongai -
North Rukongai, District 1




The North Rukongai had been Shadrin's home almost from the moment he arrived in the inner districts. Despite spending his fleeting years at the Academy living in the dormitories, that had never truly felt like home to him. Nor did the noisy barracks of the eleventh division, where he now found himself spending more and more of his time. It certainly wasn't the uncomfortable bench in the fourth division hospital wing where he had been spending his nights lately.

To Shadrin, home was the North Rukongai. The metropolitan trading hub that was a cultural clash between the staunch traditionalism of feudal rule from the noble houses, and the rising, unstoppable tide of the rich merchant class. In the North Rukon, a man born a peasant could rise to become lord of the manor, provided he had talent and luck enough to do so; which was, as it happened, exactly what had happened to the man Shadrin Kain knew and thought of as his father: Sanguine Kain, owner and lead shipwright of the Kain mercantile navy.

Upon the great canals carved into the surface of the Rukongai, ships bore goods to the Seireitei, and departed laden with the wealth of the inner districts. The North Rukongai in particular drew enormous wealth from the trade of seki-seki; a stone vital to the Seireitei and used in the construction of many of the buildings contained therein. Indeed, it would be virtually impossible for the superhuman Shinigami to lead normal lives were they not surrounded at all times by stone that actively repulsed and was resistant to the damage caused by spiritual pressure. It was upon the import of seki-seki that Shadrin's father had grown rich, and his trading fleet established.

But that had been many years ago, before Shadrin had even come to the Inner Districts. He had arrived to find the upheaval well underway, and to his eyes the North Rukongai was not a place of change but rather of comforting constant. From its cobble streets, to the smell of fresh fish, to the bellowing call of street hawkers selling wares poured in from every corner of the Soul Society.

It was home.

For all that, the noble district was still largely unfamiliar to him. Separated from the merchant district – where Shadrin's father's home, and those of the most successful merchants in the city, was to be found – the nobles sequestered themselves away from the changing economic landscape of the North Rukongai within their estates. Shadrin had little call to visit there during his years with the patrol corps, and his relatively recent forays into the area were only for the purpose of visiting one of the few households were a rugged member of the eleventh division such as himself would be immediately welcome.

Passing through the labyrinth of high walls behind which the noble residents hid themselves, Shadrin was left with few landmarks with which to navigate. The wide streets each looked the same to his eyes, designed to make way for the carriages and rickshaws upon which most of the nobility travelled. With the morning well underway, well groomed footmen stood within the doorways of some of the walled estates; either to welcome guests or, perhaps more likely, see off the rabble. Their steely, disapproving eyes followed Shadrin as he made his way past their dwellings; though the sight of the wooden Vice-Captain's badge upon his arm was sufficient for most of them to turn their eyes to the ground; whether in shame at their stares of fear of reprisal, Shadrin could not be certain.

It was, oddly enough, the presence of these footmen that allowed Shadrin to navigate more easily to the house that he had only visited a handful of times. More accurately, it was the fact that one particular house did not have any such doormen to speak of. Rather the wooden gate was flung open in a gesture of welcome to any that might stop buy, a silver wind chime dangling from the peak of the arch-shaped opening giving a merry jingle as Shadrin passed beneath it.

The estate into which he stepped was not the sprawling grounds of some of the richer noble houses in the district. Indeed, it was utterly dwarfed by the estate upon which Shadrin had grown up within his father's household. Though by the standards of most of the Soul Society's denizens the house could be considered a luxury, the noble caste would more likely think of it as “charming”; a dwelling suitable for middle-ranked nobility. Two stories high, the house contained some fourteen spacious rooms, approached by a gravel pathway flanked on either sides by a well manicured grass lawn. No servants were present to maintain either the house or the grounds, and it instead fell to the master and mistress of the household to care for their property; a symptom of both Uesugi pride and self sufficiency.

For the home Shadrin approached was the home of Uesugi Shingen, and he doubted very much that his approach had gone unnoticed by the latter. Shingen had always had a rare talent for feeling out and detecting the nuances of Reiatsu; Shadrin would not have been surprised at all if the young officer had become aware of him the very moment he stepped into the North Rukon.

The building's front porch was not, as it happened, empty. Using a long handled broom to sweep away leaves and other debris blown onto the wooden flooring overnight, a slight, blonde haired young woman clad in a lilac kimono looked out to Shadrin as he approached. A pair of blue eyes peered at the Shinigami curious as he approached the single wooden step that would allow him to ascend onto the porch; the woman halting her sweeping to wait for the guest to come closer.

Uesugi Okuni was Shingen's wife of some two years, their marriage occurring while Shingen was in the latter years of his studies at the Shinigami Academy. Her husband's junior by three years, she had celebrated her twentieth birthday the previous spring. The quintessential picture of a nobleman's wife, she offered Shadrin a bow of greeting as he came to a stop at the base of the step, her disarmingly attractive features wearing a slightly strained smile that told Shadrin at once that not all was well.

“Kain-dono,” she greeted him, his tone formal and polite. “Good morning.”

“Uesugi-dono,” Shadrin replied, dutifully returning her bow. Despite his acquaintance with the young woman and his familiarity with the household, Okuni – much like her husband – had always chaffed at the notion of doing away with formalities. She lacked the self importance of many of the nobleborn men and women Shadrin had met in his lifetime, yet even the most agreeable of nobles, it seemed, were wrapped up in codes of decorum.

“Please, come into the shade,” the young woman continued her duties as host, gesturing for Shadrin to ascend as the Shinigami plucked his feet free of his waraji and set them neatly by the side of the path. “Have you breakfasted?”

“Yes, thank you,” Shadrin lied, not intending to impose upon the mistress of the house any more than he already was. Shingen rarely allowed his emotions to rise to the surface; if Junshin's description of Shingen's response to the prospect of working alongside Byleth was accurate, then Shadrin could only suspect that the young fourth seat must have been truly enraged. Okuni doubtless knew the purpose behind Shadrin's visit and there seemed little reason to dress it up in pretence.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he told her as he climbed the stair in a single step – his long legs bridging the gap effortlessly to bring him level with the young woman. A full foot shorter than Shadrin, the young woman did not lift her head to look him in the eye. Instead, she returned to her sweeping, attempting without success to look nonchalant. “Is your husband home?”

“He...he is,” Okuni nodded, pausing in her sweeping as she stole a glance towards the sliding door that would grant entry into the house. “But my husband is not feeling well. If you have a message, I can take-”

“That is alright, Kimi-sama,” both Shadrin and Okuni jumped as Shingen's voice sounded from above them, drifting down to the porch from one of the open windows of the second floor. “Please, Kain-san. Come inside.”

Turning her gaze upwards, Okuni peered at the roof directly above their heads, almost as though offering Shingen a look of chastisement through the floorboards, before she immediately returned to her sweeping; albeit rather more roughly than she had before. Shadrin, recovering from his surprise at the interruption, offered the woman a polite bow before stepping into the household's interior.

Despite the lateness in the summer, the day had already grown warm. With barely a cloud in the sky, it was a relief to step into the cool shade of the building as Shadrin made his way through the central corridor. Ignoring the various doorways and branching corridors that led elsewhere in the house, the Vice-Captain made his way for the staircase that he knew lay at the far end of the hallway.

The inside of Shingen's house was, as indeed could be expected, thoroughly immaculate. Although Shingen was spartan in his decorating style, the more gentle hand of his wife was evident in some of the tasteful tapestries that Shadrin passed on his way down the hallway, while a low table just within the entrance hosted a burning stick of incense that filled the building with the rich scent of agarwood. With most of the doors closed, the hallway was preserved in a warm orange glow that filtered through the paper walls from the exterior rooms. The polished spiral staircase Shadrin found at the house's rear led him to a near identical hallway on the upper floor.

From there, Shadrin followed his intuition to the location he believed Shingen had spoken from; the south facing tear room that commanded an excellent view of the grounds, and where Shingen hosted most of the occasional gatherings in his home. As he approached, Shadrin found the door to be ajar and reasoned that he had guessed correctly.

The tea room itself shared the same tasteful elegance as the rest of the house. Staunchly traditional in its style and decoration, the room features tatami mat flooring as opposed to the polished wood of the remainder of the building, marching their way across a decking that opened at the south facing wall into a balcony from which Shingen had no doubt spoken. With the sliding doors to the balcony flung open, sunlight and birdsong poured into the room's otherwise shaded interior, casting one half of the tea room into stark brightness while another was largely in shadows.

In the centre of the room, directly above the sunken hearth that Shadrin had seen Shingen use to brew tea on previous visits – currently covered by a tatami matt – a low wooden coffee table served as the room's only furnishing, save for the four beige cushions arranged at perfect angles along the table's long edges, two on each side, for guests to sit upon. On the east facing wall, to Shadrin's left as he entered, was the traditional tokonoma – a narrow alcove usually used to house a single wall hanging. Although in Shingen's tea room, it served as the resting place of the fourth seat's zanpakuto.

Standing upright in its sheath, the weapon was supported by a tripod weapon stand designed specifically for for Shingen's zanpakuto. The weapon occupied pride of place within the modest room, though it was to Shingen himself that Shadrin's attention was drawn; the master of the house standing just inside the opening to the exterior balcony, his hands clasped behind his back as he appeared to survey his homestead.

Despite being in his own home, Shingen wore the black shihakusho of the Gotei Thirteen; ready -as Shingen always seemed to be ready – to leap to duty at a moment's notice. His hair, however, he currently wore long; tugged out of his usual pony tail to cascade around his shoulders and down his back almost to the base of his spine. Shadrin was not surprised to see that, even in such a state, Shingen's hair was immaculately combed and clean; his clothing without so much as a wrinkle.

“Good morning, Kain-san,” his host murmured, turning as he spoke to face Shadrin directly. Despite Junshin's early statements, there appeared to be no immediate sense of rage about the man. Indeed, to Shadrin's eyes, his old friend looked as calm and collected as ever he did.

For some reason, that made Shadrin less comfortable rather than more so. He felt very much like he were about to wander into a minefield.

“Good morning, Shingen-kun,” he greeted the other man nonetheless. “I hope you're well?”

“Ah...” Shingen allowed himself the rare semblance of a smile. “Yes. Please excuse Kimi-sama. I...did perhaps give the impression that I did not wish to receive guests.”

“But you received me?” Shadrin queried, accepting Shingen's invitation as the latter gestured for Shadrin to seat himself on one of the cushions positioned around the low table.

“You are not who I expected,” Shingen replied, his smile fading almost immediately to replaced with his usual emotionless mask, settling the pleats of his hakama neatly around himself as he seated himself elegantly across from Shadrin. “Although I am sure Kimi-sama would prefer I refused you also. She seems convinced I have cheated fate once too often and that the next adventure you and Reihaii-san drag me off on shall be my last.'

“She may very well be right,” he added, his smile returning in the form of a wry smirk as he shrugged his shoulders.

Shadrin half-snorted a laugh, nodding more to himself than to Shingen. It was certainly true that their little group seemed to stumble quite consistently from one near-death experience into another. Indeed, had he not lived through them himself, Shadrin would probably have believed that some of what they had faced were certain death situations, and therefore the story could not possibly be true.

From poisonous politics, to rogue reiatsu users, to legions of Hollows to powerful Arrancar; to call their survival until this point 'cheating fate' may very well have been an understatement.

“Aaraa,” Shadrin breathed. “Well, you'll be pleased to know I haven't come to drag you on any cross-country excursion this time. Actually, I've come on behalf of Kyoko-san to...”

“Yes, I know,” Shingen interjected, holding up a hand to gesture for Shadrin to stop. “And my answer to you is the same as it was to him. No.”

Shadrin closed his mouth, pursing his lips slightly as he found himself encountering one of Shingen's more steely gazes; which, considering Shingen's expertise in disapproving stares, was something of an achievement. Both of the young man's eyes; including the milky white left, the disfigurement of which Byleth had earlier alluded to, rested upon Shadrin resolutely.

In all his life, Shadrin had never known Shingen to be vengeful. In fact, he was arguably the most measured and reasonable individual that Shadrin had ever met. Although it was difficult to deny that Byleth's various crimes were difficult to overlook. Shadrin would not have been any happier to see her allowed into the Seireitei than was Shingen had it not been for Hitomi herself speaking on the creature's behalf.

It was at Hitomi's order that Byleth be assigned to the Fifth Division, and on her say-so that Junshin had agreed. It was Hitomi's direct request to the office of the Soutaichou that had seen the Captain-Commander grudgingly allow the Arrancar to remain at liberty, albeit while being escorted at all times. Exactly why Hitomi had taken these steps, Shadrin could only imagine; though he suspected that it had a great deal to do with whatever information had passed between Hitomi and Amaterasu Omikami while the latter trained Hitomi in isolation on the journey towards bankai.

He suspected, quite strongly, that Hitomi knew at least something of the strange relationship between Byleth and the mysterious commander of the Royal Guard, and likely had some understanding of the apparent alliance between them. Although whatever Hitomi knew, she had not thus far shared; certainly not to Shadrin, at least. And while Shadrin trusted Hitomi implicitly, he did not altogether trust Amaterasu and he did not trust Byleth in the slightest.

That Hitomi could be the victim of manipulation had certainly crossed his mind. As, he imagined, it had crossed Shingen's.

“Kiyoko-san said,” Shadrin finally spoke again, realising that the silence between them had stretched on for almost a full minute. As he continued, he allowed one corner of his mouth rising into a smirk, “that your answer to him was more 'colourful'.”

“Heh,” Shingen came as close to laughter as he typically did – little more than a puff of air ejected through his nostrils. “Well....perhaps my answer to you is not exactly the same as the one I gave him. But in principle they are the same. I will not cooperate with that thing.”

Shadrin sighed, raising a hand to scratch his chin as he wondered how best to proceed. It was not a gesture that went unnoticed by Shingen, the other man's eyes narrowing as he appeared to realise Shadrin was not going to take his refusal as an answer.

“Do not try to order me to participate,” Shingen warned him. “You have my respect, Kain-san, but not my allegiance. In all the Soul Society there is only one person who could give such an order to me and have it obeyed....and she appears to have shut the door on the world.”

“Hitomi would...” Shadrin began, but Shingen interrupted him at once, his hand once again snapping upward as though to stop his words in mid-flow.

“Reihaii-san is not here,” he countered. “And although it is true you might know her best, that does not mean you can speak for her. Forgive me for saying so, Kain-san....but I do not believe you are capable of understanding my hatred for that creature. Reihaii-san, Yukimura-kun and I....we all grew up in the outer districts. You did not.”

Shadrin blinked, taken aback by the unexpected departure from the tract he had expected. His surprise did not go unnoticed by Shingen, the fourth seat's mouth opening and closing silently as he realised that Shadrin did not understand his meaning. A note of grim amusement crept into the young man's good eye as he absently waved a hand towards his disfigured left.

“You...assumed it was about this?” he queried. “I did not imagine you thought me so petty a man as to grudge an old enemy a wound suffered in battle. I have been wounded many times, Kain-san, and I accept that soldiers on the battlefield do as they must. This injury has nothing to do with this. The hatred I hold for that woman is due to another injury entirely.”

Shadrin did not respond, frowning as he found himself ashamed to admit he had no idea what Shingen referred to. Somehow, he imagined that either Hitomi or Yukimura would have immediately grasped the reasons for Shingen's refusal; the three had been close for many years, far closer than Shadrin had been to any of them save Hitomi herself.

But then, if Shingen was correct and one of the others would sympathise with his position, perhaps that would undermine the entire point of the meeting.

“I'm sorry,” he finally murmured, proceeding carefully, considering each word before it left his lips. “I admit that I seem to have leapt to conclusions a little...I'm sorry if it seems I've made light of, or overlooked your feelings on the matter. However, if what Byleth says is true, and we really can-”

“If,” Shingen interrupted, his tone flat.

“...If...” Shadrin repeated with a meaningful nod, clearing his throat before continuing, “then this could very well change everything. If I understand everything that's happened these last few months, then we're all in a hell of a lot of trouble right now. There's a good chance that we might soon find ourselves at war with an enemy that we might not be able to defeat.'

“Now if there's someone offering us a chance to deal with that enemy,” he urged. “I honestly wouldn't care who it was....I think we've got to take whatever chance we get, because I don't see that we have any other chance.”

Whether or not Shadrin's words had any immediate effect, he did not know. Shingen's features remained unreadable, watching Shadrin thoughtfully from across the table. Whatever thoughts he had, he kept them to himself, though eventually he heaved what sounded like a half murmured sigh; leaning backwards in his seated position while placing a hand on each knee.

Shadrin did not encourage him to speak, giving Shingen time to think. The fourth seat appeared content to take that time, a stern line creeping into his brow as his eyes settled on the table top – looking at nothing in particular as he apparently mulled over his response; although whether he was considering Shadrin's words, or simply deciding how best to reject them, the Vice-Captain could not say.

“I....” he finally spoke, though he cut off almost at once. As though giving his words another turn through his mind, Shingen shifted upon his haunches to find a more comfortable seating position, before continuing. “I was left...unsatisfied to hear that Tachibana Motonari was killed. Ever since I had learned he was behind what had happened to my family, I had wanted....needed...to see him brought to justice.”

“You wanted to see him brought to trial,” Shadrin nodded in understanding.

“No,” Shingen shook his head, his voice suddenly cold, hard and edged, “I wanted to kill him.”

Although it occurred only just within his hearing, Shadrin was quite certain that the sound of Okuni sweeping the front porch – which had continued to be audible through the open balcony – stopped abruptly. Though the sound of birdsong continued, the housework apparently did not.

“I...” Shadrin began, not entirely sure how to respond. Although he could not deny he fully understood Shingen's motivation – indeed, in Shingen's position, he would certainly have wanted nothing more than to get his hands around Tachibana's throat. Yet it was nevertheless a somewhat jarring admission from the usually reserved and self restrained young man.

“I know,” Shingen waved away Shadrin's attempt to a reply. “But it does not matter now. Tachibana Motonari is beyond my reach now in any case. And perhaps it is that knowledge that has caused me to shift my focus instead to his confidant.”

“...Byleth,” Shadrin exhaled, reaching up a hand to nurse his temple as he found himself finally comprehending the reasons for Shingen's refusal to cooperate. “Aaraa....”

“That woman,” Shingen's lip twisted as he used the noun, almost as though mere referring to the Arrancar in human terminology sickened him, “served Tachibana for years....decades. She was certainly in service to him when my family was exiled and given the nature of her particular talents she may even have planned it for him. That creature is the closest living thing there is to a culprit for everything that my family has suffered in the last fifteen years.'

“And you are asking me,” he spoke through clenched teeth, his fingers tightening into fists within his hakama, “to sit down and pursue academia with it? To use my knowledge and my skills to help it pursue a goal that I cannot believe it has properly represented to us? To trust it? That I will not do.”

Turning his head to one side, Shingen returning his gaze to the view from his balcony; apparently considering the matter closed. Shadrin, continuing to work his chin between his fingertips, found himself with very little to say in answer. Certainly, he could not deny that he did not trust Byleth either - and doubted that their mutual goals would remain aligned for long after their mutual enemy was dealt with -but it had never occurred to him that what the Arrancar intended to construct would be anything other than what had been suggested.

How could they be sure she actually was planning on building what she claimed? Considering that, until only a few weeks previously, he had firmly believed Byleth to be in the service of their enemy, how could he be certain she still wasn't? For all they could tell, she could be trying to use the resources of the Soul Society to construct a weapon, or something else that she would gleefully turn upon foe and 'friend' alike as soon as it was completed.

But then, ultimately, what difference did it make?

If Byleth was lying, then all it meant was they would be facing an inordinately powerful foe who they could very well be supplying with something that made her even more dangerous. But how could that possibly be worse than what they were already up against? Right now, the Soul Society rested upon a ticking time bomb, before some ancient Hueco Mundo god broke free of its prison and picked up right where it left off twenty thousand years ago by slaughtering the entire Soul Society.

So far as Shadrin could tell, they were dead anyway. It made more sense to take the option that might just have some hope at the end of it.

“I'm...not going to try and force you,” he finally replied, lowering his hands while levering himself to his feet. “And I understand why you would refuse....Hell, I'm not sure how happy I am with the whole thing myself. But, right now, I honestly think that this might be the only chance we've got. And I don't like sitting around and waiting to hope that some better option might present itself.'

“I'm going to continue assisting Kiyoko-san as best as I can,” he continued. “In the meantime, if you do think of a better solution....”

He trailed off, noting that Shingen had not turned to face him. The man's good eye slid briefly in Shadrin's direction, however, his upper body tilting forward in a farewell bow that Shadrin returned with a bow of his own. It seemed clear there was nothing else to say, and Shadrin turned to take his leave. Shingen did not see him out.

As Shadrin left the tea team, his shoulders slumped; his very first task in trying to make Junshin's project a reality had already failed, and they weren't even off the ground yet. The effort that appeared to be the Soul Society's one hope was not off to the best of starts.

As Shadrin made his way back through the house, he found himself wondering what else could possibly go wrong
 

Seraphina

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Act III: Returning Nightmare



- Hueco Mundo -
- Las Noches Region -





For as long as any of its current denizens could remember, save perhaps for those who had lived long enough that their memory reached into the very further depths of antiquity, the realm of Hueco Mundo was little more than a colourless desert, stretched over the bones of what had once been a greater civilisation. The broken remains of buildings and once mighty structures peaked through the sands, yet much of what had once been now lay long forgotten beneath a sky that resided in a state of perpetual, unchanging night.

Among the sands dwelt Hollows; for it was in Hueco Mundo that all Hollows originated. Even those who actively hunted in the world of the living, or who prowled the recesses of the Soul Society far in search of more enticing prey, ultimately hailed from and would return to Hueco Mundo once their feeding came to an end. With the true limits of its size unknown to any that dwelt there – if indeed there was any end to the seemingly eternal desert – sporadic colonies of Hollows existed among the dunes; springing up in the form of tiny feudal kingdoms that would ultimately collapse under their own weight once they grew too large.

The only truly stable settlement was Las Noches; the vast, domed city that traditional lore claimed existed at the very centre of the lifeless world. A stark, imposing proxy to the Seireitei of the Soul Society. Like all structures in Hueco Mundo, Las Noches were less than it had once been; only some half the size of the Seireitei, yet with sprawling ruins surrounding its enormous domed superstructure that indicated it had once been far larger. Indeed, though virtually none of those who dwelt there now lived long enough to recall, Las Noches had once been the seat of a vast Empire that had extended its reach across much of the eternal desert.

The Seat of the Seducer.

Today, a different ruler sat upon the throne of Hueco Mundo, and her rule was neither as extensive nor unchallenged as that of her predecessor. Her rule disputed from both without and within, Mircalla Zolmao – the Primera Espada – was one of two individuals who each claimed ultimate rule of Hueco Mundo; her own dominion being slightly the less tenuous for no other reason than because she controlled Las Noches. But since the collapse of the Old Empire, Hueco Mundo had been in a near constant state of civil war for control of the throne that Zolmao so desperately clung to.

It was a grip that was becoming increasingly desperate since the southern sky had, for the first time in living memory, become bright.

Almost six months previously, the skies above Hueco Mundo had been lit afire. A Great Garganta, such that had not been seen above the desert for the last twenty thousand years, tore open the perpetual night and spat forth fire and devastation. From the great opening poured forth a vast object of black crystal, falling to the sands at such speed it ignited the very atmosphere. And when it landed it did so with such force that the sound thundered across the length and breadth of Hueco Mundo; the shockwave of its arrival so fearsome that, for miles around, tens of thousands of Hollows were simply vaporised by the heat and pressure.

The impact had been passing, but its effects were not. Although the landing had occurred many hundreds of miles to the south of Las Noches, the luminescent glow of the vast object that had struck the desert continued to light the horizon from that moment onward. And with the light came a sense of creeping, pervading dread that spread palpably through the sands and threatened to choke the life from all who turned their eyes southward. To those old enough to remembered the days of the Old Empire, it was a sensation of terrifying familiarity.

The Three Crowned Empress had returned.

In the months that followed, death had flowed from the south. Marching unceasingly, inexhaustibly onward, it was as though some invisible force reached out its hand to all that lay in its path. Those who fled in its wake brought stories of Hollows flaking away before their eyes, drifting southward on the wind as glittering fragments of reishi that were drawn to the source of the terrifying glow that flooded the horizon. And those that dwelt ahead of the expanding tide of death were left with little option but either flee, or hope that its progress came to a halt before it reached their dwelling.

For now, however, that remained far removed from the unbreakable walls of Las Noches. And, to Alvaro Moretti, it was indistinguishable from myth.

Alvaro was, by the measurements of most of the denizens of Hueco Mundo, a truly ancient Arrancar. At some ten thousand years old, he had stood guard upon the walls of Las Noches for so long that he was almost considered a part of them. Personally entrusted by the Primera Espada to guard the southern districts of the massive city, his long service and prowess as a warrior earned him the number 101 among the Arrancar; a position that was the envy of many of the Numeros.

A gigantic man, he stood at almost eight feet tall – his gigantic frame accentuated by thick limbs and a barrel chest; the long pristine robe worn over his white shihakusho doing little to hide the swell of his statuesque build. Like a gargoyle, he spent every waking moment of every day it his post, his bearded features without expression as he stared resolutely southward; his long, halberd like zanpakuto balanced across his shoulders and the back of his neck, ever ready to fend off invasion.

From his post, Alvaro had watched the glow upon the horizon since the day it had appeared. He had seen the flood of refugees that had fled north in its wake, and he had butchered them as they came begging at the gate of Las Noches. It was not the place of peons to approach the door of a queen, and it was as much his duty to keep away such riff raff as it was to defend the gate from attack. And, as one of the strongest Arrancar in Hueco Mundo that was not numbered among the Espada, he was more than capable of doing both.

Today, as every day, found Alvaro upon the same wall he had stood guard upon for thousands of years. And, as was becoming increasingly commonplace, his cold eyes rested upon the steady progress of another pair of refugees making their way northward towards Las Noches, and the gate he was tasked to guard. Two weary figures, trudging through the desert, hoping that the impregnable walls of the fortress city would protect them from what they imagined lay behind.

This pair were unusual, however.

Most of those who had fled towards the city in the preceding days had either been full Hollows or, at most, proto-Arrancar. However, from their humanoid shape, Alvaro could only guess that the two approaching his post were, like himself, from more evolved stock; full Arrancar.

They both wore long cloaks to protect themselves from the harsh desert; white cloaks that had been stained beige by the long trudge through the sands. Even from a great distance, the telescopic sight of Alvaro's reiatsu enhanced vision was capable of picking up every minute detail of the two travellers; noting that not only their cloaks were identical, but so too were the long silver medallions that dangled from their necks. The medallions spilled forth from under their drawn hoods to bounce upon their chests with each forward step, each footfall glinting fierce red in the moonlight. The medallions took the form of a single polished ruby set within a ring of silver, shaped like an eye; the gem's window appearing almost like a slit pupil in the very centre.

Save for their attire and the medallions, the two refugees were not in any way similar. One of the pair was much smaller than the second. At first, Alvaro thought he was watching the approach of a man and a child, but as the pair grew closer he realised that the smaller of the two figures was in fact fully grown at some six feet in height. Rather, it was the second figure that was utterly gigantic – at full height, perhaps as much as two or three feet taller than Alvaro himself. Despite his massive size, the second figure walked fully upright in the manner of a man - his body appearing to be perfectly proportional to his eight, although the breadth of his shoulders spoke of a muscular build beneath his cloak.

'That one might be an Adjucas.....I'd better kill him first.'

That the two figures appeared to be full Arrancar, and that one appeared to be an Adjucas like himself, was of no great concern to Alvaro. His strength was legendary, and it would take a truly exceptional Arrancar to match him. However the possibility of damage to the outer gate was sufficient for him to advance upon the pair before they came too close. From his lofty perch, it may have appeared to a casual observer as if the stoic guardian flickered and vanished from sight, flickering away with the low pitched, vibrating buzz of sonido.

Darting across the desert at the speed of sound, Alvaro travelled the distance between himself and the two intruders in an instant, swallowing up six hundred meters of open desert with little more than a step. His feet sinking into the soft sand as he thundered to a sudden stop, the air snapping loudly around him as he terminated his sonido only ten meters ahead of the pair, the gate-guard stretched to his full height as he panted the base of his halberd in the ground beside his foot.

“Turn back,” he instructed.

It was not an offer he made on every occasion, and it was not always heeded even when he did so. Those he encountered upon the road to Las Noches were typically desperate and terrified, more afraid of what lay behind than what lay ahead. Few of those he barred had the good sense to turn back, and some had so little sense that they had even attacked him. The pair he now encountered, however, did something that Alvaro did not expect. Something that none of those he had stopped on the road before had done.

They simply kept walking.

To be resisted was one thing, but to be utterly ignored was another. Alvaro was almost too surprised even to feel outrage as the pair's forward march continued uninterrupted, neither of them appearing to offer him so much a glance as their attention remained focused upon the distant gate house. Though their faces were rendered invisible within the shadows of their raised hoods, neither of their heads turned towards the Arrancar guardian and – when afforded a moment to recover – Alvaro's surprise quickly turned to rage.

'Don't they know who they're dealing with?'

Gritting his teeth, Alvaro swept his weapon into a ready stance. Whether the intruders intended to deliberately mock him, or whether they were simply insane no longer mattered. If they meant to proceed, then he was duty bound to stop them. Grasping his right hand near the base of his zanpakuto's long haft, he guided the weapon with his left to aim the spear-like tip of the halberd's head for the sternum of the gigantic adjucas. Putting aside the smaller of the two, he concentrated his efforts upon the larger of the pair as he wasted no further time on warnings. For those who ignored the instructions of Las Noche's guardian, a killing strikes was the only appropriate response.

Pushing off from his back foot, the air once again shuddered with the low hum of sonido as he catapulted himself towards the giant. His technique honed by long centuries of near constant conflict, it was the same thrust had felled countless opponent during his standout career among the Numeros. Breath, footwork, grip, hips, torso – every element of the attack flowed together in a perfect motion as he sought to drive the pointed tip of his halberd through the chest of his chosen target.

He felt the impact as the razor sharp point of the weapon struck home. His body weight and forward momentum carried the blow onward – not aiming simply to strike the target, but rather to tear through it. It was a familiar movement; one that Alvaro carried out with the ease of muscle memory. And, because of that the guardian was able to tell at once that, this time, something was different.

Where he should have felt only brief resistance followed by the soft penetration of flesh and muscle, Alvaro felt a shuddering jolt rattle up his arms as his weapon was immediately stopped dead. His head snapped forward with a painful crack of whiplash as his forward lunge was terminated immediately. His weapon did not slice into the body of his selected victim, but instead stopped short at the point of impact – the metal half of the weapon straining and bending as the pointed tip – resting squarely in the centre of the giant's chest – refused to press any further forward.

“Imposs-”

Alvaro's exclamation was silenced as a hand large enough to engulf his entire head reached out to wrap its fingers around his skull. His words turning into a muffled cry of alarm, the guardian attempted to use his own fist to beat at the massive hand that grasped him. The sharp pain of his knuckles splitting against the fist told him that he was striking hard; yet, for all his efforts it appeared to have little impact as the giant raised its hand to lift the Arrancar from his feet. His legs kicking frantically in an attempt to find purchase, Alvaro found himself lifted skywards by the giant's single arm.

The smaller of the two intruders watched in sudden interest – the pair having come to a stop only when Alvaro finally launched his assault. Making no move to intervene, he watched in silence for a few moments as his enormous companion held Alvaro in place effortlessly – speaking only when the crackling snap of bone indicated that, within the giant's fist, Alvaro's skull was being slowly crushed.

“What are you doing?” the smaller man queried. His voice was like liquid silk, rich and graceful, his pronunciation eloquent and refined.

“This little cockroach attacked me,” the giant replied – his own voice like cracking stone, vibrating inside a chest large enough to house several grown men. If either holding aloft the large Arrancar, or the latter's pounding on his fist, caused the giant any discomfort, it certainly did not show in his voice. “It's almost like he doesn't know who I am.”

“He doesn't know who you are,” the smaller man countered, his cloak shifting as the speaker appeared to plant a fist on his hip. “It's been twenty thousands years....It's to be expected that not everyone is going to start grovelling just because you're walking by.”

“Well they'd better start, soon,” the giant growled – the sound of cracking bone growing louder, an Alvaro's struggles growing weaker. “I do not care to be greeted like a peasant on the doorstep of the Capital. Zolmao should beg forgiveness for such an insult.”

Alvaro's arms and legs went limp, falling to dangle from his suddenly still body. From his numb fingers, his zanpakuto clattered to the ground – the point of the halberd's thrusting tip a flat stub; it's point apparently having broken off on impact. Neither his disarmament nor the cessation of his struggles earned Alvaro a reprieve, however – the giant continuing to hold him aloft as the shorter man turned his head once more towards Las Noches.

“We're not here for Zolmao,” he murmured. “The time will come for that, and by all means you can tear that woman's head from her shoulders the instant Tamiel-sama orders it. But for now we-”

The speaker winced, turning his face aside as – with a wet pop – the skull held within his companion's fist suddenly exploded. Under such intense pressure, Alvaro's head came apart like ripe fruit – a spray of crimson matter squeezing from between the giant's fingers as the guardian's decapitated body crashed to the ground, a trail of liquid flesh and bone following him on his descent. The giant appeared as surprised as his companion, withdrawing his gore slick hand and turning to look down at his counterpart almost as though he had been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“But for now,” the smaller man continued with a weary sigh, “Tamiel-sama's instructions are not! To kill! Anyone!”

“....Sorry,” the larger man mumbled out a response, shaking off his wet hand in a vain attempt to remove some of the slick. “But how was I to know he'd be that fragile?”

“Just...” the smaller man ground his teeth, tempering whatever reply he had been about to give. “Try to remember while you're in there. You can maim, but try not to inflict any permanent harm. All I need you to do is cause enough chaos for me to locate the Aluka. If that isn't beyond your scope.”

“Are you giving me orders, boy?” the giant's queried – the note a snarl on the edge of his voice, though the smaller man simply offered brief exhalation that might have been the beginnings of a laugh.

“No,” he replied. “But Tamiel-sama did.”

That was sufficient to quiet any further objections from the man's large companion. For no amount of pride was sufficient to make it worthwhile crossing Tamiel the Fallen. Instead, the giant merely responded with a reluctant nod, the pair resuming their march towards Las Noches.

For the first time in twenty thousand years, and leaving in their wake the broken corpse of the man who had defended the city for almost half of that time, the servants of Isharie the Seducer returned to what had once been the capital of her ancient Empire.
 

Seraphina

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Act IV: The Privaron Espada



- Hueco Mundo -
- Tres Cifras, Las Noches -





“Alvaro is dead.”

The statement was breathed out along with a thick cloud of grey smoke. The speaker sighing out his words with a note of resigned irritation. Taking only as long as it took to speak a single sentence before thrusting his long stemmed smoking pipe back between his teeth, Conrado Grajeda – Arrancar number 100 – raised a thumb to absently massage the eye socket concealed beneath his white cloth eyepatch; an old habit that did very little to soothe the headaches that plagued him whenever life was at its most stressful.

As the leader of the Privaron Espada, Conrado's life had become excessively stressful ever since that damnable light had appeared on the southern Horizon.

Conrado was among the most ancient Arrancar still living within Las Noches, and the many thousands of battles he had engaged in had taken their toll upon his features. Unlike the smooth beauty of many of his counterparts, Conrado's features were rough and weathered; his granite physique a mosaic of criss-crossing scars and jagged cuts that told of the many hardships he had endured during his long years. His missing eye, hidden beneath his eyepatch, was only one of his many enduring wounds.

The middle finger of his right hand terminated in a stump at the first digit. His left knee was supported by an iron brace worn over his white hakama. His right ear, hidden beneath his sleek, shoulder length black hair, was missing an ear lobe. While his most grievous injury was to his hollow hole – situated near the centre of his sternum, where usually a Hollow's hole was perfectly circular, Conrado's was shaped more like a tagged tear through the centre of his body, the surrounding flesh charred and blackened by some horrific wound endured in a previous eon.

His forehead was covered by a white bandanna that stretched over the crown of his head, white on his torso he wore a simple, sleeveless jacket of the same colour. His obi was crimson, tied around his waist in the manner of a sash that dangled as far as his iron-clad knee, while both his hands were wrapped from knuckle to elbow in strips of narrow cloth. It was a simply garb, lacking the gravitas that his title might otherwise have demanded – only the number “100” tattooed upon his bare right shoulder gave any indication that he was in any way important.

His zanpakuto was shaped like an enormous hammer, though the weighty hammerhead was merely the pommel of a long, straight-bladed sword. Currently, his maimed right hand was curved around that hammerhead – his remaining fingertips drumming thoughtfully as he gazed out from the balcony of his lodgings within Tres Cilfras; the fortress castle in which the Privaron Espada made their headquarters.

There had been little need to announce the death of Alvaro Moretti. Every single one of the room's three occupants had felt their companion's reiatsu snuff out. However long years of camaraderie with the stone faced gate guard left Conrado with the feeling that he was at least obligated to say something. Even if his fellow Privaron were less concerned with grief than they were with an entirely different sensation that was beginning to creep into the city.

Terror.

Like ice cold water seeping through its veins, the wave of palpable dread was spreading northwards through every region of Las Noches. The many spires and pinnacles that thrust upward from the sand under which much of the city was buried almost seemed to tremble themselves as, beneath the skylike dome that encompassed the entire, massive complex, the feeling that something truly terrible was about to occur filled the heart of the capital.

“Is it Diablo?”

The question was asked by one of the two men who stood behind him. Leonel Acero, Arrancar number 103. Despite being armed with the heiro that protected all Arrancar, he was one of the few soldiers of Las Noches who clad himself in armour; every movement of his lean, muscular body producing the melodic ring of jingling chainmail. From head to foot, Conrado's fellow Arrancar was clad in a complex weave of chain and plate, the sheen of his eyes only just visible through the grid-like visor of his feather-capped helmet. As one of the few Arrancar whose mask remained almost entirely intact despite his ascension, Leonel was as incapable of removing his armour as Conrado was of regrowing his missing eye.

Beside Leonel stood Arrancar number 102, Beatriz Ramon. Unlike Leonel, her features were visible to the naked eye; though Conrado often wished they weren't. A heavyset women, Beatriz stood at some six and a half feet, dwarfing both men by almost five inches; her thick limbs swelling with muscles that were barely restrained within the surprisingly elegant gown she clad herself in.

So muscular that it was difficult to tell where her thick neck ended and her flat face began, the woman wore an all but perpetual scowl. Her red lips curled in disgust, her heavily shaded eyes looked beyond Conrado to observed the cityscape herself; her blonde hair spikes into a viscous mohawk. The heavy, double headed pair of axes that made up her zanpakuto were thrust into her obi; her sheer size making them look like hand axes, though both her fists rested upon the pommels as though eager to dive into combat.

“I don't think so,” Conrado replied to Leonel's question. “If Dios de Diablo were attacking, he would have brought an army with him. This is....something else.”

Turning to look back at the cityscape once more, Conrado's single eye narrowed thoughtfully as he made an attempt to reach out in search of the reiatsu of the intruder. He felt certain, if only for a moment, that he had caught a glimpse of it in the moment of Alvaro's death. Something that had, if only for the space of a heartbeat, screamed across his senses and ignited panic in his heart. Something familiar.

Something terrible.

“What do we do, Chief?” it was Beatriz who spoke, her mohawk shaking with anticipation; unlike her companions, wanting nothing more than to move out and tackle whatever was encroaching upon the city.

“Hrmph,” Conrado snorted, expelling another thick plume of smoke as he did so, almost as though the question were worthy of not greater response. Nevertheless he removed the pipe from his mouth and knocked it against the low marble balcony, before sliding it into his jacket. “We do as we have been ordered. Tres Cifras guards the way to the heart of Las Noches, and the Privaron Espada guard Tres Cifras. Whatever is out there, we let the Numeros deal with it. We remain at our post.”

“We aren't going to avenge Alvaro?” Leonel interjected, his voice carrying a metallic ring as it echoed from the inside of his helmet.

Behind Conrado, Beatriz cast a quizzical glance towards Leonel – as though searching for some explanation for Conrado's proposed inaction in the emotionless mask of the other man's helmet. To them, the way forward was a simple one; although it was certainly true that one of their own had been killed, none of them had detected the release of Alvaro's zanpakuto. It seemed certain that he had been taken by surprise. Although even if his opponent had simply outmatched him, there were few opponents outside of the Espada capable of fighting so many Privarion at once. All that was to be done was to engage and destroy whatever fool had dared to invade the Capital.

To Conrado, however, there was something entirerly too familiar about the sensation of creeping doom that knotted its way into the pit of his stomach. A sensation he could not recall feeling for countless years. The invader had yet to produce any discernible reitsu, making their precise location as they moved into the city. Unlike Alvaro, he took the ominious glow in the southern sky very seriously.

Nor did he think this sudden attack was unconnected.

“To hell with Alvaro,” he finally grunted. “He was fool enough to get himself killed. I'm not going to compound his mistake by making one of my own. We'll remain at our posts and see what happens for now.”


*****​


Much of Hueco Mundo lay beneath the sands, and in truth the distinction between one castle and another within the complex was arbitrary. There was no structure beneath the dome that was not directly connected to the others through the winding labyrinth of subterranean passages, and they merely appeared separate when viewed from the surface level. However, the sheer size of the enormous city was such that it could effectively be divided into districts, and it was impossible to pass from the main gates into the city proper without first passing through Tres Cifras.

Although relatively small when compared to the castle-cities assigned to each of the Espada, Tres Cifras was not designed to be lavish. It was a fortress. A sprawling network of choke points and spiralling passages intending to confuse the enemy. And outfitted with chambers specifically designed to compliment the combat abilities of the individual Privarion should the enemy breach the outer defences. It had been centuries since the fortress had seen combat, for rarely did any hostile force make it beyond the outer wall.

But Tres Cifras was not merely designed to protect what lay beyond. But also what lay within.

Few who lived within Hueco Mundo today were fully aware of the city's many secrets. The city had been built millennia before many of its denizens took their first breath even within their mortal lives. Ten thousand years before humans had invented Agriculture, Las Noches was lifted from the sands by the dreams of a slumbering god. What remained today was only a fragment of its previous majesty. To Mircalla Zolmoa and Dios Del Diablo, Las Noches were merely a crown to be fought over. Ownership of the ancient capital leant one credibility as the legitimate ruler of Hueco Mundo, and their interest in holding the city extended no further than that.

To those who followed the Three Crowned Empress, the wealth of the city did not lay in its symbolic significance, or in its place in history. The theology that placed Isharie the Seducer at the peak of its pantheon cared not for the bones of their old Empire; they had eternity before them to create a new one. But Las Noches was a place of whispers and secrets, of long buried and forgotten knowledge that few of its current inhabitants had any inking of. And it was there that the true value of Las Noches was to be found.

And it was those secrets that the intruder sought out.

Having abandoned his gigantic comrade in the upper city, the smaller of the two invaders had made his way into Tres Cifras without confrontation. Navigating his way through tunnels and passages that were well known to him, he made his way silently into the depths of the fortress-city, uncovering sealed doorways and winding staircases that had gone long undisturbed. Although time had caused many of the routes he sought to have collapsed after aeons of neglect and disrepair, the intruder was nevertheless able to make his way to the heart of the citadel while his companion raged through the city.

Far above his head – for his journey had taken him several hundred meters below ground – he could detect the tremors in the hairs on the back of his neck that told him an intense storm of reiatsu was brewing within the city proper. Those Numeros that dwelt within the outer city had scrambled to its defence. Though despite the battle having started in earnest, the intruder found himself surprised by the number of combatants.

At the height of the Empire, Las Noches had been garrisoned primarily by The Sehrahtzava – a legion tens of thousands strong that functioned under the command of the Inner Pantheon. Throughout the length and breadth of the Empire, the sovereign Lords known as the Apocrypha commanded between them a force that numbered in the millions; an army that had blackened the skies and swept aside all that lay before it. And yet, today, the invasion of the capital was met by a defensive force of Arrancar that numbered less than two dozen.

How the mighty had fallen.

Perhaps millennia of attrition in the ongoing conflict between Las Noches and Dios De Diablo had whittled away Arrancar numbers until they reached their current, sorry state. Or perhaps, without a strong leader to unify them, the Arrancar had simply devoured each other, such that only a handful now remained. Whatever the case, it mattered little to the intruder; the time would come to rebuild the Empire, but for now he had other concerns.

His path through the confined corridors of the secret ways through the citadel bypassed the heart of the complex; his route snaking its way ever darker and deeper into the very underbelly of the citadel. His feet treading through dust that lay inches thick, undisturbed for aeons, the intruder ventured through passages that few living Arrancar even knew existed. It was a source of some bitter amusement to him that the denizens of Las Noches probably had probably explored only a fraction of their forgotten kingdom.

Las Noches had not been built by Hollows. It was found. A glorious feat of architecture that surpassed all others, at its height the city had been every bit the equal of the Seireitei in grandeur. First discovered by the Black Emperor, Azmodeus, he had spent almost one thousand years personally exploring its every corner. And though the world changed around him as he remained shuttered away, alone within the sprawling city, in the end he had known the place of every stone in every wall.

The intruder himself could not claim such knowledge – though his heartbeat quickened at the mere thought of possession a fraction of the secrets to which the Black Emperor was privy – his own understanding of the city was sufficient for the task that he had been set. And so he came at last to the very basin of Las Noches; some three miles below ground, where one of its deepest secrets lay undisturbed.

After descending an impossibly long, winding staircase, the intruder's path opened into a large chamber. Isolated from starlight or moonlight, the way forward was pitch black; only the immediate surroundings partially illuminated by a soft white glow of reiatsu that emanated from the robed figure as he created his own makeshift light source.

Through the dim light, it was just possible to make out a series of perfectly cylindrical stone pillars that stabbed upwards from the paved floor. Reaching skywards at varying heights, some of the pillars were barely taller than a man, while others stretched upwards until their peak was concealed in the same darkness that the intruder's light could not penetrate. Though most lay in-between; rising some twenty feet above the floor until they terminated in a smooth peak.

Among the pillars the intruder walked, an outstretched hand reaching out to trace his fingertips over the stone that was curiously warm to the touch. Indeed, the entire room was warm; tortuously so. And the chamber's sheer size did little to dispel the stifling, smothering warmth that only grew as the intruder threaded his way through the countless pillars, sampling each in turn. Upon each pillar was inscribed lettering. In complete isolation, with neither wind nor moisture to erode it away, the letters were as crisp and clear as the day they had been carved.

The intruder would know.

He had been there.

The cloaked man's route among the pillars was not completely random. Memory guided him as much as the text upon the pillars, though he could not recall the exact location of what he sought. Though his confidence grew as he advanced, and very soon he stopped referring to the surrounding pillars at all as his internal map of the chamber was pieced together by what he had thus far found.

And so he advanced upon one pillar in particular; some seven feet in height, that appeared no more remarkable than any of other others that he had passed. Yet as he came to a stop before it, the intruder allowed himself a small breath of relief at finally location what he had been searching for. Upon the cylindrical stone pillar, in letters no taller that a finger, were marked the letters: 'Lamashtu Aluka'.

Withdrawing his hand back into the folds of his cloak, the white glow of the intruder's reiatsu faded as he allowed the room to drift once more into utter darkness.


*****​


When the intruder at least returned to the top of the long flight of stairs that had carried him into the chamber, he stepped into a wide, long corridor that rose in a slight incline back the way he had come. Although the path down had been one walked in near absolute darkness, this time he found the corridor well lit – exaggerated shadows whipping and dancing across the walls from the light of flickering torches held up by those that were waiting for his return.

His features had and his expression set, Conrado Grajeda stood with weapon in hand – his fellow Privarion Espada standing to either side of him; each holding high the burning brands they had used to light their way. At once, the three tensed, their bodies coiling into well practised combat stances at the sight of the intruder returning back up the stairs. The intruder himself offered only an irritated sigh at the encounter, stopping within the arched doorway to the corridor as he observed the trio.

“How irritating,” he murmured from beneath his cowl. The shifting of the jewelled amulet that hung from beneath his cloak created an almost musical jingle as he shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose passing through Tres Cifras without being noticed was impossible after all.”

By Conrado's side, Beatriz took an eager step forward; her axe shaped zanpakuto raised in preparation for a charge. Unlike her companions, when the trio had detected an unfamiliar reiatsu making its way through their territory the fact that following it had led them into part of the citadel they never even knew existed had not caused the female Arrancar any great discomfort. To her, a fight was a fight – and it took Conrado raising his arm to block her path to keep the woman from simply charging forward then and there.

“We are the Privarion Espada,” Conrado addressed the cloaked intruder. “You are trespassing in our domain. I suggest that you surrender now.”

Conrado's offer was met with open disgust from Beatriz, her lip curving at the mere notion that her commander was seeing to avoid a fight. Alvaro's own expression, hidden behind his helmet, was unreadable; the stoic Privarion watching passively as he waited for instruction.

“I expect you'd prefer to find out what I was doing down here, before you kill me,” the intruder observed, a note of amusement creeping into his voice. “In your position, I'd probably want the same.”

Conrado clenched his teeth – he certainly did want to know what the stranger had been doing, and how he had managed to lead the Privarion Espada on a merry chase through parts of their own territory that he had never even seen before. He expected, now, that the lone on the attacker had been little more than bait to empty Tres Cifras. However, the fact that the intruder neither seemed surprised, nor altogether concerned, to find himself encountering Conrado and his group was enough to give the Privarion Commander pause.

“Who are you?” he demanded aloud. “How did you know about this place? How many are there in your group? I assure you that answering my questions now will be better than having to answer to....”

“If you want answers,” the intruder interrupted, the same note of quiet amusement in his voice, “you're going to have to force them from me.”

“Bastard!” Beatriz snarled, surging forward to strain against Conrado's interposing arm. “Do you even know who you're picking a fight with!? Stand aside, Chief. Let me kill this guy!”

Despite his subordinate's urgings, Conrado did not budge. His unwillingness to advance appeared to amuse the intruder even further, a definite chuckle drifting from beneath his drawn hood.

“Something wrong?” the intruder queried. “Perhaps you're starting to think that, maybe, you don't have the advantage here? Perhaps you're beginning to wonder when, exactly, I realised you were behind me? Whether or not I've prepared for this encounter? How much power I have? Are you starting to realise, just a little too late, that you've walked into this encounter without even knowing where you are?'

“This isn't your territory,” he concluded. “It's mine. So by all means, feel free to come forward any time you like.”

Conrado's stomach tightened at the invitation, and even Beatriz ceased to push so incessantly against him. To face down three members of the Privarion Espada with such gall was the act of either a madman, or someone very confident in their abilities. For the first time, Conrado found himself beginning to wonder if Alvaro's death truly had been the fluke he'd taken it for.

'He's bluffing. He has to be...If we could follow him down here, then so could the Espada. Every second he's here, he's in more danger. If he really is strong enough to fight his way past us, then he would be better off doing it. Just standing here in a stalemate doesn't help him. He must have some kind of trap that he wants us to walk into.....Something I'm not seeing....'

“Grajeda,” Leonel quietly urged; though the man's features were invisible beneath his helmet, his tone was strained. Although more disciplined than Beatriz, the other man was no less eager to engage the invader. That the battle on the surface was no doubt still going on was reason enough, at least to Conrado's subordinates, not to delay any longer than they needed to.

“Alright,” Conrado finally reached a resolution, turning his head in the direction of Leonel and giving the helmed Arrancar a nod. Whatever hidden danger was present, it was Leonel who had the best chance of attacking in safety.

No sooner had Conrado given his permission than Leonel at once moved to respond. The firelight dancing in a provocative swirl of red upon his armour, the Privarion reached out with his swordarm in an arcing slice towards the distant opponent. Although the enemy stood far beyond the range of the blade, as Leonel swung his weapon – a thin bladed, rapier like sword – the blade stuck out not as solid metal, but as a whip; twisting and elongating along the arc of the swung, such that it snaked out in the direction of the intruder like a striking serpent.

The weapon's passage was blindingly swift; visible only as a flash of metal within the flickering torchlight. Bridging the gap between the Privarion Espada and the intruder in the blink of an eye, Leonel's aim was true; the Arrancar requiring no instruction from Conrado to know that his role was to injure rather than kill. Despite the flexible nature of the weapon, its tip still thrust like a blade; striking the motionless invader in the shoulder and biting deep. The heavy sound of the impact rattled through the musty corridor.

Conrado felt an involuntary smile creak its way onto his lips; his fears allayed as he realised that their opponent was, indeed, bluffing. Adjusting his grip on his own zanpakuto, he prepared to rush forward to restrain the injured invader. By his side, Beatriz eagerly hefted her axe while Conrado dropped his torch, using his now empty left hand to join his right on the hilt of his sword to hold the enemy in place.

But before Conrado could begin his charge, their opponent abruptly burst apart.

With a shockwave that appeared to centre on the point where Leonel's weapon had struck, the man's outline fractured; splitting apart and spreading outwards as though he had simply exploded from inside. Conrado felt the wind knocked out of him as the shockwave expanded outwards with colossal force, colliding with enough force that the Accancar was knocked from his feet. A rush of blistering heat and roaring air screamed across his senses, the passage swallowed up by white noise and dancing spots.

Flat on his back, Conrado's head spun. Blinded by the flash of the explosion and deafened by the ringing in his ears, he lay utterly prone as he struggled to regain his senses. His fractured world was slow to regain its shake – his vision blurred as his eyes began to recover. Though he quickly realised his head was unable to make much sense of what he saw; a warm, slick wetness trickling across his forehead telling him that he had suffered injury.

Immediately to his right, a dark blob lay upon the ground. As his eyes regained their focus, he recognised his zanpakuto. When his instinctive urge to reach for the weapon went unanswered, the Arrancar quickly realised why; his arm was still attached to the weapon, some five feet away from the rest of his body. Beyond it, Beatrix lay motionless upon her stomach, both of her legs terminating in bloody stumps just above the knee.

Conrado tried to turn his head to check on Leonel, but found his body sluggish and slow to respond. In his concussed state, he devoted very little time to considering his own injuries – the pain hadn't hit him yet, but he had sense enough to realise he only had a few minutes of consciousness left. He was able to turn his head only slightly, enough to catch a sight of Leonel out of the corner of his eye. The other man lay slumped against the corridor wall – his armour dented and smoking where it appeared to have afforded him little protection from the blast. His hands appeared to have taken the worst of it – all but two of his fingers gone from his left and three from his right. His zanpakuto – or at least what was left of it – had been hurled back towards him and lanced through his collar bone. Effectively stapled to the wall by his own sword, it was likely that the weapon was all that kept him partially upright.

The dull ring of pain began to filter through Conrado's numbness, and he realised that his nerves were starting to catch up with his injuries. Despite knowing that he had to assess his own condition, his found himself hesitant to look down at himself; how many limbs, he wondered, was he still likely to have.

'What the hell just happened....?'

With the onset of pain, the ringing faded from his ears; replaced instead by the crack and rumble of settling stone and a low groan of pain from Beatrix. However, before he could take stock of his own injuries, Conrado's ears were touched by another sound that instantly set his teeth on edge; footsteps, echoing their way up the spiral staircase up which their exploding opponent had come.

Willing his body to move, the severely injured Arrancar clenched his teeth to keep from screaming as he rolled onto his side to reach out with his left arm towards his zanpakuto. Though his hand was slick with his own blood, it was intact, and he set about the grizzly task of shaking his disembodied right hand from the hilt of his zanpakuto before bringing the weapon to bear. All but collapsing onto his back, he aimed the tip of the weapon towards the top of the staircase in what was likely a futile defensive posture.

The footsteps grew louder and more immediate as he waited, although as the footsteps owner at least reached the top of the staircase, Conrado wondered of his injured mind was playing tricks on him.

Stepping out of the darkness of the stairwell into the partial illumination of Leonel's torch – the only light source that had someone not been snuffed out during the explosion – stepped a perfect duplicate of the man that Conrado had seen explode only moments before. Clad in the same off-white cloak, and with the same hanging medallion that clinked against his chest with every step, the figure hesitated as he stepped into the light, taking in the grizzly scene before him.

“Oh,” he simply stated. “Well this isn't what I expected.”

His sword arm trembling from the effort of holding the weapon aloft, Conrado realised as the man stepped further into the light that he was not empty handed. Slung over his right shoulder, he carried a long, wrapped bundle, some six feet in length. Completely covered in what appeared to be gauze, the surface of the bundle was slick and wet; dripping upon the floor and soaking the cloak of the man who carried it.

“I had expected Zolmoa,” the intruder continued, advancing forward at a casual pace, utterly ignoring the sword that was levelled against him. “To think that I went to so much trouble over a collection of weaklings. That is embarrassing.”

Conrado tried to speak, but the effort caused the bitter, metallic taste of blood to flood into his mouth. The Privarion found himself wondering of part of his jaw had been blown apart. He wanted to demand that the intruder stay back, his surprise and shock turning quickly into terror as he realised he was utterly defenceless; his raised weapon little more than a token gesture as the intruder continued to advance upon him.

'I don't....I don't understand.....I saw him explode. I know I did!'

There was no hurry in the man's steps as he continued forward – the weight of the person-sized package slung across his shoulder appearing to cause him no discomfort. Although his features remained hidden beneath his cowl, Conrado was certain he was looking at the same man.

That what he had seen standing in the doorway previous was real, Conrado had no doubt. Leonel's blow had struck something solid. He hadn't imagined it; his companions had seen it, heard it, reacted to it. Had it been some kind of clone? A dummy? A bomb shaped to resemble its creator, and rigged to explode when attacked?

'But I spoke to it.....and it spoke back. What the hell is this guy's ability!?'

As the invader drew closer, now looming above the prone Arrancar, Conrado was able to see his face for the first time. Although only partially visible beneath his cowl, the man's features were those of a young man – far younger than Conrado had expected. Clean shaven and a strong, angular jawline, the features were youthful and handsome. From beneath his hood, dark brown hair hung to the nape of his neck and across what little of his forehead was visible. A pair of narrow, predatory eyes gazed down at Conrado from above high cheekbones; the left eye from behind a gap in mask shaped like an upside-down tear that covered the the man's left eye socket and cheek – the remnants of his Hollow mask.

It was a face that Conrado recognised. Although he could scarcely believe he were seeing it now. It was a face carved into memory from a time before he had served Las Noches. Before he had held the rank of Privarion Espada. It was a face that went with a name – one name among seven that were carved into the memory of every Arrancar that had lived through that era. Yet the name nor the face were the only sources of cold terror that stripped though the pain to cause Conrado's blood to turn to ice in his veins.

It was the title that went with it.

Morax the Despoiler. The Sixth Apocrypha.

His single eye bulging in terror, the Privarion Espada's grip on his sword faltered – the weapon tumbling from his numb fingers as any hope of defending himself faded from consideration. The injuries he had suffered in the explosion were circumstantial; even were he healthy, and with the full compliment of the Privarion Espada at his back, he would never had had any chance against this opponent.

He looked on in terror as Morax came to a stop above him – looking at the Privarion directly rather than the sword aimed in his direction. His gaze reflected neither sympathy nor compassion – not even interest. His eyes gazed upon the ravaged body of the other Arrancar with cold indifferences, examining him as he might have a piece of broken paving encountered in the street.

“Don't get up,” he told Conrado, before continuing on his way.

Without another glance at the crippled Arrancar, the Apocrypha marched forward at the same unhurried pace. His body barely able to move, Conrado could offer no opposition as the invader simply strolled by to head back into Tres Cifras. Leaving behind the Privarion Espada, the elite fighting force of Las Noches – second only to the Espada in terms of ability and prestige.

Annihilated as an afterthought.




*****​



On the surface of Hueco Mundo, the giant Arrancar sat – utterly bored – amid a scene of carnage.

Surrounded on all sides by cracked stone and smoking craters, he sighed as he turned his massive body to search his surroundings for someone else to fight. Amid the devastation, strewn about like broken dolls, some fifteen Arrancar lay in various positions of agony and differing states of dismemberment. The groans of pain from the injured – those that were still conscious – were a disjointed dirge as the giant sought out any indications of power spiritual pressures nearby.

He was saddened that none of those who had come to defend the city were Espada. Las Noches was perhaps too vast to expect specific individuals to show up for a single engagement, but his participation in the expedition had been predated at least in part upon the promise he could be afforded a chance to fight strong opponents. As such, he had found the resistance offered to be extremely underwhelming. Only extreme restraint on his part had made the battle last as long as it did – or, for that matter, assured that his attackers had not been killed outright.

When the sound of footsteps grating against the stone at last announced the return of his companion, the giant was eager to get underway. Rising to his feet – the broken paving creaking and groaning under his massive weight – the near eleven feet tall monster turned to observe Morax approaching – appearing of the lip of the smoking crater that the giant had crunched into the surface of Las Noches.

“Did you enjoy yourself, Baal?” the smaller man asked, his hooded head turning to sweep over the devastation, and the many broken bodies that lay scattered across the battlefield.

“No,” the giant rumbled in response, his voice heavy with disdain. “Zolmoa did not come.”

“She wasn't expected to,” Morax smirked. “I thought she was following me at one point, though. I ended up using one of my Ecfigia on a collection of weaklings. At the very least, we've confirmed that she doesn't know about the vault. The fact that she didn't rush to protect it herself the moment your attack began means she must not know it's there. If she did, there's no way I would have been able to walk in and out with only a few ants standing in my way. She must have taken your attack as a genuine assault on Hueco Mundo and is probably preparing a trap deeper in the city. It's what I predicted she would do.”

“Yes....” Baal grunted. “You and your predictions....But if you know everything she's going to do, why don't we just go and kill her? Are you afraid her trap would outsmart you?”

The last was added as an attempt at provocation. The larger man vexing his frustrations against his companion. However the remark had no more effect than to elicit an amused snort from Morax, who offered a slow shake of his head.

“As I already told you, we're not here for her.,” he replied. “We're here to get the Aluka. Besides, Tamiel-sama ordered us not to. And if you don't do what Tamiel-sama tells you to do, he'll kill you.”

For the second time that day, the invocation of Tamiel's name was enough to force the gigantic Arrancar to cooperate, and Baal visibly slumped. Apparently satisfied, Morax adjusted the lie of the heavy bundle across his shoulders before turning into a southerly direction – the direction from which the pair had come.

“We have what we came for,” he instructed, “Come here.”

Tamed, at least for the time being, the gigantic Baal obediently lumbered up the side of the crater to join Morax at its peak. He said nothing, merely reaching out to place one of his massive fists upon the smaller man's chest – his hand so enormous that he could easily have enveloped the man's entire torso within his fingers. However, his touch was light and he waited patiently as Morax squinted southward.

“I've got it,” the smaller man murmured. “Let's go.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the air around the two men rippled with a brief, high pitched scream as it shifted around them. The two had not visibly moved – not even with the high speed acceleration of the low, telltale buzz of sonido.

They were simply gone.
 

Seraphina

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Act V: Orientation


- The East Rukongai -
Somewhere in District 3 -




The East Rukongai was hot al l year round. Hot and damp. Even in winter, the heat could be unbearable to those either unused to or ill equipped to cope with the unforgiving sun. Although, with an average rainfall over some four hundred and fifty inches per year, it was the damp that drove most visitors to distraction. The air was moist and thick, cloying and suffocating. Even outside of the dense jungle that made up the majority of the East Rukon, in the height of summer – as it currently was – it could be struggle even for the hardened natives to catch their breath.

With its difficult terrain, thick vegetation and punishing conditions, any district of the East Rukongai was considered among the toughest patrol routes in the Gotei Thirteen. Such was the nature of the place that, for centuries, a long standing saying with the Patrol Corps had been: “If a man can walk in the East, he'll fly anywhere else”. Small wonder, therefore, that summer in the East Rukongai was considered the ideal time for training manoeuvrers to serve as a final exam for prospective recruits to the corps. The infamously difficult training exercise known among patrol corps alumni as “swelt week”.

Aihara Natsuo and Shiro Yamauichi, unseated members of the second division, where only three days into their third day of swelt week.

And both of them felt like they were going to die.

Natsuo's eyelids felt heavy, and he wondered how deeply the dark rings around his eyes were etched into his features. In the past three days, he didn't imagine he had been afforded more than an hour's worth of sleep.

Seven days. Seven arduous, torturous days spent in the jungle. Seven days meant to drive the recruits to the very brink of what they could take. Seven days or marching, hunting and fighting through the tangled vegetation, all while being afforded a total of some four hours sleep over the course of the entire exercise. Unable to wash, his skin and hair were filthy; the stink of unwashed bodies crowded into the communal tent for the trainees so overpowering that it was difficult to breath.

And to make matters worse, along with his friend Yamauichi, he found himself on his belly in inch thick mud, having to take orders from 'Nutbuster'.

When he and his four fellow trainees had first been told they would be training under her, Natsuo had found himself fairly pleased. He had entered into the exercise with in image in his head of all the instructors being tough, sun baked, battle scared, hairy, middle aged men. So when the Seventh Seat of the Second Division, Katayama Ryu (who, incidentally, fit that very description perfectly) had pointed out the Shinigami that would be supervising his training, it had seemed like quite a blessing.

She was young, beautiful – easily one of the most attractive women he had seen in his life - and had a certain haughty dignity about her that Natsuo had at first found attractive. However in the days that followed any attraction he felt for the young woman had whittled away into bitter resentment. The young woman seemed to deliberately lead Natsuo and his fellow recruits through the toughest terrain imaginable, and there were only so many times he could emerge from an angry snarl of brambles with his skin and his cloths torn and shredded only to see her waiting up ahead as pristine and unruffled as she was when she went in before he started to think she was having him for a fool.

She seemed intent on pushing her charges to breaking point, and then pushing them even further just because she could. So much so that Natsuo began to wonder if the other groups – of which there were four spread throughout the district on similar exercises – were being treated anywhere near as harshly as his. It didn't help that she never failed to comment that he and his fellow recruits there “too noisy” or “too slow” or “left a trail” or the most cryptic of all: “you don't know how to move”. And thus her nickname: “Nutbuster”.

Flat on his belly – his chin rested on the relatively clean back of his hands to keep his nose out of the filth – Natsuo found himself huddled under his cloak as heavy rainfall lashed across his back; the thick droplets reaching him even through the dense foliage under which he was hidden. The rainfall pattering loudly against his drawn hood left him death to almost everything else, and he was so wet, dirty and miserable that he had stopped making any effort to keep track of how long he had been lying there.

Nutbuster lay less than a foot to his right. So far as he could tell, she had not so much as twitched for at least the last half hour and he wondered how she managed to avoid cramping up. She had slightly raised her upper body from the mud, her left arm extended forward with her utterly ridiculous zanpakuto braced across the ground; the enormous tachi, with the base of the sheath joined to the pommel by a taught string, more like a bow than a sword. Indeed, this was exactly how the girl used the weapon – one of the several allows she kept in a quiver across her back notched to the bow string, the fingers of her right hand ready to pull the sting taut at any moment.

Yamauichi was somewhere behind Natsuo. Although he couldn't turn around to look at the other man because on the one occasion he had tried, Nutbuster had at once hissed out an irritated remark to the effect of that he shouldn't fidget. Her amber eyes remained trained ahead, peering through the underbrush at a gap in the foliage ahead marking a game trail.

“It's coming,” the girl suddenly whispered. It was the first sound that any of the three had uttered for some time, and Natsuo jumped in surprise. Squinting, her peered into the jungle in search of whatever indication the girl had seen of some change in their vigil. Try as he might, however, he could neither see nor hear any change in the tangled mass of greenery.

“I don't see-” he began, but cut off as he too became aware of a sound rising over the din of the heavy rainfall. A hard, thrashing, shredding sound; as though something far off where moving through the undergrowth at great speed. His mouth immediately feeling uncomfortably dry, the young Shinigami shifted to allow him access to the hilt of his zanpakuto.

“The two of you will take the lead,” his instructor murmured. “I'm here to observe. Remember, the only way to finish it is-”

“A blow to the head,” Yamauichi's voice – resonating deep within the large Shinigami's massive chest – sounded from over Natsuo's shoulder. “We know.”

The girl turned her head slightly to glance in Yamauichi's direction out of the corner of her eye, but she offered not chastisement at his speaking out of turn. Instead she directed her gaze ahead once more, her fingers grasping her knocked arrow though she made no attempt to draw the bowstring. The approaching din was growing louder, the undergrowth beginning to shift and churn as the source of the sound drew close enough that its visible effect upon the jungle became apparent.

And, all to suddenly, the greenery burst apart. No sooner had the forest errupted in movement than Natsuo sprang to his feet, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he drew his zanpakuto to charge forward. However no sooner had he broken from cover than the young Shinigami stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in surprise as he found himself face to red-cheeked face with Hirose Kansuke – the third member of the five man team.

If ever there was a man who looked unsuitable for the Patrol Corps, it was Kansuke. Some fifty pounds overweight, and three times the age of any of the other recruits, his breath was ragged in his lungs as he very nearly collided with Natsuo's forward charge. The man's eyes – usually looking quite beady from where they nestled in his fat cheeks – bulged in horror as he barely managed to gasp out an explanation.

“It's right behind us!” he wheezed, almost immediately doubling over to place his hands on his knees; the statement appearing to take the last air from his overtaxed lungs. Behind him, a second figure burst from the undergrowth – though once again it was another Shinigami. The much slimmer, albeit equally red faced, Hirose Shunsuke, the final member of their team and nephew to his older counterpart.

“What the hell!” Yamauichi exclaimed, drawing level to stand beside Natsuo and towering over the other members of the team by a full foot. “You jackasses were meant to be herding it! Not the other way around!”

“No time,” Natsuo barked, irritated at the unexpected change of plans, but keenly aware of the amber stare of the instructor resting upon them. “I'll draw it in. Kan-kun, Shun-kun, you take up the flanks. Yama-kun, you've got the killing blow.”

The heaving of the jungle was becoming more intense as something far larger than the either of the Shinigami that had proceeded it continued to shed its way through the foliage. As the four young Shinigami rushed to assume their assigned positions, Natsuo himself stepped forward to meet it – his drawn sword raised defensively before him. The looming figure of Yamauichi – the man's enormous, zanbato shaped zanpakuto poised to deliver a heavy blow – was only a small comfort, however. Despite the heavy downpour, Natsuo still felt as though his mouth were bone dry.

Before his eyes, the forest parted once more.

The beast that burst from from the greenery was as far removed from the Shinigami was possible. A mass of bone and muscle, only vaguely humanoid in shape. Tearing through the vines and trees like paper, it stood erect at a full eight feet – dwarfing even the towering Yamauchi – its pale white body roped with thick stripes of hard muscle. Though it walked in two legs, there was no mistaking it for a person. Its rear limbs terminated in cloven hooves, while both forelimbs hung so low that it was easy to imagine the creature walked on its knuckles on most occasions. Its head was invisible beneath the bone white structure of its hollow mask, frozen in the visage of an enraged boar.

It was the first Hollow, the first real Hollow, that Natsuo had ever seen. A far cry from the far less threatening dummy Hollows that he had regularly engaged in the Academy. Those had been little more than empty shells: Automotons constructed to serve as a proxy for Hollows. But, now that he stood face to face with the genuine article, Natsuo realised that there was truly no comparison to be made. The size, the ferocity, the acrid stench...and the disquieting sense of menace that shrieked across his nerves as he detected the creature's monstrous spiritual pressure.

No wonder Kansuke and Shunsuke had run.

The Hollow hesitated for only a moment as it encountered the group. Having been pursuing two Shinigami and suddenly finding itself encountering four appeared to give the creature momentary pause. Its shoulders rising and falling after the exertion of its charge through the jungle, the Hollow's masked head swivelled to take in the recruits one by one, perhaps sizing them up.

Natsuo acted before the creature could decide what to do. Having chosen for himself the role to attract the beast's attention, he withdrew his left hand from the hilt of his sword to aim a fingertip at the Hollow. Knowing that he likely didn't have enough time for a fully chanted hado, he was limited to the low levels – those he could safely use without a chant.

“Hado number four,” he shouted. “Byakurai!”

Natsuo had seen more powerful Shinigami use the fourth level of hado to create a white hot beam that cut like a blade. His own version was significantly less effective – little more than a flash of blue light and heat that was gone as quickly as it appeared. Nevertheless, the hado left his fingertip and struck the Hollow on its left shoulder almost instantly, producing a spark of flame that was immediately extinguished by the rainfall, leaving behind an angry, sizzling red mark upon the creature's pale flesh.

He doubted it did much damage. But it at least got the Hollow's attention.

Incensed by the unexpected attack, the Hollow immediately charged towards him. It's massive size and weight such that the ground shook with its every footfall, the beast's enormous stride covered the distance between man and beast with blistering speed. To either side, Kansuke and Shunsuke closed in to narrow the creature's advance – the raised tips of their zanpakuto extended threateningly to force the beast into a straight path towards Natsuo.

Natsuo himself backed away, his stomach feeling as though it were falling into his feet as he withdrew at a scramble; extending the range that the creature had to charge and bringing it into range of Yamauchi's sword. The Hollow charged forth, seemingly oblivious to the other Shinigami, raising a fist almost as large as Natsuo's torso in readiness to crush the Shinigami flat.

But as ferocious as the Hollow's advance, the Shinigami's movements were smooth and well drilled. It may have been their first Hollow, but it was not the first time they had used the manoeuvre. Countless practice sessions with Dummy Hollows told each member of the team how and when to move; recruits or not, none of the men were mere students any more. They were fully fledged Shinigami, and their attack was crisp and precise.

As Natsuo drew the Hollow in, the creature continued to follow him – bypassing and utterly ignoring Yamauchi and his raised blade. Natsuo felt a sigh of relief exit his lungs as the largest member of the group seized his moment to strike. His massive sword raised like a guillotine, the Shinigami brought the weapon down in a straight cutting blow towards the monster's neck as it passed him by.

The heavy blade fell. It struck. It drew blood. And it turned against the armoured plate of the Hollow's mask.

The momentary relief that Natsuo had felt instantly vanished; replaced instead with cold horror as Yamauchi's blade was knocked off centre by the hard surface of the creature's mask. Its cutting edge no longer in proper line with the cut, the weapon became lodged in the mask only an inch after biting. Against a normal sized opponent, the sheer weight of the sword would have carried it through regardless – but this was a large Hollow. The density of bone and muscle that the blade had to contend with was simply too much for anything less than a perfect cut and, with Yamauchi's blade lodged in its head, the monster continued its charge uninterrupted.

Fighting in vain to control the creature, the large Shinigami tried to use his trapped sword to redirect its charge. But man and sword were simply dragged along with the creature – the Hollow appearing totally oblivious to the blow as it continued its enraged charge towards Natsuo. In horrid fascination, he watched as its white jaws parted – its mask yawning open to allow him a glimpse of the creature's real mouth beyond. Its mouth was almost disturbingly human like: White teeth and a re throat greeted him within a maw large enough to engulf his head. Though he raised his sword defensively, he knew that the Hollow's sheer mass alone would break every bone in his body the moment it collided with him.

'I...I'm gonna die!'

Or at least, he certainly thought he was going to die. Until the charging Hollow abruptly burst into pieces.

In his shock, Natsuo failed to even turn his face aside and grimaced as he was immediately splattered in a mess of blood, flesh and assorted pieces of the Hollow as the creature erupted before his eyes. Its upper body all but exploding, the creature's hoofed legs continued forward for one further step before collapsing into an untidy heap at Natsuo's feet. Yamauchi – thrown clear by the explosion – struck the ground with a grunt of pain; his zanpakuto firmly clutched in his right fist, but refused to little more than a smoking stub of its former self. All but the first three inches of the blade had been seared from the hilt, as whatever force had caused the Hollow to explode had apparently taken the sword with it.

“That could have gone better.”

Natsuo's body felt sluggish as he turned his head. Otherwise frozen in place, such half way between a state terror and combat high, the four rookie Shinigami were able to do little more but force their stiff necks to rotate towards their instructor as she strode from the foliage. The arrow that she had knocked to her bow was gone – instead, the bowstring emitted a gentle trail of hissing steam as it made contact with the deluge of cool rain. Natsuo hadn't seen the arrow. Hadn't heard it. Hadn't felt it. But there could be no doubt that it was the explanation for the Hollow's sudden destruction.

“If you guys can't corral and deal with one low level Hollow, you're not ready for the patrol corps,” she continued, placing her bizarrely shaped zanpakuto across her cloaked shoulders as her admonishing gaze drank in all four junior Shinigami. “Day three is a bust. Strap yourselves in, gentlemen. Because you've got four left to show me that you are ready.”

Natsuo's shoulders slumped, resiting the urge to turn and look back at Yamauchi. Everyone present knew that it was ultimately the large man's fault that they had failed. He could feel the eyes of Kansuke and Shunsuke on his turned back – the less assertive members of the team silently demanding that he speak out in their defence. To fail all four because of one man's error hardly seemed right.

But he said nothing. He merely nodded.

“Yeah,” he spoke aloud. “I mean.....Yes.”

They fought as a unit. Saying 'well, it wasn't my mistake” wouldn't save you in the field; a botched manoeuvre meant a dead team, regardless of who was responsible. They either passed as a unit or they failed as a unit. And if one man in the unit fell short, then they shared the consequences together. To single one man out, to toss about blame, would only fragment the team rather and build it up.

That was the way of the Patrol Corps. It was the way he had been taught and, for the first time since those last few hellish days under her tutelage had began, Natsuo was quite certain he saw approval in the young woman's eyes.

“Yes what?” she replied, the faintest hint of amusement in her voice – though her cool features showed no hint of it.

'Heh. Can't give me a break, can you?'

“Yes,” Natsuo was quick to correct himself and offered his superior a bow which was swiftly taken up by the rest of the unit, “Chiharu Suzume-sempai.”


*****​


The central camp setup for the patrol corps hopefuls consisted of a few tents erected in the approximate centre of the stretch of jungle selected for the operation; a few square miles of the East Rukon's tropical rainforests, penned in by barriers to keep the Hollows released into it separated from the general population. The few canvas tents were far from sufficient to accommodate all of the Shinigami participating the exercise and served primarily as a command centre for the staff in charge. And a meeting place for each of the team leaders to report back on their unit's progress throughout the operation.

Although Suzume held no official rank within the Second Division, her appointment as supervisor of one of the training teams granted her a degree of authority. Thus the few members of the second division who stood guard around the campsite greeted her as a superior. Their verbal salutes and stiff backed bows she responded to with brisk, polite nods as she made her way towards the command tent. Though to call it a 'tent' was something is a misnomer, as it was little more than a canvas canopy held aloft by four metal poles, with a dangling curtain of gauze to keep out the worst of the jungle insects. Through the gauze, the present members of the command team were partially visible as hazy shapes moving within, and Suzume unconsciously reached up a hand to create some semblance of order in her tousled hair.

Most of the command staff were not members of the second division at all. Rather they were members of the kido corps, whose primary function was to monitor the locations of the fourteen Hollows that had been released into the jungle and the barriers that kept the Hollows contained. By the creation and destruction of barriers, the command team were able to dictate when and where the recruits encountered Hollows and to create control while maintaining the illusion of wild conditions.

All of this was overseen by the Vice Captain of the second division, Yamanori Kotaro.

Although the previous weeks had seen her stock rising within the second division, working directly under the Vice Captain was an experience she was still getting used to. Before her mission in Nishio, her interactions with Yamanori Kotaro had been limited to glimpsing him from across the barracks or overhearing him offer advice or tutelage to the other members. To suddenly find herself attending briefing sessions with her division's executive officer and receiving orders from him directly on a regular basis was a humbling – if slightly dizzying – experience.

Kotaro was extremely far removed from the division's Captain. Where Umeshita Hatsuo, the second division Captain, was a somewhat withdrawn, distant, even cold man, his deputy was the very model of a Vice Captain. Respected by everyone in the second division, Kotaro was the lynchpin around which the second revolved. Warm, approachable, charismatic; he was completely unlike the prototypical second division members, which was perhaps why he was so well suited for the role. In a division that was typically secretive even among its own members, to have an officer that its every member was still able to trust completely may have been what kept the division from crumbling under the weight of its own subterfuge.

Having spent her time in the Patrol Corps previous to the mission in Nishio simply going through the motions, far too terrified of failure to even try and succeed, Suzume considered this posting her chance as redemption. She had returned to the Seireitei feeling that she needed to make up for lost time, and working directly under the Vice Captain of was surely the best chance she could hope for to prove what she was capable of.

Which is why the look on the face of Katayama Ryu – the seventh seat of the second division – as the senior Shinigami stood just outside the tent flap watching her approach – made Suzume's stomach turn into knots.

The silver haired veteran stood with his hands clasped behind his back, regarding Suzume with the same silent disapproval that she was quite certain she herself had perfected while staring down her own batch of recruits. Having felt quite satisfied with the performance of her squad – even though they had required her intervention to kill the Hollow – the young woman had been looking forward to issuing her report. The sight of Katamaya's open glare reminded her of her father catching her sneaking back into the family estate after playing rough and tumble games with the village children.

Her feet feeling considerably heavier than they had just a few moments before, Suzume approached the stationary Katayama. Thinking it best to simply find out what had gone wrong rather than making any weak attempt to avoid or put off whatever trouble she was in, she continue forward until she stood directly before him and smartly snapped to attention.

“Chiharu Suzume,” she intoned – protocol demanding that she announce herself, despite the fact that Katayama had known her for years, “reporting!”

Katayama did not reply immediately, instead reaching up a hand to absently stroke the silver goatee he wore – which he somehow kept meticulously groomed despite having spent the last few days in the jungle. The seated officer looked as though he had something to say but, though he opened his mouth to start, was able to offer only an irritated sigh. Shaking his head, the old soldier's glare softened before offering the girl a nod in reply.

“Chiharu-kun,” he finally spoke aloud, sounding to Suzume more exasperated than angry. “You.....do realise that operation is secret?”

Suzume squinted at the question, but did not delay in responding. The pose rigid and her voice clipped, speaking as a subordinate to a superior, she was swift to bark out her reply.

“Yes, Sir,” he answered.

“I see,” Katayama sighed, grinding his teeth as he raised a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. “Well, you're going to have some explaining to do anyway, Chiharu-kun.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Suzume searched the man's features as she began to wonder if she was the victim of a practical joke. She knew for a fact that he had certainly neither done or said anything that could compromise the operation, and therefore found the accusation as perplexing as it was worrying. She had never known Katayama Ryu to joke, however, and the elderly soldier's features remained grave.

“Katayama-dono,” she murmured, “what's-”

“Is that Chiharu-san?”

The voice that came from within the tent was that of their Vice Captain, and both Suzume and Katayama unconsciously jumped. Just as Suzume had when speaking to him, Katayama's posture immediately stiffened – even though it seemed unlikely Kotaro could see him – as he replied back to his superior.

“Yes, Sir,” he called through the tent wall.

“In,” came the somewhat terse reply.

Barking out a response in the affirmative, Katayama turned his gaze back to Suzume. Jerking his head in the direction of the tent flap, the grizzled officer stepped aside to allow the young woman access. Suzume herself was rather more hesitant to obey, suddenly feeling as though she were heading towards a court martial. Although she had no idea what it was she had done, she had the distinct impression that she were somehow in serious trouble.

Stepping past Katayama, she pushed aside the tent flap to step inside. The sharp contrast in the painfully bright exterior of the East Rukon jungle and the somewhat dim interior of the tent left her momentarily blinded as she stepped past the threshold, her eyes taking a moment to adjust the sudden shift. However, as her vision regained focus, she found that she was only of several individuals in the tent – although all but three were crowded around its edges, doing their utmost to look busy and avoid getting involved with the pair at the tent's centre.

The furnishings of the tent were completely functional – the trappings of a command centre rather than any thought being given to comfort or luxury. Several fold-out tables had been erected along the tent's outer walls, upon which were placed charts, timetables, rosters, and all the paperwork required to supervise a training operation of this magnitude. It was around these tables that the majority of the tent's occupants worked; members of the second division, their backs poignantly turned towards the centre.

In the centre of the tent, upon a larger, square table, was spread a map of the training area. Card markers were distributed around the map to indicate the positions of each of the training teams currently in the field, as well as the whereabouts of the Hollows – monitored at all times by the control team. The responsibility of moving these markers fell to one of the three individuals beside the table – his garb immediately marking him as a member of the kido corp.

Although he wore the black shihakusho that was expected of Shinigami, the man's entire head was wrapped in white cloth – a ritualistic headscarf that was typical of kido corp officers. The cloth slipped over his head like a balaclava, and would have left his face exposed but for a second strip of cloth stretched across his face, concealing all but his eyes. What little of his face was visible was creased and withered; the pale eyes that turned in Suzume's direction as she entered the tent those of an old man; though their owner's posture was upright and rigid, showing no indication of infirmity.

The second of the three men by the table was Yamanori Kotaro himself.

It was usual for Vice-Captains to be chosen from among the youngest, strongest Shinigami of any given division who had not yet reached their physical peak. The older a Shinigami became, the more likely it was that they had reached their maximum possibly strength, and thus the less likely they would ever have the strength necessary to achieve the rank of Captain. 'Late bloomers' were not totally unheard of, but rare enough among Shinigami that it was generally accepted that it was only those who were strong in their youth who would become the strongest in later years. As the rank of Vice-Captain was as much a means of preparing a young officer for advancement as it was a position of command, there were few old Vice Captains.

Yamanori Kotaro was no exception to this rule, and he had the look of a man in his mid twenties. His actual age Suzume could only guess at, but she suspected he was not yet out of his first century. His blue-black hair was trimmed short, though it was slightly grown out at the top to form ragged bangs that curled around either side of his forehead. His broad shoulders and wiry frame was somewhat typical of second division members, though he stood was a certain poise that caused him to fill up the room. Suzume had met few individuals with the same sense of presence as her Vice-Captain.

His features were something of a romantic ideal of masculinity; a square jaw with a slightly dimpled chin, a thin, straight nose and – after spending several days in the wild – a soft dusting of stubble. His eyes were bright and piercing, a chocolate brown that sparked with a cunning intellect. His expression was always open and honest, hiding very little of what he thought and regarding those around him without reproach or impatience regardless of the difference in rank.

Today, however, was the first time Suzume had ever seen her Vice-Captain wearing an open expression of irritation. And she could immediately understand why.

“Yo, Suzume-chan!”

His face split in two by a wide grin, Sakon Yukimura raised a hand to offer Suzume something resembling a salute. Situated between the two other men, Yukimura was seated on the edge of the tent's central table, and no doubt making an absolute nuisance of himself. He was the only occupant of the tent that was smiling.

'Damn it. He caught up with me.'

“Chiharu-san,” Kotaro greeted her with something resembling a sigh, raising a hand to usher her closer. “Good. Come in. Perhaps you can make sense of this....gentleman.”

'I wouldn't bet on it...Nobody can make sense of him.'

As Suzume approached the trio, she realised that she had interrupted some kind of interrogation. It wasn't altogether surprising; there had been no mention in the briefing of any fourth division support for the operation, which could only mean that Yukimura had invited himself along. For anyone, even a fellow Shinigami, to simply wander into a sealed off training area demanded an explanation.

If Yukimura had mentioned her name, then Suzume began to realise why she might be in trouble.

“Once again,” it was the member of the kido corps that spoke, towering over the seated Yukimura and addressing the younger man with a dagger like, accusing stare, “you claim that you entered through the barrier?”

“Yeah,” Yukimura nodded, turning away from Suzume long enough to address the question. The answer did not seem to please the kido corps officer at all, who immediately snapped his furious gaze towards Suzume as though she were personally responsible for whatever unknown offense had been caused.

“Jiro-san,” Kotaro queried, drawing the man's attention away from Suzume – for which the young woman was quite grateful, “are there any indications that the barrier has been breached?”

“No, Sir,” the kido corps officer – who's name was apparently Jiro – shook his veiled head. “I have been monitoring the barrier before and since this.....intruder....appeared. There have been no breaks or interruptions anywhere. What he is claiming is impossible.”

“Actually-” Yukimura attempted to interrupt.

“Enough,” Jiro cut him off, the hint of a snarl in the man's voice. “I've heard enough about 'phase variance' and 'cascade gaps' for one day. Fukutaichou, this man is clearly lying about how he came to be here and I demand he be taken into custody.”

“Let's not get too far head of ourselves,” Kotaro responded, raising a hand to silence the kido officer as he turned once more towards Suzume. “Chiharu-san, this man claims to know you. Do you recognise him?”

“Yes, Sir,” Suzume replied, somewhat wearily. “He's my....”

Yukimura grinned again.

“....acquaintance.”

Yukimura's grin fell.

“For what it may be worth, Sir,” she continued, “however many his faults, dishonesty is not one of them. Whatever this man says may be taken at face value. If Yukimura says he penetrated your barrier, then that is exactly what he did.”

“Yukimura?” Kotaro queried, raising an eyebrow.

“Sakon-san,” Suzume quickly corrected herself, a flush creeping over her cheeks at making such a careless mistake. Using Yukimura's first name so casually would almost certainly give her Vice-Captain the wrong impression, but she could hardly take it back now.

“That's ridiculous,” Jiro scoffed. “As Kotaro-dono is well aware, the barriers are proofed against Captain level reiatsu. Overpowering them would be impossible. And slipping through without detection would take....Well....”

“It is also worth noting that he walks a fine line between being an absolute imbecile and being an insane genius,” Suzume offered, much to the fourth seat's obvious satisfaction. “If there is a means of getting through your barrier, he would certainly find it.....Kotaro-dono, I would recommend that a further layer be added to the barriers, as a precaution.”

“Preposterous,” Jiro countered, folding his hands within his sleeves and stretching to his full height, his tone suggesting that he was about to begin a lecture. “The kido corps has been developing barrier kido for longer than you have been alive. The diagnosis of an unseated child is insufficient to-”

“Jiro-san,” Kotaro interupted, nursing his temples. “Just....add the extra layer to the barrier. I'd rather have peace of mind than risk having one of the Hollows get out the same way this guy got in. Perhaps we focused too much on brute force and overlooked something.”

The eyes of the kido corps officer – the only part of his face that remained visible – noticeably bulged in offence. Nevertheless, he bowed before the direct order. His posture reaming stiff the entire time, he prostrated himself briefly before stepping away from the conversation to do as instructed. Suzume's eyes followed the man as he departed; Jiro seating himself in the far corner of the tent, where no one could bother him.

It was something of an impressive feat that a single man could manage the enormous barriers from a remote position. Completely encasing the training area in all directions – even underground to prevent the Hollows digging their way out – the collective surface area of the barriers likely amounted to over one hundred square miles. Even creating such a wall would have been a herculean task, let alone monitoring and maintaining it while walking around and talking with others.

She could understand why Jiro was offended; there were likely only a handful of people in the Soul Society skilled enough to achieve what he had, even within the kido corps. Yukimura's presence represented a direct insult to his talents.

“Does this mean we're all good?” Yukimura queried, still grinning broadly as he looked back and forth between Suzume and Kotaro. He had the look of a child that had just found himself invited to sit at the adult table; Suzume couldn't say she was exactly surprised that he failed to realise the gravity of his transgression. Nevertheless, Kotaro's patience was evidently at an end as he simply shook his head.

“Chiharu-san,” he muttered, “if you can vouch for his behaviour, I'll leave him at liberty in your care. We can't just open the barrier to kick him out, and I don't have the resources to hold him in custody. Just keep him from effecting the operation, and above all keep him out from under my feet. Understood?”

“Y-yes, Sir,” Suzume nodded, wincing at the thought of having to babysit Yukimura for what remained of the week. She wondered how Yukimura had even managed to escape his duties in the fourth division to come gallivanting into the Rukongai in the first place. As usual, he was a law unto himself and perhaps he simply didn't realise or care how much of a mess he was making.

Suzume struggled to imagine any outcome of the next few days that did not see her prospects of advancement going up in smoke. Somehow, in some way, she was certain that Yukimura was going to ruin things.

“Sakon-san,” she addressed him directly, trying not to let her dismay show too readily. “Come with me.”

“Okay dokey,” Yukimura chirped, leaping up from his seated position to follows after Suzume as she turned to stalk out of the tent. On his way out, Yukimura turned to offer Kotaro a similar salute to the one he had thrown Suzume upon first seeing her. “Good day, Vice-Captain, boss, Sir.”

Kotaro merely stared after him numbly, still not entirely sure what he had just encountered.

No sooner had they exited the tent, stepping once more into the blinding light and sweltering heat of the jungle clearing, than Suzume rounded upon him. Grasping Yukimura by the front of his kosode, she made an attempt to yank him to once side – intending to drag him out of sight into the nearby community tent which largely stood empty. Her best effort, however, did little to make Yukimura budge; he merely blinked at her in surprise, failing to be dragged a single step.

'Damn it. I forgot how absurdly strong this jackass is. I've gotten too used to dealing with weaklings since I got back to the Seireitei.'

“What do you think you're doing?” she hissed through clenched teeth, keeping her tight grip on his clothing despite her inability to move him. “Did you think that this was the best time to-”

Yukimura's response was a surprisingly sober one, and the sudden change in his demeanour reminded Suzume that they were not yet alone. His gaze flashed to the hand that gripped his kosode for an instant – a faint glimmer in his eye sufficient to very nearly cause Suzume to abandon her grip immediately. However, almost immediately his cartoonish grin returned, a hand awkwardly going to the back of his head as he looked over Suzume's shoulder to address someone behind her.

“I guess I'm in a bit of trouble now, right Katayama-san?”

Suzume started, having completely forgotten the elderly Shinigami was standing just outside the tent. Following Yukimura's gaze, she found Katayama Ryu standing at attention only a yard behind her; the old officer feigning disinterest in the squabbling pair. When Yukimura addressed him directly, Katayama started, clearing his throat roughly.

“That's not for me to say, Sir,” he mumbled, visible embarrassed by the commotion. However, now that her attention was drawn to his presence, Suzume felt a familiar burning sensation return to her cheeks as she reached up with both hands to this time successfully manhandle Yukimura through the adjacent tent flap into the community tent.

With virtually the entire operational team either in the field or in the command tent, the community tent stood empty. A large, spacious pavilion furnished with bedding for the command team, it only saw traffic at night when the lion's share of the operation staff settled for the night. As such, the rows of simple wooden cots that lined the tents walls were empty as Suzume bundled Yukimura inside, casting a final furtive glance at Katayama – who watched the pair curiously – before closing the flap over behind her.

Unlike the command tent, the walls of the community tent were thick on opaque. They jungle never truly slept; even in the dead of night, the incessant chirp of insects or the roaming of night time animals meant that a peaceful sleep was almost impossible. The thicker walls of the community tent served to muffle the exterior noise and, by extension, provide some privacy for the conversations of those inside as well.

Yukimura wasn't grinning any more. Out of sight of the rest of Suzume's division, his features were every bit as serious as Suzume's. He waited for Suzume to close over the tent flap, remaining unperturbed as the young woman rounded upon him.

“Are you trying to cost me my job?” she demanded. “You can't just waltz into a training operation like this? The only reason you're not under armed guard right now is because you're a fourth seat!”

“I wouldn't have to if you'd quit ignoring me,” Yukimura replied sombrely. “I figured at least inside a barrier you wouldn't have anywhere t'hide.”

Suzume bit back her reply, turning her face aside as her initial fury began to fizzle out. Yukimura did not press the matter, remaining where he stood and waiting for her to reply, his eyes resting upon her searchingly.

“I.....” she finally murmured. “I wasn't hiding. It's just not that important. It's like I told you that the last time you tried to badger me about it. I'm perfectly f-”

Suzume cut off as Yukimura's knuckles found her ribs – his fist cracking against her abdomen in a blow that was little more than a tap. However even the light contact with sufficient to send white spots crashing across Suzume's vision as her knees buckled from under her. Blinding, screaming pain shrieking its way through her entire body, the girl crumpled like paper as she slumped to her knees; her arms clutched protectively across her stomach.

She grit her teeth to keep from crying out. She had already let him see too much.

“Fine, huh?” Yukimura's voice was unusually hard. “Don't try t'take me for an idiot. If that's all it takes t'knock you down, then you must be walking around in frickin' agony. Grandma told you this would happen. I told you this would happen. So stop actin' all high n' mighty and let me do my job.”

Her teeth still clenched, Suzume remained where she was for a moment longer; quite certain that, if she were to try to move, she would be sick. Yukimura waited for only a moment before, apparently realising she could not move on her own, moving across the tent towards one of the wooden cots set aside for the officers use. Grasping the bed by its frame, he effortlessly dragged it across the canvas tarp that served as the tent's floor until it was directly next to Suzume. Reluctantly, the young woman shifted herself enough to ease her way onto the cot – seated on its edge as she continued to nurse the pain in her abdomen.

“Right,” Yukimura told her, “get your kosode off.”

“What!?” Suzume started, her arms closing further around herself as she flashed Yukimura a warning glare.

“For crying out loud, I'm Fourth Division. That basically makes me your Doctor,” he snapped back in exasperation. “If you don't trust me, then feel free t'curl up in pain every time th'wind changes. Otherwise, kosode off.”

Grinding her teeth again, Suzume hesitantly loosened her obi. Not looking directly at Yukimura yet painfully aware of his presence, she slipped her arms from the sleeves of her kosode before carefully allowing it to fall free from her shoulders. Despite the warm air of the south Rukongai, the air felt uncomfortably cool on her bare skin, and she kept the cloth gathered up around her underarms as Yukimura placed a fingertip to the nape of her neck.

“....Your hands are cold,” she muttered, somewhat dejectedly – a remark that Yukimura ignored as he silently traced his fingertip across her bare shoulder; his eyes narrowed in concentration as he probed the contours of her tense musculature.

When Yukimura failed to respond, Suzume said nothing further. Embarrassed and uncomfortable, she instead moved her amber eyes to the tent flap; prepared to recloth herself the instant the cloth so much as twitched. However, as Yukimura's cursory examination continued, the pair went uninterrupted; the other members of the second division apparently too busy to concern themselves.

It was not the first medical examination she had ever undergone. Indeed, military personal were often subjected to a battery of such tests. But it was different to be examined by someone she knew. Although she had only bared her shoulders, the young woman could not help but feel utterly naked as Yukimura went about his work. It was for that reason, primarily, that she had hoped to avoid this very encounter.

She accepted that it was ultimately her own fault. It was an examination she should have had weeks ago when the expedition first arrived back from the events on Mikawa. She could have had some anonymous, faceless member of the fourth division look her over. Clinical, impersonal. But she hadn't.

In the far reaches of the East Rukongai, she had become strong. Stronger than she had thought possible. So strong that, in the entire Second Division, only the Captain exceeded her. And yet the woman chiefly responsible for her meteoric rise in power had warned her of the consequences that would go with it.

“Well 'Doctor',” she muttered, “you might as well tell me the prognosis, now that you've got a captive audience.”

Yukimura responded with a grunt. A sure indication that, whatever he was about to say, it was not going to be a good news.

“It's exactly like I told you it'd be,” he responded. “It's like every single muscle in your body has been torn, half-healed and then torn again. Grandma was right....it was too much, too quickly. You went from being a total weakling t'being above the level of a Vice-Captain. That's why she told you not t'fight without the Tengoku no Ifuku. You've pretty much wrecked yourself by going further than your body could handle.”

Suzume offered no objection or argument. Truth be told, it was exactly what she had expected to hear. When she had left the Outer Rim for Mikawa – rushing to participate in the decisive battle against the invading Arrancar – she had been wrapped in Tengoku no Ifuku; a suit of armour that was the product of Sakon Mina's shikai technique. In addition to protecting her, the armour had been meant to fortify her body and keep it from buckling under the extreme forces of her own reiatsu.

Yukimura was correct; Mina had strongly advised that she only fight for as long as the Tengoku no Ifuku lasted. But the armour had not survived her battle with Alter Kimaris. She had been forced not only to use her own power, but to use all of it. Unleashing her newfound strength in its entirety in her very first battle. It was no wonder that she had done immense harm to her body by doing so.

“What can you do?” she queried, her voice low and sombre; her expectation doing little to soften the blow.

“I can repair th'damage,” Yukimura informed her. “But as soon as you subject your body t'any further strain, you'll injure yourself all over again. What you really need is t'take a couple of weeks to rest. And then start getting used to your new strength in stages. Your body will adapt. But not if you keep walking around with your muscles ready t'tear themselves apart.”

Suzume silently gathered her clothing back around her shoulders, tightening her obi as she rearranged herself in more presentable fashion. Her movements felt sluggish – the after effects of Yukimura's reiatsu coursing through her muscles; numbing them slightly to deaden the pain as the healing process began. She hadn't even been aware of him doing so at the time; it was often easy to forget just how skilled a healer the young man actually was.

“Two weeks...” she echoed him bitterly. “Taking two weeks to rest up could easily set me back by years. This operation is my big chance to show that I can cope with the pressures of command. If I go to Yamanori-fukutaichou now and tell him that I'm unable to continue, then.....”

She trailed off, closing her eyes as she felt a familiar sense of desperate frustration. After spending so many years lamenting her own weakness, now that she had finally achieved real strength it was that very strength that threatened to hold her back. It seemed that, no sooner had she overcome one hurdle than another sprang up to impede her.

“Are...” she queried hesitantly, turning to look over her shoulder at Yukimura. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

Yukimura didn't need to answer – the question was a stupid one, and Suzume internally chastised herself for asking it. If Yukimura had wanted to, he could easily have explained that he had come to perform a medical examination on behalf of the fourth division, and it was likely there would have been no fuss. Instead he had play acted the fool and caused a stir with his arrival – potentially putting himself in harm's way had it been decided he should be detained. It would have been much easier for him to claim to be there on official business. But not without informing Suzume's commanding officer that her health was in question.

He wouldn't say anything. That wasn't his way.

“You're out here for another four days,” he didn't answer the question, speaking instead as though it were a foregone conclusion that his advise would be rejected. “Provided you can take it easy for those days, I don't think it'll be a problem. And since I'm stuck in here with you, I can follow you around and make sure that's what you do.”

“Great,” Suzume smiled mirthlessly. “I suppose I'll have to explain to my squad why there's a fourth division member following us around without causing them all to panic. They'll probably think it means we're expecting them all to get seriously injured.”

“If they give you any hassle and cause your wounds t'get worse,” Yukimura told her, “I'll be th'one injuring them.”

The remark drew Suzume's gaze once more, but Yukimura was already heading for the tent flap. Apparently considering the conversation over, the fourth seat thrust his way outside; leaving Suzume alone to compose herself. Staring mutely after him, Suzume shook herself off as she turned her mind towards surviving the next few days.

There were still several Hollows in the combat zone, and she expected at least two more would be herded towards her team before the week was over. Her team would hopefully have learned from their previous mistakes and be able to handle those without her assistance. If she did have to step in, then crushing a few low-level Hollows hardly counted as exertion.

Her biggest concern would probably be keeping herself from killing Yukimura. But provided he showed more of his mature, thoughtful side than his goofy, absurd side, she couldn't deny that she found him....tolerable. Certainly, there was worse company she could have.

“Okay,” she nodded to herself. “I only need to make it through these next four days....'

“What's the worst that could happen?”
 

Seraphina

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Act VI: That Stray Dog Again


- The East Rukongai -
- Somewhere in District 3 -




After leaving her report with Katayama Ryu, Suzume found her squad where she had left them. The four rookie Shinigami were huddled under the relative shade offered by the canopy on the clearing's edge; even the sweltering heat of the moist jungle interior more preferable than the direct sunlight of the clearing. Two of them – Kanasuke and Shunsuke – had shed their kosode and were using their sodden obi in a vain attempt to mop themselves down. The thick, clammy moisture that clung to the men was not perspiration, but water from the jungle air; indeed, the moisture was such that it made losing heat through perspiration difficult.

As she returned to the group, the smell hit her. Trying to keep her nose from wrinkling, she realised how much she must have become acclimated to it during the days crawling through the undergrowth. The stench of body odour was so overpowering that it was almost enough to make her gag, but she fought down her revulsion as her weary team stood to attention; it was something to be expected during this particular exercise. Suzume doubted she smelled much better.

“Fall in,” she instructed waiting for the group to line up as Kanasuke and Shunsuke redressed themselves; the entire exercise having been utterly wasteful, as their kosode were still soaked through and they ended up no drier for the effort. All four of her team, she noted, eyed Yukimura curiously as he lurked over Suzume's shoulder, offering the group a cheerful wave.

“This is Sakon Yukimura,” she told them, not needing to wait for the obvious question to be asked. “He's the fourth seat of the fourth division. He's going to be shadowing our team from here on. Just don't think that means you rooks are getting special treatment. He's not here to put you back together every time you trip over a tree root or get stung by a nettle.”

As expected, the news caused the group visible unease; though Suzume suspected it was less to do with the presence of a fourth division member – for all her rookies knew, this was perfectly normal procedure – than it was with the fact he was a fourth seat. Kanasuke and Shunsuke both eyed Yukimura in open awe while the enormous Yamauchi puffed up his chest and stood to vigorous attention.

Only Natsuo remained relatively unphased. Squinting curiously between Yukimura and Suzume, the ring leader of the motley crew merely shrugged and offered Yukimura a nod.

“Does that mean he's in charge, now?” Natsuo asked, his brown hair slick with perspiration as he raised a hand to try and brush his wet bangs out of his eyes. Not an unreasonable question, considering the disparity in rank between Yukimura and herself.

“No,” Suzume replied before Yukimura could open his mouth – fully expecting that Yukimura would leap at the opportunity to step forward and declare himself the new king of the world if he was given an excuse to do so. “I'm still in command of the unit. Sakon-san is merely here in a support capacity.”

“Yo,” Yukimura offered, effectively usurped as he merely offered the team a wave of his hand. “Nice to meetcha.”

The team responded with grunts that were of varying levels of enthusiasm; their curiosity at Yukimura's addition to the team somewhat overshadowed by the realisation that they were about to set out into the jungle once again. All four men had finished girding themselves while Suzume spoke, and merely waited for the order to resume their weary trek.

“We're heading north,” she told them, quite eager to steer their thoughts away from Yukimura before they asked question that could lead to embarrassing answers. “There are three other Hollows in that direction, and we're to get two of them down before the week is up. Today was a trial run. Let's make sure we get it right next time. Move out!”

There was no great fanfare from the group as they turned northward as instructed. Still exhausted, they merely moved off in a line – one trotting after the other – at the most manageable pace the heat would allow for. Though more than one cast one final curious glance at Yukimura in passing, none of them asked any questions. Perhaps they were simply too tired to wonder.

“Whatever happens,” Suzume told Yukimura out of the corner of her mouth, “don't interfere with the assessment. This operation is about what they can do. If a fight starts, don't interfere unless it becomes clear they can't handle it.”

“Yessir, Ma'am, Sir,” Yukimura shot back with a grin, raising two fingers to his forehead in the same semblance of a salute he had given her when she had first stepped into the command tent. No sooner had he done so than Yukimura turned to follow after her squad. A jaunty spring in his step as he sauntered after them with his backpack – generously provided by the operation team with what provisions he'd need for the next few days – bouncing happily on his back.

Sighing inwardly, Suzume could only hope that Yukimura's child like exuberance would not cause her team to stop treating the exercise seriously. She would have greatly preferred leaving him behind, but the very definite message had been that he was now 'her' problem, and that her duty was as much keeping him out from under everyone's feet as it was guiding her team through the operation.

'Please, please, please, please, please don't do anything to screw up my chances of promotion.'

Drawing in a long, low breath to prepare herself for what she was sure were going to be an excruciating few days, Suzume quickened her pace to catch up with the rest of the group as they plunged back into the thick vegetation.




*****​


As the afternoon wore on, it was hard going through the tangled mess of vine, branch and bush. Even Suzume, well conditioned as she was to the extremes, soon found herself exhausted after two consecutive days of such toil. The brief stop taken in the main camp had provided little in the way of rest, and less than four hours after striking out, the entire group was beginning to feel the effects of fatigue.

All save Yukimura, of course.

At the head of the weary group, Suzume paid more attention to what was ahead than behind. Her eyes scanned the dense vegetation for the easiest path – attempting to provide instruction to her group on how best to pick their way through the jungle. However, it was impossible to ignore the presence of Yukimura behind her. With what seemed to be limitless energy, he bounded up and down the line of recruits to eagerly engage them in conversation. Their whispered exchanges a constant rustle against the background noise of the jungle itself.

It was distracting, but less disruptive than she had feared. And while it was typically the way of the second division to move in relative silence, she felt inclined to allow the group some leeway if it served to distract them from their exhaustion. Indeed, whatever misgivings she may have had about the noise, she couldn't deny that her team seemed to exhibit far fewer grumblings of discontent now that Yukimura was keeping their minds occupied.

Their progress was slow. Across such dense terrain, travelling even a single mile took well over half an hour. Sometimes even longer, if the group encountered impassable terrain that required them to go around before continuing north. However, Suzume's internal map of the local area was sufficiently thorough that these diversions were kept to a minimum and, by the time the sun had begun to sink towards evening, the group had travelled sufficiently far from the main camp that they had breached the locale where their next target was currently lurking.

Like all the Hollows released into the operation zone, it was a fairly low-level creature – too weak and inexperienced to know how to effectively mask its reiatsu. Yet even at a distance, Suzume could detect the faint tingle in the back of her head that was triggered by its spiritual pressure. Even though she could not see the creature, she knew immediately its approximate distance and direction.

Turning back to look at her followers, Suzume noted that the entire group – save the ever perky Yukimura – had visibly begun to wilt. When she turned, they collectively raised their heads towards her in weary resignation – no doubt assuming another order was forthcoming.

“The Hollow's about three miles out,” she told them. “But it's holding position there. If it's not making a run for it, then there's no point force marching for another two hours and leaving you all too tired to fight. We'll rest here for now and pick up the trail in the morning.”

Her decision was greeted with a mix of surprise and relief from the rookies, who eagerly flopped down into the undergrowth essentially where they stood. His hands on his hips, Yukimura looked back and forth between Suzume and the quartet, looking rather caught off guard that his socialisation had been cut short.

“Yuk...Sakon-san,” Suzume called to him, catching herself short of addressing him by his first name, as she unslung her backback and dropped it to the forest floor. “Throw up your hammock. If you need help, have one of them show you how. I'm going to take a look around.”

“You're making camp right here?” Yukimura queried, arching an eyebrow as he glanced at their surroundings; the jungle as closed in around them as it had been every other step of their journey, he wasn't incorrect in thinking it hardly a suitable camp sight.

“Members of the Patrol Corps need to be able to sleep anywhere,” Suzume called over her shoulder as she turned back to the jungle, pressing forward through the undergrowth to leave the group behind. “There's never any guarantee that you'll find a suitable camp site on any given day. You need to be able to make do with what you have.”

She didn't wait for a response, instead turning her attention to seeking out an appropriate vantage point to get an idea of the lay of the surrounding land. Despite having studied the operation theatre in detail, this particular stretch of the third district was not one with which she was intimately familiar; not enough to know exactly where she was at any given time. Before settling down for the night, she would prefer to have a better idea of what lay about her.

Despite Yukimura's caution against over exerting herself, she was determined not to let her injuries get in the way of doing her job. Scanning the canopy overhead, she squinted through the sparse daylight that managed to pierce the greenery in search of what she was looking for. Though the canopy appeared uniform from the ground, in truth no two trees were exactly the same height; and her expert eye could see, at a cursory glance, where one stood noticeably taller than its neighbours.

'That one!'

Selecting what appeared to be the most suitable candidate, Suzume lifted a leg to place on of her feet on the bark. Shifting her ankle until she was happy with her purchase, the girl at once vaulted upwards to scale the tree in what was essentially a series of vertical leaps; her leading foot anchoring only tentatively against the bark to provide a point to anchor herself before she propelled herself further upwards at a rate of several yards a second.

Although, like most experienced Shinigami, Suzume was capable of air walking, to use the trees as a guideline was by far the wiser course of action than simply blasting skyward. The barrier that surrounded the operation zone stretched overhead to form a transparent dome that inhibited passage through the air as effectively as via the ground. The last thing Suzume wanted was to fly through the air, soar over the treeline, and then knock herself unconscious by colliding with the barrier. The barrier would not, however, be lower that the trees contained within it. Therefore it followed that even the tallest trees had to have been beneath the invisible wall. As such, Suzume could scale these trees almost to their very top with impunity and get a better picture of what lay about the area by viewing the landscape from above the canopy.

Piercing the green veil that hung over the forest, she raised a hand to push aside some of the scratching twigs and branches that impeded her way until she at last broke through to the forest roof. The tree she had selected punched through the crown of the forest by some ten feet, and her ascent came to a comfortable stop on a near horizontal tree branch no wider than her own wrist. Though the slender branch sagged slightly under her weight, it held nonetheless as the young woman lowered herself into a seated crouch upon the bark.

From her new vantage, she could see that the sun hung low in the sky; they had indeed burned through much of the day on their long trek. However the sun was late to set in the East Rukongai – especially at that time of year. It would be close on eleven o'clock before it was completely dark, though the forest itself would lose most of its light long before then. At best, they only had an hour and a half or so of useful daylight left.

At the very least, the rain had stopped. The dome-shaped barrier was, as Suzume understood, slightly porous to admit in rainwater but little else. In the jungle, spending a miserable night wrapped up in waterproof gear was always a possibility, but the rain clouds from earlier in the day had completely dissipated. It looked as though they could at least look forward to a dry night.

Further north, the terrain looked much as that they had been travelling through thus far. Although a long, sinuous break in the canopy some half a mile north indicates what was likely a river. It was in their way, and thus could represent a chance to show the recruits how to identify a clean water supply.

The thought reminded her, quite unintentionally, of the first time Yukimura had surprised her by demonstrating that very skill. Those long weeks ago, when Reihaii-Fukutaichou had instructed the two of them to fetch clean water, Suzume had been amazed when Yukimura had confidently started rooting through the riverbed for signs of crayfish; their presence being one of the most surefire indications of a water supply that was drinkable.

It was not the only indication that Yukimura had given her that he was not quite the helpless puppy she had initially taken him for. Rather, having grown up in the inhospitable, far flung reaches of District 80, it seemed extremely likely that Yukimura's skill as a woodsman surpassed her own, despite her training as a member of the patrol corps. Certainly, her own time spent in the 80th district had been an experience both educational and harrowing; living and surviving alongside Yukimura's family for few days she had spent there had likely taught her more than her current assignment was likely to teach any of her rookies.

'There's another team out there somewhere....I can just about feel their reiatsu to the south west. I think they were marching parallel to us earlier on, so they're probably after the third Hollow. Doubt that'll be a problem. Although I can only feel one of the two we're after right now....'

Squinting, Suzume tried to put aside the tingling sensation offered by the presence of the first Hollow – that which was closest to the group – to seek out the second. With so many Shingami in the jungle, and the Hollows themselves to weak, it was not easy to locate any of the test Hollows until they were within a few miles, but she had hoped to at least come away with some idea of what direction it was in.

Closing her eyes to filter out any distractions, the girl steadied her breath as she focused all her senses upon seeking out even a sliver of the creature's spiritual pressure. Without knowing which direction to look in beyond 'somewhere to the north', she was forced to focus one compass degree at a time as she perched upon the branch. However she found herself drawing a blank, save for the one Hollow that she was already aware of, as she worked her way from north east to north west.

Then, all too suddenly, she felt.....

Something.

The sensation was so sudden and jarring that the girl's eyes flew open, her eyebrows knotting into a frown as she felt as though someone had splashed cold water across her face. It was an unsettling, cold, disquieting sensation. Quite unlike the Hollows that she had already detected slightly to the north east and yet, somehow, strangely familiar.

'What the hell was that....?'

In her surprise, her focus was gone and she closed her eyes again in an attempt to locate the source of the sensation a second time. Yet, although she was certain she was still searching in the same direction, the source of the unusual feeling was no longer immediately present.

'That's strange....There's no way I just imagined it. Is is moving, maybe? If so, what the hell is-'

“Yo, Suzume-chan.”

Suzume very nearly jumped out of her skin as Yukimura's voice sounded almost in her ear. Her surprise such that she wobbled upon the tree branch, swinging her arms in a separate wheel to keep from falling, she whipped her head about to find the source of the voice; Yukimura himself, seated nonchalantly on the same branch, swinging his feet beneath him like a child on a swing.

“When did you g-” she began to demand, before changing direction in mid flow as she realised she hadn't even felt him sitting down. “Wait, how did you get here?”

“I climbed,” Yukimura offered simply, directing his index finger in a jabbing point towards the ground, flashing the girl another toothy grin. “Anyway, camp's ready. Just thought I'd let y'know.”

“Wha-?” Suzume spluttered, still not entirely convinced that Yukimura had not used some kind of hitherto unrevealed magic trick to appear beside her. “Oh....right....fine. Well, since you're here, see what you make of this.”

Putting Yukimura's unexpected appearance out of mind, she raised a hand to point in the general direction she had felt the curious sensation, squinting as she made another attempt to locate it for a second time. Blinking mutely, Yukimura followed the direction of her point but, if he detected anything she did not, he gave no indication as such.

As before, whatever Suzume had detected in the jungle was now gone.

“Make of what?” Yukimura queried, leaning sideward until he was almost cheek-to-cheek with her, peering curiously in the direction she had indicated.

“.....Nothing,” Suzume replied, swallowing her frustration. “Maybe....just my imagination.”

Without another word on the matter, Suzume swung backwards off the branch to plunge back into the canopy, allowing herself to slip into a freefall that brought her back to the forest floor.

One of the major drawbacks of trying to sleep in the jungle was finding a dry spot to do so. For even when there was no rainfall, virtually the entire jungle ranged somewhere between 'damp' and 'soaking'. This problem could be solved by tents with canvas undersides, but they were bulky and cumbersome to carry for the patrol corps, who could spent weeks or months in the field. Instead, for decades at least, the patrol corps. Members stationed in the East Rukongai had instead deployed hammocks.

Setting up a hammock was itself a skill, though admittedly one that many rookies didn't take altogether seriously. Those who spent their time during the training demonstrations playing around and goofing off usually regretted doing so the first time they had to sleep in their hammocks and found they had to settle for the cold ground instead. As simple as it seemed, setting up a hammock properly to allow for correct comfort and insulation required at least a modicum of understanding.

It was long standing tradition in the second division not to help rookies setup their hammocks, and to only show them how to do it a second time after they had spent the night in discomfort. It had a way of ensuring that nobody failed to pay attention the second time.

Fortunately, all of Suzume's team possessed the necessary know how. And she returned to find them all having strung up their own hammocks along with her own. Although no specific order had been given to do so, Natsuo was in the process of clearing a space for a fire – having enlisted the help of the massively muscled Yamauchi to tear away large armfuls of foliage to create a stretch of bare soil.

“Don't count on getting too much rest,” she told them as she rejoined the group, Yukimura trailing a half step behind. “Remember that the point of this exercise is to push you to your limits. So consider this me being uncharacteristically generous. Get some food, get some water, get some sleep.”

Stepping through the centre of the makeshift camp, she reached out a hand for the metal clips that bound her own hammock to one of its two anchor points and ripped the clip free. None of her subordinates looked up as she dismantled the hammock, through Yukimura looked in an confusion.

“You're not sleeping?” he asked her, following her across the camp.

“I will,” Suzume replied, bundling her hammock under arm as she scanned the tree line for a more suitable spot, waving her free arm vaguely in the direction of the surrounding jungle. “But somewhere over there. You can sleep wherever.”

Without another word, she scooped up her backpack from where it lay and marched away from the camp to seek somewhere else to setup her hammock, leaving behind a bewildered Yukimura. To the rest of the team, it was not altogether surprising; it was the same way it had been every time the team had made camp.

Pushing through the jungle until she had put some fifteen yards between herself and the camp, Suzume refastened her hammock of a suitable pair of trees she found there. The murmur of conversation from the rest of the group was just audible, and she could only imagine that Yukimura were quizzing the rest of the team about her behaviour.

She was almost certain she heard the word 'bitch' muttered by at least one voice, quiet enough that the speaker probably thought she wouldn't hear. This was fortunate, as if the word had been said at speaking volume she would have had the entire team spend the next half hour jogging in circles around the jungle. However, allowing the rookies their misgivings towards her didn't exactly take the sting out of it.

She doubted Yukimura would understand. Just so long as he didn't do anything stupid to try and defend her, which she knew he was quite capable of doing.

Having secured her hammock, she slipped her zanpakuto free from her obi – having spent most of the day with the long weapon across her back – and propped it against one of the anchoring trees. Taking up her backpack she dexterously swung herself into her hammock and tried to make herself comfortable. She didn't plan on sleeping for long, but at least some sleep was called for. Although she was not quite so effected by fatigue as the rookie Shinigami, she imagined she would soon feel fit to drop if she didn't get at least some rest of her own.

She didn't altogether have any need for a fire. Even at night the jungle was still warm, and the only reason one would need a fire is if they intended to do something other than sleep. A few bites of trail rations were all she needed to eat before she settled down immediately to try and get some sleep. Long years of conditioning – not to mention her own gruelling swelt week – quickly allowed her to tune out the sounds of laughter and conversation that soon drifted her way from the small group of men nearby.

It didn't take her long to doze off, drifting into a dreamless sleep lulled by the sound of chirping cicada and Yukimura's lilting laughter.


*****​


A dull scraping of creaking tree bark was sufficient to rouse her from her slumber, her eyelids flickering open to admit what was, at first, near pitch darkness. However there was still some daylight filtering through the canopy; although what there was of it was little more than a pale, purple glow. The sun was not yet set, but certainly setting. Under the canopy, it was barely distinguishable from night.

Turning her head, she squinted as the glow of the still burning fire momentarily blinded her before her eyes adjusted, Though as her eyes grew more accustomed to the shifting illumination, she instinctively sought out the source of the sound that had woken her; finding a dark silhouette of a man standing between her and the fire, muttering and grunting in frustration as he made a vain attempt to properly set up his hammock on a neighbouring tree.

“Yukimura,” she spoke into the darkness, somehow simply knowing that the figure was him. “What are you doing?”

Yukimura's silhouette jumped, and he turned to look over his shoulder in her direction. By now she could see him more clearly, and in the murky darkness she could distinguish his the same goofy grin that she had become so used to seeing him wear.

“Sorry,” he told her apologetically. “I didn't meet t'wake ya. I just....thought you were kinda lonely looking way over here.”

“I see,” she responded as Yukimura turned back to fiddle with the anchor points of his hammock. For some reason, it caused her a certain amount of satisfaction to finally see one thing that she could do better than he could. However the longer the fourth seat struggled to make headway, the more her satisfaction began to turn into pity.

“One side, Yukimura,” she muttered, swinging her legs from her own hammock to bring herself smoothly to a standing position as she moved to join him. “Right...where are you hands. I can't see a thing.”

Feeling around in the darkness she snatched Yukimura's wrists as he continued to paw at the strap. Although he had succeeded in wrapping the anchor point around the tree, his knot was terrible. It forced Suzume to wonder just how much work Yukimura had actually done on the Outer Rim. You'd think a man who lived in a treetop village constructed entirely of planks and vines would have at least known how to make a decent hitch knot.

Without protest, Yukimura allowed her to lead his hands in fastening the rope securely; looping it around his own fist before doubling the rope back upon itself to form the knot. The hammock itself was secured to the strap with a metal clip, and Suzume stepped back to allow Yukimura to apply what she had shown on the other tree. Retreating back to her own hammock, she reclined into a seated position as the other Shinigami completed his task in a somewhat mute embarrassment.

“The others?” she queried as Yukimura worked – still struggling, but no longer facing the impossible task he had been.

“They're all asleep,” he replied without turning, his concentration on trying to duplicate the last knot. “Stayed up th'last couple of hours talking to 'em, though. They're good guys.”

“I'm glad you approve,” Suzume smirked as Yukimura clipped his hammock to the second tree. The rasp of the adjustable strings indicating that he at least required no assistance in adjusting the hammock's height. “I had a feeling it wouldn't take you very long to ingratiate yourself with them. That's.....one of your talents, I suppose.”

“It ain't a special talent or anything,” Yukimura shrugged. By now, her eyes had become sufficiently adjusted that she could see him in much finer detail. Instead, between the camp fire and the slight twinge of sunlight through the canopy her iris had opened sufficiently that the jungle was now more 'extremely dim' than outright dark. Having moved his hammock to the height he wanted, Yukimura turned towards her, resting his weight against the hanging cloth as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his hakama, facing her directly. “You know....you could do it yourself if you'd put in some effort. It ain't exactly difficult to make friends.”

“I'm not here to make friends,” Suzume corrected him, crossing one leg over the other as she folded her arms. “Or did you think I wanted to be thought of as hard, uncaring, and whatever else they've no doubt been calling me all evening?”

Yukimura shifted uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders as though to work out some imaginary crick in his back.

“Well......kinda, yes,” he admitted. “I mean....that does kinda seem t'be your thing. When we were on the road together, you used t'ride my ass relentlessly. But, y'know, once we started to talk n'stuff, it wasn't so bad was it? I'm sure you'd be fine with these guys too if you just hung out with them a little.”

Suzume allowed herself a slight smile at Yukimura's somewhat colourful phrasing. And a part of her had to admit that he was correct. She had been standoffish and aloof upon their first meeting, and had in fact remained so for some time afterwards. However, while her attitude to Yukimura had softened, and she had allowed herself to take on a rather less guarded stance with him, the situations were not the same. Clearing her throat, she addressed the senior officer with a satisfied smirk; revelling in a rare chance to show Yukimura that he didn't know everything.

“This isn't a normal field operation,” she told him. “This is meant to be the hardest stretch of training a new recruit faces before entering the corps. It's meant to push them to breaking point, mentally and physically. To make sure they're capable of enduring the very worst conditions that it's possible for a member of the patrol corps to encounter.”

“So?” Yukimura blinked.

“So,” she explained, “I'm not meant to be supportive, warm or helpful. That's the point. They've got to feel like they're in this together against the world with only each other to rely on, not that I'm holding their hand. An actual operation would be different...but this entire exercise is meant to make them as uncomfortable and miserable as possible. Because if they can't take this, then they can't take what's waiting for them in real patrols.”

From his squinting, she imagined that Yukimura didn't quite understand the methodology. In many ways, the Fourth Division was as diametrically opposed to the Second division as it could be. The primary role of the fourth division was the care and comfort of their fellow Shinigami. Although its members were combat trained, they were not considered front line combatants; traditionally, the second and eleventh division fulfilled that role. Yukimura, as fearsome an individual combatant as he was, had never had to train soldiers. Had never been a soldier. The very painstaking and deliberate practice of breaking someone down in order to build them back up a way that would make them useful to the Soul Society was likely lost on him.

“So, you....” Yukimura eventually pondered out loud, “want them to hate you?”

“Well.....no, I wouldn't say that,” Suzume sighed, shaking her head. “But the point is to make things as unpleasant as possible for them. And them hating me is pretty much inevitable. Virtually all of the recruits that drop out don't do so because of the physical strain, but because of the mental stress....this exercise is about seeing who's capable of making the final cut, and who'll break when pushed to the limit. If I treated this like a camping trip, and was all buddy-buddy with them, that would diminish the effect.”

“So it's an act, then? That's good,” Yukimura smiled expectedly. “I didn't think Suzume was really like that. You kinda had me worried.”

Suzume was glad of the relative darkness, hoping that it would serve to hide the sudden warmth that spread across her cheeks as she involuntarily choked. Turning her face aside despite the cover granted by the lack of illumination, she raised a fist to mask what she hoped sounded like an indignant cough.

“D-don't use my first name so casually,” she told him, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “At least use an honourific.”

“Huh?” Yukimura blinked. “But you've been callin' me just 'Yukimura' for a while now. I figured it was okay.”

'What!? Did I call him that? I didn't even realise.....I thought I was being really careful, too. Damn it. Now he's going to get the wrong idea and think......I don't know what he'll think! But I bet I won't like it.'

“N-No I didn't,” she spluttered, keeping her face firmly turned aside. “You must have imagined it.”

Although Yukimura didn't reply, she felt quite sure she heard him give a soft chuckle under his breath. Instead he turned his attention back to his hammock, pressing a hand into the body of the hammock as though to test to make sure it would support his weight; apparently, seeing the gigantic Yamauchi climb into his own hammock had been insufficient to convince him.

Suzume watched him in silence, noting that he lingered rather than climbing straight in. Instead, the other Shinigami continued to roll of shoulders as though to work out a crick, reaching up a hand to itch and claw at the back of his neck.

“Yukimura,” she queried into the darkness. “What's wrong?”

“Bugs,” came the somewhat gruff reply, the fourth seat swatting ineffectually at the back of his head. “How the hell am I meant t'sleep like this? Little bastards are swarming me.”

“Bugs?” Suzume echoed, lifting an eyebrow as she realised for the first time that her evenings on the Outer Rim with Yukimura's family had been surprisingly bug free. Mind you, that was possibly due to the fact that the average insect on the Outer Rim was the size of a human head, and couldn't easily sneak up on a person. “Well, you've got ointment for that. Spread it on and it'll keep them off you.”

“Y'mean that smelly stuff?” Yukimura queried, his back suddenly stiffening. “Is.....is that what it was? Oh....I thought that was dip for my rations. No wonder th'guys were laughing at me.”

Suzume wasn't exactly sure how long the silence that followed Yukimura's admission was; perhaps as long as it took her to try and make sense of what he had just said in the first place. Still sitting with her arms crossed, she began to wonder if her earlier estimates of Yukimura's proficiency as a woodsman were grossly exaggerated.

'Don't ask if he ate it. Don't ask if he ate it. Don't ask if he ate it. Don't ask if he ate it.'

“Well, if...” she began, stumbling over her words slightly. “If you've ran out, then I've got plenty left. You can use-”

“It tasted like armpit,” he told her.

“I wasn't going to ask!” she barked, rather more loudly than she had intended. Snapping her mouth closed, she inhaled deeply through her nostrils in an attempt to regain her composure. It wasn't the first 'Yukimuraism' she had been forced to deal with. She doubted it would be the last.

Sighing, she leant forward to fish a hand into her own backpack, which lay by the side of her hammock. Rummaging around in the dark, her fingertips probed their way through her neatly stacked rations and supplied until they closed over a metal cylinder near the base of the pack. Pulling it free, she unscrewed the case's cap; nearly gagging at the initial blast of the pungent aroma of the oil contained inside.

“Right,” she instructed, rising to her feet as she dipped her index and forefinger into the ointment. “Kosode off.”

“Huh!? What!?” Yukimura started, whipping his head around to look at her before casting what she could only describe as a terrified glance back at the camp. “N-no way. Gimmie the stuff and I'll do it myself.”

“Not a chance,” Suzume smirked. “I've got to make this last a whole three days and if I'm splitting it with you, then I get to decide how much of it you're using. What's the matter, can't take the shoe being on the other foot?”

“You want me to take my shoes off?” Yukimura squinted.

“What? No, I don't want you to-” Suzume replied, staring blankly as she once again began to wonder just which side of the idiot divide Yukimura fell on. “Just....take your damn kosode off! It's not like I haven't seen you before.”

Although he turned his back on her, Yukimura hesitated only a moment further before he grudgingly complied. Plopping somewhat indignantly into a seated position, he fiddled with his obi to untei the knot before shrugging free of his somewhat sodden kosode. Unlike Suzume, he didn't wear a white shitage underneath, and made something of a show of his displeasure he huffily tugged the garment down to let it hang around his waste before planting his hands stiffly on his knees.

Even in the dim light, Suzume found herself immediately hesitant at what she saw. The memory of having seen Yukimura's bare torso once before not quite preparing her for her second encounter with the ragged scar tissue that laced its way across his ravaged back. The marks of old wounds, healed over but not faded, that she imagined were carved into a great deal of his body.

She wondered, in fact, is the coiling tribal tatooes that snaked their way up both of his arms from wrist to shoulder were in part an attempt to conceal similar scars on his limbs. However she didn't pry, knowing from past experience that it was not a matter Yukimura wished to openly discuss.

The sight was, however, enough to cause her to quietly chastise herself for having earlier mocked Yukimura's lack of trivial survival skills when she was reminded that he had survived more hardship than most members of the Patrol Corp would see in their entire lifetime.

Catching herself, Suzume realised she had been staring and slipped down to her knees to hover over Yukimura's turned back as she set about applying the lotion. As her fingertips make contact with the bare skin between his shoulderblades, both Shinigami jumped.

“Cold?” she queried.

“Kinda,” Yukimura confessed. “But it feels better than it tasted.”

'I'd imagine so.'

“It only goes on cold,” she reassured him, using her fingertips to massage the ointment along his vertebrae. “You'll feel a little clamy at first, but once you get used to it you'll barely feel it. And it'll be better than being bitten all night.”

Yukimura grunted in reply, though he still stiffened as Suzume gathered up another fingerfull of the cold ointment to start applying to the back of his neck. Despite her earlier remarks, she applied the location somewhere generously; reminding herself that one of the very first things she had discovered about her unusual companion was that he was deathly afraid of insects. She distinctly recalled removing a giant centipede that she had found in her sleeping bag on morning, and the terrified gesticulations Yukimura had shown her upon seeing it.

'For someone so strong....He can be a bit of a wimp. Maybe he does need someone like me to look after him. Just a little.'

Suzume didn't have many scars of her own, but where she did have them the tissue was usually soft and pliable. Yukimura's skin was different. The flesh of his back was thick and harm; the contours of his muscles clear and defined seemingly on every inch of his torso. He wasn't bulky like Yamauchi; his build was more wiry, like that of an athlete. She found herself wondering, in fact, if the man had even a scrap of body fat on him. So far as she could tell, Yukimura was composed entirely of muscle and stubbornness.

“Yo,” Yukimura spoke, causing her to jump. “You nearly done back there?”

“Sorry,” Suzume started, realising that she had been lingering on the back of his neck for several seconds and barely made any progress at all. Securing another load of the globular paste, she set about brushing some on the back of his ears – to his visible irritation as he made a half hearted attempt to shake her fingers away.

“I don't usually let anyone see.”

That was what he had said to her, that time. When she had dragged him into the shelter of a cave, unconscious and soaked with blood and rainfall from the battlefield, and been forced to remove his clothes to tend his wounds. She could recall his sombre embarrassment upon waking, and the apology he had offered for his own appearance. It was the first time she could remember seeing the usually jovial and confident Yukimura looking so....broken.

“You don't have t'force yourself to do this, y'know,” Yukimura sighed, causing Suzume to jump once again as she realised, not for the first time, she had lost track of what she was doing. “I'll just make do like this.”

“I-I'm fine,” she stammered. “Sorry, I was just....I was thinking about the next few days of the operation. That's all.”

“Seriously, it's fine,” Yukimura tried to turn his head to look at her over his shoulder. “I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. And I know that my body ain't exactly like other guys.”

“Like I'd know!” Suzume barked, jagging a fingertip into his cheek to force him to look ahead, granting her access to the back of his ears once again. “You're the only guy I've done this for, so stop accusing me of making comparisons. Most members of the second division aren't dumb ass enough to eat their own supply. I wasn't uncomfortable until you made me!”

Suzume wondered if the back of her neck was quite as red as Yukimura's as she went back to work. Suddenly finding herself extremely self conscious, she finished smearing the ointment across his shoulders; the neck, ears, back and shoulders being the usual problem areas for the swarms of biting insects, before rubbing off her fingers on her hakama.

“You....you can put your clothes back on, now,” she instructed, rising quickly to her feet and marking back towards her backpack to deposit the ointment; noting with some misgivings that, despite her earlier claims, she had given him almost a quarter of what was left.

For his part, Yukimura slowly shifted his kosode back over his shoulders and slid his arms into the sleeves. Remaining in his seated position, he adjusted the lie of the cloth to try and make himself more comfortable, sighing as though in relief as the effects of the ointment almost immediately dispersed the cloud of buzzing insects that had been harassing him. When he looked back at Suzume, she noted that there was still a noticeable flush to his cheeks. However, unlike her, Yukimura's blush was accompanied by an impish smirk.

“So I'm the only guy you've ever seen naked, huh?” he queried.

“Wha-!?” Suzume's exclamation was halfway between an alarmed cry and a snort of indignation. “I-I haven't seen you naked!”

“Near enough,” Yukimura admitted, raising a finger as though to emphasise the point. “But you did strip me down t'my fodoshi that one time. That's pretty close to naked. And now you're seizing your chance t'run your hands all over my body. I should warn you that your superiors probably take a dim view of that kind of thing.”

Suzume was no longer certain if her features were bright scarlet or ghostly white, though she was quite sure she was one of the two. As Yukimura continued to address her with a mischievous grin, the fourth seat hopped nimbly to his feet as he stretched both arms overhead in the semblance of a yawn.

“Well, that's good in a way,” he continued. “I guess that means I don't have any reason t'be jealous.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?” Suzume demanded as Yukimura languidly poured himself into his hammock, folding his arms behind his head as he appeared to ignore any further questions. “Hey!”

Hesitant to raise her voice any further to avoid disturbing the rest of the group, Suzume merely stood in impotent fury for several long, steaming moments as she watched Yukimura settle down for sleep. Flushing so brightly she was almost certain she now served as the brightest point of illumination in the jungle, she made a few brief attempts to get her head around Yukimura's final, dizzying statement, before stomping her way to his hammock and grasping the edge to tip hammock and occupant upside-down.

“Ow!” Yukimura cried as he found himself tumbling into the undergrowth, the carpet of ferns and shrubs doing little to cushion his heavy landing. Rolling on his his back, his attempt to stand was blocked almost immediately as Suzume firmly planted a foot on his sternum.

“Who said you could sleep?” she asked him, looming over the striking fourth seat and wearing the single most demonic smile she could possibly muster. “You think you can just tag along on this team and not get put to work? Is that how you think this is gonna be? Well buckle up, because if you thought I was riding your ass before, you haven't seen anything yet.”

“What th'hell are y-” Yukimura demanded, making another attempt to push himself up onto his elbows that was immediately thwarted as Suzume pressed down upon her foot, forcing Yukimura's shoulders to slam down against the soil once more.

“This is swelt week,” she sneered. “Recruits don't get a full night's sleep on swelt week, and those kids are naive as hell if they think I'm allowing them one. There's a Hollow three miles from our current position. You and I are going to find it and chase it back here to give those recruits a wake up call they'll remember for the rest of their lives.”

Yukimura stared up at her in what she could only assume to be shock, his lips parting to emit little more than a mouthed 'wha?', though he wasn't immediately able to say much else. His hands had been in the process of trying to dislodge her foot from his sternum, but upon hearing her plan the fourth seat appeared to be frozen in place.

“.....Holy shit, Suzume,” he eventually spoke, his lips curving into a grin that was just as macabre as her own. “That actually sounds hilarious.”

- - - Updated - - -





Act VII: Partners in Crime


The East Rukongai
Somewhere in District 3





Yukimura couldn't deny that he felt like something of a giddy schoolboy. More like a youth about to pull an elaborate prank than a soldier engaged in a serious military exercise. It was a part of Academic life that he felt he had somehow skipped over in the Academy; for both Shingen and Hitomi, the only two real friends he had during that time, were both entirely too studious and serious to engage in such horseplay. As much as he would have utterly delighted in using some elaborate combination of hado to cause Hideyoshi sensei's chair to explode when he sat down on it – and to accept the thrashing that would have come afterwards – neither of his contemporaries would ever have allowed him such enjoyment.

Frankly, he had often thought much the same of Suzume. To his mind, the girl had always seemed something of a halfway point between Shingen and Hitomi; not quite as stuck up as the former but lacing the fiery temper of the latter. Although she had started to defrost during their expedition to Mikawa, she had always seemed far too serious and career minded to drag him off on an adventure.

Of course, she probably didn't think of it as an adventure. And despite the apparent glee she had shown upon first inviting him to participate, she had taken the entire exercise utterly seriously from that point onwards. Leading him through the jungle, she had set a pace that he imagined her doe eyed recruits could not possibly have matched, covering the three miles between their camp and the resting Hollow in the same time it would have taken their expedition to cover two. Their reiatsu suppressed every step of the way, the pair flitted through the undergrowth like a pair of ghosts as they closed in upon their suspecting prey.

Usually, when a Hollow approached the point of physical exertion, it would return to Hueco Mundo where the very atmosphere itself was capable of restoring the creature's lost fatigue. However, a variety of safeguards woven into the dangai – the dimensional wall that separated the Soul Society from both Hueco Mundo and the living world – made such transportation difficult at the best of times. Surrounded on all sides by the kido corps barriers, it was essentially impossible; at least for the kind of low level Hollow that had been tossed into the meat grinder.

As such, the fatigued Hollows slept instead. Perhaps hoping the hours of darkness would protect them from discovery while they were vulnerable. Though any sufficiently skilled Shinigami could track a Hollow by its spiritual pressure, and it was not difficult for either Suzume or Yukimura to find their way to their chosen quarry.

And so the pair found themselves crouched in waist high grass, flat on their stomachs, as they observed the slumbering creature with – whether Suzume would admit it or not - a sense of excited anticipation.

All of the Hollows that had been captured for the purpose of the exercise where fairly large in size; not only to make them more physically intimidating to the recruits, but also to provide a more obvious trail through the jungle that could be used as a guideline for the recruit. The particular specimen that Yukimura and Suzume stumbled upon was no exception; a gigantic, four legged creature that reminded Yukimura almost of an enormous hairless bear.

Its masked visage, however, was more reminiscent of a human skull; attached to chitinous vertebrae that ran the length of the beast's twelve foot long spinal column like plates or armour. It's Hollow hole, wide enough that Yukimura was quite certain he could wriggle through it if he tried, cut bilaterally through the monster's abdomen, just beneath its lungs that expanded and contracted in a low, steady rhythm.

“How fast d'you think it can run?” he whispered to Suzume out of the corner of his mouth.

“The average speed of examination level Hollows is about forty kilometres per hour,” she replied. “They're so big that they can just tear their way through the foliage. Doesn't slow them down much.”

“So....” he mused. “If we force it t'run flat out, it'll reach th'camp in about seven and a half minutes....”

“That's.....surprisingly fast math,” Suzume remarked, extending an elbow to nudge him in the ribs in what he could only assume was a gesture of approval. “But yes. Although the rooks will probably only hear it coming for three of those minutes. By the time they've woken up, realised what's coming for them and identified the direction, he'll practically be on top of them.”

“And you're sure they can handle it?” he asked, not for the first time.

“They can handle it,” the girl nodded. “I wouldn't spring this on them if they couldn't. Besides, they need to know how to react to an ambush or the sudden appearance of an enemy. Getting attacked in their sleep is a real life scenario that they might encounter one day. With any luck, they'll rally together and deal with this thing. If not, then I guess we'll have to rescue them and I can spend the whole morning mocking them for it.”

“You're....pure evil,” Yukimura remarked with a grin.

“My motivations are entirely for their benefit,” Suzume protested, though Yukimura noticed she wore a smirk while doing so. “Now....how do you suppose we should get this big guy moving?”

Yukimura squinted at the Hollow, raising a hand to thoughtfully scratch his chin. Although Suzume had made no mention of it, he hadn't forgotten the fact that every muscle in her body was only tenuously healed; and brawling with even a low level hollow could quite easily aggravate those injuries that he would much prefer she allow to mend. He also knew, however, that his own abilities didn't allow for much in the way of 'restraint'; the odds were that anything he did to such a weak Hollow was liable to kill it by accident.

“Okay...” Suzume murmured, apparently not content to wait for Yukimura to provide an answer and instead producing one of her own. “One of us can circle around behind it and fire a hado right on its heels. That'll get him moving forward. The other one of us can go ahead to steer it, using hado to keep it from straying left or right while the other keeps up the pressure from behind. With any luck, we'll send him barrelling right into camp.”

“Alright....” Yukimura nodded. “I'll take the front, then. Whoever takes that job is going to have to keep up with that thing barrelling through the jungle at forty kilometers an hour. That'll be me.”

“What? No, it's my plan,” Suzume snorted as she raised a fist with her zanpakuto clenched inside it. “If I use my shikai, I can-”

“No shikia,” Yukimura interrupted, reaching up his own hand to snap his fingers around her fist. “Look, just....trust me on this one. You said you'd take it easy over th'next few days, so let me handle some of th'heavy lifting for you. I mean....it's not like I'm going anywhere.”

Suzume pursed her lips, looking none too pleased, but she nevertheless relented. Grudgingly, the young woman lowered her zanpakuto back to the ground by her side as she directed her gaze back towards the sleeping hollow. Frankly, he had expected her to put up more of a fight on the issue; of the two of them, Yukimura was the more physically powerful. But Suzume was by far the faster. Her speed was impressive enough that the girl took it as a point of pride, and he had worried that he would have to wrestle her over the issue of who would take point.

The fact that she gave up so easily made him wonder if the pain she was in was, perhaps, worse than he had initially thought.

“Well, you'd better get moving then,” she told him with an indignant scowl. “I'm not going to wait all night for you to get into position.”

“Uh, right,” Yukimura nodded, releasing his grip on her hand as he slid sideways through the underbrush of his belly. Clambering through the long grass, he returned to his feet only once he had slipped back into the treeline to afford him sufficient cover should the Hollow happen to wake up. Whatever else could be said about him, Yukimura had spent almost his entire life in trees; so much so that moving from ground level to the branches was a slick, practised motion.

Although all Shinigami possessed physical dexterity that was at, or more often surpassed, human limitations, Yukimura's arboreal skills were considered somewhat noteworthy. Barely using his feet, he pulled himself upwards almost entirely with his hands as he rose through the branches at startling speed; intending to gain height upon his quarry in order to better manoeuvre ahead of it.

During their trek from the camp, what was left of the sunlight had almost completely faded. Yukimura could now more clearly see by starlight than anything else. So far from civilisation, the heaven swirled overhead as the stars shone brightly without competition from the artificial light of towns and cities, illuminating all that lay beneath them in a pale blue glow. Despite the late hour, the jungle was still stifflingling hot, as Yukimura raised the back of his hand to dab the perspiration from his forehead as he finally wound his way to the top of his selected tree.

'Right.....camp is back that way. Let's see if this guy takes off in a straight line or not.'

Crouching among the branches, he waited for Suzume to launch the attack that would start the chase. Although she had rushed him, he imagined it would take her far longer to get into a suitable position; or for that matter to carefully aim a kido close enough to set the Hollow on a stampede but far enough away not to injure it. Suzume's spiritual pressure was just as high as his; she could quite easily kill the Hollow by accident for all the same reasons Yukimura could.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck as he felt Suzume's spiritual pressure begin to rise – just barely – from its suppressed state. Rising to about a fifth of her maximum, the girl invested only as much as she needed; the pale blue night throwing into sudden and stark illumination as a sizzling sphere of crimson – the thirty first level of hado – flashed from the treeline directly behind the hollow to burrow into the soft jungle soil.

The effect was dramatic and immediate. A cataclysmic spasm of light, heat and noise as the sphere detonated upon impact. Although it was only a low level hado, fired by Suzume it struck the ground like a meteor; a shockwave of force rippling its way through the soil as an expanding circle of heaving dirt that picked up the startled Hollow and tossed it aside as though it were weightless.

'Geez, Suzume....Wouldn't jumping out and saying 'boo' have been enough?'

The tree in which Yukimura was perched shook as the tremors from the explosion rippled their way beneath its roots, but his perch held firm as the aftershock subsided. Though the grain of protesting wood, and the echoing rumble of the explosion reverberated through the jungle, it was the horrified shriek of the Hollow that was the most immediate sound.

All Hollows, regardless of their size and appearance, shared the same mournful cry. To Yukimura, it sounded like air rushing through a tunnel, though at a low, dead pitch. Whatever still passed for sapient thought behind the creature's animalistic mask drove it to the point of terror as no sooner had the shockwave subsided than the Hollow had scrambled to its feet and torn away from the direction of the blast at every bit the blistering pace Suzume had predicted.

'Fast!'

It was a speed that Yukimura could easily match; his own maximum being somewhere just above the sound barrier. However, the need to keep his own reiatsu suppressed was just as pressing as the need to keep up, and so he was forced to simply run to catch up. Raising his arms to protect himself from the worst of the twigs and thorns that barred his way, his every stride carried him from tree branch to tree branch – now stepping, now leaping, traversing the canopy as though it were simply an unusually uneven road.

Mad with fear, the Hollow shredded the underbrush beneath him in an effort to escape Suzume's first attack; crying out once again in terror as she launched a second that blasted into the tree line only a few yards behind the fleeing beast. Fortunately, Suzume's positioning was perfect, and the Hollow was set on a near direct line for the distant camp.

Their seven minute dash through the jungle had begun.

Yukimura felt a curious thrill take over him as he bounded through the trees, splitting his attention beneath the path ahead and the course of the running Hollow beneath him. It reminded him of the many hunts his father had led him on through the wild reaches of the Outer Rim; chasing down the massive mega fauna that made the jungle their home. For while they had mostly subsisted on fruit, and whatever else could be foraged from their surroundings, his family had often felt the need to add red meat to their diet.

Yet he had only been a boy, then. And running in his bare feet through the long grass, brandishing a spear, could hardly compare to dashing among the treetops with two tonnes of supernatural monstrosity threshing its way through the jungle beneath his feet. Despite reminding himself, not for the first time, that the purpose of this exercise was to train the recruits, he could not deny that he felt some primal part of his soul stir in the execution of it.

Beneath him, the Hollow began to turn slightly northward, and he realised the need to set it back on course. Summoning up a sliver of his own reaitsu, he lowered an open palm to the forest floor to blast of a surging blast of his own hado; grinning at himself that he was able to exert rather more restraint than Suzume.

Although he used the same hado, his own Shakkaho merely thudded into the undergrowth to the creature's immediate right, tossing sod, stone and shredded vegetation skyward but not achieving quite the same dramatic explosion as Suzume's opening salvo. The blast was nevertheless enough to turn the creature back the way he wanted – driven ever onward by a third torpedo from Suzume that, launched from somewhere behind, burned with such ferocity Yukimura felt certain it singed the back of his head.

'I guess she's still kinda pissed off I took this job from her.'

If the Hollow was tired, it certainly didn't show in the pace the creature set. Its passage accompanied by the deafening rip and tear of jungle flora, the monster's bear-like body peeled through the thick vegetation as though it were not even there; adjusting its path only to avoid the thick trunks of trees or the occasional impassable boulder. Its path, however, remained steady; its primitive mind not thinking to deviate from the path that Yukimura had set it upon as, in the distance, the warm glow of the Shinigami camp fire peaked through the trees.

In the mad chase through the forest, seven minutes passed as quickly as seven seconds.

Now that they were near their goal, Yukimura slowed his pursuit – allowing the Hollow to overtake him as it howled its way towards the camp. Already he could hear the startled yells of the Shinigami as they were roused from their slumber by the creature's deafening approach, as the first panicked cry as one of them spotted the colossal shape advancing upon them from the darkness.

His hand moving to the hilt of his zanpakuto, Yukimura finally came to a stop upon a branch that afforded him a good enough view of the ensuing chaos. Prepared to leap into the fray if need be, but recalling Suzume's instruction to do so only if absolutely necessary, he watched – poised – as the Hollow at last reached its destination.

Some one hundred yards away, the Shinigami and the Hollow looked almost like toy figures moving within the orange fire light. The Hollow appeared just as surprised to encounter the Shinigami as they were to find it bearing down upon them, and for a moment the huge beast stopped – rearing up on its hind legs to stand at its full dizzying fourteen feet.

One of the Shinigami – Yukimura thought it was Natsuo – stood at the centre of the group of panicking rookies. His voice could just be distinguished; barking orders and calling for calm, even as Shunsuke continued to wail in a panic. The group's junior member continued his crying until the figure next to him – from the large paunch, Yukimura assumed it could only have been the young recruit's uncle, Kansuke – roughly slapped him across the back of the head.

Between them, Natsuo and Kansuke used to tips of their extended zanpakuto to try and warn away the Hollow. Though a single swipe from its enormous forelimb collided with Kansuke's extended weapon and sent the portly man tumbling to one side. It was only when the group was at last joined by the hulking figure of Yamauchi that the Shinigami were at least prepared to mount a more aggressive defence.

The largest of the group shouldered his way forward to swing his oversized zanpakuto at the clawed limbs of the attacking Hollow, even as the creature – still standing on its hind legs – lumbering forward to meet the advance. Supported by Natsuo, who stepping in from behind the giant to agitate the Hollow with sharp, niggling thrusts of his sword, Yamauchi succeeded in landing what to Yukimura appeared to be a decisive blow to the Hollow's right forelimb.

Although his hand remained upon the hilt of his sword, Yukimura found himself relaxing as Shinsuke helped his uncle, the oldest of the recruits, back to his feet. Together, Shunsuke and Kansuke rejoined the collective effort against the Hollow as they fanned out in an attempt to flank the creature on both sides.

'Heh....these kids are all over the damn place. They're way weaker than I was back when I graduated from the Academy. But they're doing much better than I expected.'

Unfortunately, no sooner had the thought occurred to Yukimura than the tide abruptly turned.

Although pestered from all sides, it was still Yamauchi – with his zanbato sized sword – that had inflicted the most damage and represented the most significant threat. Although it was a Hollow of limited intelligence, certainly far short of human intellect, it at least knew enough that its chances of survival increased should it be able to eliminate its largest adversary.

Before the group could complete their flanking manoeuvre, the beast suddenly charged forward. Bellowing in bestial rage, at ploughed into Yamauchi even as the man brought up the point of his zanpakuto to defend himself. Yukimura immediately stiffened, realising even from his distant vantage point that the man's blade had found the creature's throat rather than its mask. Although the weapon bit deep, carving through the Hollow's neck until the tip thundered against the armoured plating that ran down the length of its spine, it was not a wound capable of killing a Hollow.

Only a direct blow to the head could achieve that.

The Hollow either did not notice the injury, or it simply didn't care. Continuing to charge forward, Yamauchi retained a desperate grip on the hilt of his sword as he was pushed backwards. The desperate Shinigami closed around the creature to hack at its flanks, but to no avail as it tossed its head to lift Yamauchi – sword and all – from the ground and slamming the hapless Shinigami against the nearest tree.

'Shit!'

Yukimura was out of his perch in an instant, gritting his teeth as he ripped his zanpakuto free of its scabbard. If he unleashed his tightly held grip on his reiatsu, he could reach and dispatch the Hollow in the space of a heartbeat. However before he could do so, indeed before he was more than a few yards from his tree, Yukimura felt the wind knocked out of him as something fast and heavy crashed into him from above.

His world spinning as he lost control of his movement, he found himself crashing into the undergrowth. Gritting his teeth, he winced in pain as he collided with the wet earth, his head spinning as he found himself pinned down by the same weight that had struck him out of the air.

“Wait!” Suzume hissed through clenched teeth, both her hands closed around his swordarm to pin his weapon in place, the girl straddling his upper body with a knee to either side of his chest. “Give them a minute!”

“What th'hell are you doing!?” he demanded, his surprise at her intervention such that he didn't immediately think to struggle against her. “Your recruits are about to get their asses kicked!”

“No they're not!” she insisted, her eyes directed at the battle rather than at Yukimura. “Just give them a minute!”

Wriggling underneath her, Yukimura craned his neck to try and look in the direction of the fight. Although the ground level foliage obscured much of the view, he could see enough that he could still tell roughly what was going on. Squinting, prepared to try and hurl Suzume from him if he saw the recruits in further trouble, he noted from his new vantage point that Yamauchi's situation was not quite so severe as he had suspected.

Although the large Shinigami had struck the tree, he had twisted his body in midair to strike the bark feet first. His muscular legs straining – the bulging veins in the man's neck clearly visible – the gigantic Shinigami appeared to have found purchase between the tree and the pressure of the Hollow pushing forward against his blade.

“Hold it there, Yama-kun!” Natsuo's voice could be heard, a note of desperation in the young man's voice as he appeared to be in the process of climbing the tree to which Yamauchi was pinned. On the ground, Shunsuke and Kansuke had engaged the creature's remaining good arm – hacking and slashing at its most powerful weapon every time it tried to bring it to bear against the immobile Yamauchi.

“Give them a minute...” Suzume repeated as a whisper, though it sounded to Yukimura more as though she were trying to convince herself than him.

Utterly bent on attacking the largest member of the group, the Hollow barely even acknowledged the other Shinigami that scurried around it, no matter how they interfered with its intention. The blade still thrust into its throat had forced the creature's head to face upwards – its skull like face directed towards the canopy and perhaps leaving it blind to what lay around it. It would be Natsuo, though, who had the most decisive effect.

As Yamuicho immobilised the creature's head with his stuck weapon, the ringleader of the group had succeeded in climbing to the same level as his companion. Exhaling a long, low breath to steady his nerves, the smaller man sprang forward to touch down – ever so briefly – upon the broad shoulders of Yamauchi. Using his companion as a stepping stone, Natsuo brought his own zanpakuto flashing down in a cutting arc that descended unnervingly into the very centre of the Hollow's masked forehead.

It was a perfect cut. A textbook cut. And the Hollow's masked face splintered like porcelain as Natsuo's sword continued on is downward descent; only stopping when it clangled loudly against Yamauchi's own sword still lodged in the creature's neck. Although by then the Hollow's twitching body had already begun to flake away – its head split in two, and the dark spirit that lurked behind its mask exorcised by the cleansing blade of the zanpakuto.

“They did it....” Yukimura murmured, as much astonished as he was impressed. Although the words had barely left his mouth before his gaze was yanked from the group, forced to look up once more as Suzume's hands seized the front of his kosode and emphatically shook him.

“They did it!” she beamed, echoing Yukimura's own statement. “I told you they would!”

Yukimura blinked up at the girl in mute astonishment. Her face was somewhat grubby from what had surely been a headlong charge through the jungle, but her absolute elation shone through nonetheless. Her amber eyes and white teeth almost seemed to sparkle against the backdrop of her mud streaked features, and it occurred to Yukimura that it was perhaps the first time he had ever seen her smile. Really smile. He had seen her smirk. Sneer. Maybe offer a grin or two. But he couldn't remember ever seeing her so blatantly ecstatic.

'She's.....really proud of them.'

Still smiling, her shoulders rising and falling heavily with each breath as her initial euphoria began to wear off, Suzume released her grip on his clothing to let Yukimura sink back into the soil. Yukimura wanted to respond to her smile with one of his own but, truth to be told, he found himself rather too unsettled. Now that the adrenaline of the chase was fading, he found himself painfully aware of the fact she was still pinning him to the ground, and of how dangerously close her face was to his own.

'….Damn it...I'm having inappropriate thoughts again. Why the hell does she have to be so god damn beautiful? Couldn't she be ugly? Or a guy! She could have been a guy! I've never had inappropriate thoughts about my guy friends before. That would solve all my problems.'

Her smile fading, Suzume regarded Yukimura's own face searchingly. While her eyes retained the same merry sparkle, she leaned closer as though to give him a more thorough examination – so close that he could feel her warm breath against his lips.

“Are you alright?” she queried. “You look.....weirdly thoughtful.”

“I'm fine,” Yukimura nodded, his voice uncomfortably husky. “Just wishing you were a guy.”

“What?” Suzume blinked.

“What?” Yukimura replied, rather too dazed by the proximity to know exactly what he had said.

Suzume squinted down at him, a flash of confused amusement passing through those amber eyes as she continued to gaze at him. Not for the first time, Yukimura found himself wishing very much that he could tell what she was thinking; although he couldn't imagine it was anything like what he was thinking.

“You-” he muttered, swallowing. “You should probably get off me, now.”

“Sorry,” she started, pulling away to sit upright on his stomach – inadvertently making the situation worse. “Did I hurt you?”

'No. But if you shift your hips any lower you're going to find out just how difficult you're making things for me. And then I'll probably get castrated.'

“Yeah,” he replied. “A little.”

“R-right,” she nodded, pushing away from him to stand upright. At some point she appeared to have dropped her zanpakuto beside him, and she fished it out of the undergrowth as she stood, swinging the long weapon across her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Uh....yeah, I'm fine,” Yukimura nodded, immediately sitting up and feeling very much as though his cheeks were burning. “Anyway, you should probably go see t'your troops. I expect they're wondering what th'hell's going on.”

“Heh,” Suzume smirked – the same macabre grin she had worn upon first proposing the idea of herding the Hollow to them in the first place. “I bet they are....Just wait till I get done with them.”

Yukimura twisted on the spot to follow her progress as the girl set off at a jog in the direction of the encampment. He watched her topknot bob with every step, noting that the group of exhausted recruits had apparently seen her coming – one of them raising a hand to point her out to the others.

“What the hell are you idiots doing!?” she bellowed out to them as she approached the camp. “Did you just get attacked in the middle of the night without a single man on watch!? Who the hell taught you to make camp without setting a watch, because it sure as hell wasn't me!”

Yukimura winced, finding the girl's tirade painful even though he wasn't on the receiving end of it. The astounded recruits, having no doubt believed they had performed admirably, could only stand in mute shock as Suzume proceeded to verbally dissect them one by one. He imagined they were angry; in fact, he strongly suspected they were all furious. But they kept their mouths shut, taking their leader's abuse and standing firmly to rigid attention all the while.

Yukimura couldn't help but wonder how they'd feel if they'd been allowed to see the same smile of absolute pride that Suzume had revealed to him and him alone.
 
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Seraphina

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Act VIII: Clutching the Straw


The Seireitei
Fifth Division Grounds




In his Academy days, Shadrin had been considered something of a prodigy. Despite a somewhat rocky beginning to academic life, once he had eventually found his feet he had hit the ground running and by the end of his first year was acknowledged as being one of the strongest students in the school. By the middle of his second year, he was already as strong as a Vice-Captain. His utterly insane stampede through the Academy had caused Hideyoshi Hashiba to call him “the lazy genius” on account of the fact that his successes came between bouts of prolonged inactivity.

Indeed, after his graduation, he had become so lazy that all of his promise was, it seemed, utterly squandered. Content to stay in the patrol corps, his career had been stagnant and his strength had actually decreased from his days at the Academy. In the decades since his graduation, Shadrin had actually grown weaker rather than stronger, and the 'experienced' Shinigami that had – purely by happen stance – stumbled upon Reihaii Hitomi in the West Rukongai was nowhere near as powerful as the teenaged Shadrin Kain that had romped through the Academy while making it looked easy.

Shades of the potential he had spent so long squandering had begun to resurface over the last few years, however. Finding his lot thrown in with real prodigies like Hitomi, Shingen and Yukimura had seem him forced to run to catch up. Within the last year in particular, he had come from being a slightly above average Shinigami to breaking past the level expected of a Vice-Captain and, today, could probably quite comfortably be considered 'Captain Level'.

It was a curious quirk, he thought, that he was far stronger now than Hitomi and Tachibana had been at the time of their titanic duel that had rocked the South Rukongai six years ago.

When he applied himself, Shadrin could say without arrogance that he was an exceptional Shinigami. And yet, for all his alleged genius, if the last two days had taught him anything it was that Byleth and Junshin were both far smarter than he was.

Truth be told, his days had been spent feeling rather useless. Although he had agreed to provide whatever held he could to Junshin's ongoing project, he had quickly discovered that the technical aspects demanded by the venture were far over his head. Byleth rattled off complex calculations of kido and bakudo that Shadrin expected only a handful of individuals in the Soul Society could even understand, let alone replicate, all the while insisting that she was describing the very basic levels of knowledge required to proceed to the actual task of recreating Pinnacle.

Unlike Shadrin, Junshin took to the Arrancar's teachings like a fish to water. The young Captain asked questions and occasionally required repetition from their demanding task master, but it was nevertheless obvious that he understood far better than Shadrin. While Shadrin continued to struggle with Byleth's mind bending mathematical equations, Junshin was actively helping her write them.

Despite their slow progress, and his own rather embarrassing inability to contribute, Shadrin still found the entire process rather fascinating. It was the first time he had ever been present to see a form of kido actually created from the ground up; and thus realising that the creation was as much about mathematics as it was about simply shaping reiatsu.

Mathematics, Byleth told him, were less about numbers than they were about defining the rules by which the universe operates. No matter how powerful a Shinigami or Hollow was, they were still bound by certain rules imposed by the universe they inhabited, and mathematics was a tool to test and prove those rules. The fact that reiatsu had to follow rules meant that it could be predicted, and thus it was possible to mathematically predict the final outcome of a particular arrangement of kido.

Or so she said, at any rate. Shadrin couldn't quite follow any more closely than that.

“How long do you suppose it took Makabe-sensei to create this?” Junshin's voice brought Shadrin out of his reverie, blinking rapidly as he realised he had been day dreaming.

As they had each day since the project began, the trio were seated around the generously sized table that Junshin had moved outside to oversee the training of his subordinates. Although with the day having marched into late afternoon, the rigorous drills and exercises that the fifth division members were subjected to all morning had long since finished. Overlooking the largely dried out remnants of the once-lake in the heart of the fifth division compound, the three had been left alone to work for the last four hours.

To put it more accurately, Shadrin and Junshin were seated; Junshin scribbling his own contributions to Byleth's ongoing equations on his own small sheet of paper while Shadrin spent his time staring at a fifty year old kido textbook pilfered from the Academy in the vague hope it might help him catch up. Byleth, meanwhile, was where she usually was: crawling round on the table, scrawling her calculations on a piece of paper large enough to contain an entire novel.

“I don't know,” Byleth muttered in reply, not looking up from her work. “Kami-chin was always secretive about her work....I get the feeling she never quite trusted me. Given the circumstances, it's maybe understandable. While living in Hueco Mundo, surrounded by Isharie's servants, she was actively developing a way of eliminating their God. Secrecy was how she stayed alive.”

Using his thumb to absently flick the corners of the well worn pages he was supposed to be reading from, Shadrin squinted as he placed an elbow on the table, resting a cheek on his raised fist. He watched the Arrancar work in silence for a short while, wondering not for the first time if it was worth asking her to divulge anything truthful about her own place in the shrouded affairs that occurred twenty thousand years ago.

“How did you find out about her plans in the first place?” he queried, deciding to make the effort regardless how likely an honest answer was. “You worked for Isharie, didn't you? When did you become aware that Makabe-sensei was building Pinnacle? I mean...had she always intended to betray Isharie? She was a member of Apocrypha, wasn't she? How did that even happen?”

“The same way Tamiel and Samyaza became members of Apocrypha,” Byleth replied, still not looking up. “After the Third Incursion, Tamiel demanded that the Soul Society strike back against the invasions from Hueco Mundo. He was able to tear open a Garganta of his own through sheer power and led his grand crusade into Hueco Mundo. Samyaza and Kami-chin went with him. They were also the only ones to make it back.”

Shadrin and Junshin exchanged a silent glance, both men raising an eyebrow at the somewhat unexpected response. To date, Byleth had been extremely tight lipped about anything not directly translated from the archives – most of which was being scribed in reverse order, and thus nowhere near the time period that was perhaps most crucial to an understanding of their history. For her to give up information so casually was surprising, to say the least.

“So that guy who defeated Hitomi-kun....” Junshin queried. “He originally went to Hueco Mundo to fight the Arrancar and somehow he ended up.....what? Joining them?”

“It wasn't quite as simple as that,” Byleth sighed, the soft scratching of her pencil stopping for the first time as she finally ceased her work. Sitting upright, she sat back on her haunches as she addressed the two Shinigami directly. “You must understand that Tamiel and Samyaza were not always the men that Reihaii Hikari's daughter fought at Lou Yang. In their time they were great heroes and protectors of the Soul Society....and the Soul Society had no greater hero than Tamiel.'

“He was, and still is, the strongest Shinigami that has ever existed,” she continued. “He defended the Soul Society where nobody else could. Against opponents that nobody else could defeat. Originally there were ten Apocrypha, just as there are today ten Espada....he's the reason why there were only seven by the time of the Final Incursion.”

“He killed them?” Junshin choked. “As in....Arrancar like you? On your level? He's really that strong?”

“Heh,” Byleth's reply was a bitter snort, halfway towards being a laugh. “The only reason you think I'm so powerful is because the whole stinking lot of you are so damn weak. Tamiel's strength is unfathomable.....Although I assume, given how handily he defeated your strongest warrior, you would have guessed that by now.”

Shadrin scowled, but didn't respond. Whether Byleth were trying to bait him or not he couldn't tell, but he nevertheless swallowed his instinctive desire to defend Hitomi. He had been there....he had stood in Tamiel's presence and felt, at least in part, the scope of the man's strength. He had seen Hitomi at the height of her power – her bankai unleashed, the strongest Shinigami in the Gotei Thirteen – laid low in a single blow.

In just a single, contemptuous blow.

It had been a terrifying, sobering display. And a clear advertisement of the gulf that existed between himself and the opponents that still loomed on the horizon. All of whom Byleth had, at the least, provided some information on.

Morax the Despoiler, who Byleth claimed was her approximate equal. Samyaza the Betrayer, who was equal to Hitomi. Baal the Devourer, who was stronger still. Tamiel the Fallen, whose strength exceeded comprehension. And Asmodeus the Conqueror, who stood above them all. Not to mention Isharie herself, who Byleth testified utterly transcended the power of either a Shinigami or a Hollow.

Then again, perhaps he could include Byleth on that list also. He still wasn't quite sure how strong the Arrancar actually was, although what little she had shown at the conclusion of the battle of Nishio had left him convinced she was stronger than any but the most powerful among the current Captains.

Certainly, without the seal that had been forced upon her as a condition of her residency in the Soul Society, she was far stronger than him.

“So what happened?” Junshin was asking, snapping Shadrin back to the conversation. “What caused him to turn on the Soul Society?”

“You'd have to ask him, I'm afraid,” Byleth replied, her lips curving into a wry smile. “The Apocrypha were typically not on good terms with one another, and we rarely met outside of our own spheres of influence. I was assigned to serve Kami-chin when she was placed in charge of the consolidation of Hueco Mundo. Even then, not all of Hueco Mundo was part of the Empire.”

“And what about Makabe-sensei?” Junshin pressed, appearing eager for information now that Byleth had finally decided to provide it. “If she was working on Pinnacle, does that mean her defection was a ploy all along? How did you find out about it? What made the two of you decide to cooperate? How long were you working together before the Final Incursion? What did-”

“You know none of us are getting any work done while you badger me,” Byleth suddenly snapped, though Shadrin noted – if only for a moment – that the Arrancar's eyes had almost seemed to glaze over. As though her attention had drifted to some far off memory that had played out before her mind's eye.

For his part, Junshin started when the woman shouted, and quickly lowered his head back to his work. Shadrin's gaze lingered on the Arrancar a moment longer – noting that she did not follow her own advise. Her hands resting on her knees, Byleth absently plucked at her hakama; appearing to mull over some private thought that Shadrin could only guess at.

Suddenly, her golden eyes turned in Shadrin's direction and he at once buried his face back into his book. For several long, uncomfortable seconds he could feel the Arrancar's gaze resting on the top of his lowered head. Only when he once again heard the soft scratching of her pencil resume did Shadrin at least allow himself to release the breath that he had, purely on instinct, been holding.

Their work went uninterrupted for another hour, the three continuing in relative silence, until the echo of clacking wood reverberating through the division grounds indicated that it had passed five o'clock in the evening. The sound made Shadrin realise that he had been present in the fifth division for virtually the entire day and, in that time, had eaten nothing. The realisation manifested in the form of a loud gurgle from his stomach that drew the attention of both Byleth and Junshin – the former smirking while the latter clutched a hand over his own stomach as though to prevent it from doing the same.

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair beneath the pair's gaze, Shadrin found himself relieved to notice that he was unlikely to remain the object of their attention for long as – through the lengthening shadows cast by the surrounding treeline – the instantly recognisable figure of Yamato Moroji was jogging their way.

The fourteenth seat of the fifth division was one of several of Junshin's subordinates whom Shadrin was beginning to recognise on sight. Although he doubted Moroji would much appreciate the reason why he stuck in Shadrin's memory; it was simply because Moroji was by far the poorest performer in the excruciating training regimen implemented by Akira Fukuda. Despite being a young man in his twenties, it was not uncommon to see Moroji plodding along behind his contemporaries, red faced and utterly spent, any attempt at athleticism on his part undone by the considerable weight he carried around his midsection.

Today was no exception, and the light jog from barracks to lake had apparently taken as much as the young man had to offer. By the time he reached the table, Moroji's entire face had turned the colour of beetroot. And when he stooped forward to offer what Shadrin initially thought to be a formal boy, it turned out that the overweight young man was simply forced to put his hands on his knees to steady himself and catch his breath.

“Yamato-san?” Junshin twisted in his seat to address the man. “What is it?”

“M...message,” Moroji panted in response, waving a somewhat crumpled piece of paper clutched within his sweaty hand. “For Kain-Fukutaichou.”

“Aaraa,” Shadrin nodded, rising to his feet as he made his way around the table – thinking it better than to risk Moroji despositing sweat stains on Byleth's equations and incurring the woman's wrath. “I've been away from the division all day, so I expect those messages are piling up by now. Let's have it, boy.”

Moroji appeared only too pleased to hand over the note – most likely because the delivery of it was delaying dinner – though he did at least remember to actually offer his Captain a proper bow before heading off. The letter, Shadrin discovered, was not an internal message from the Eleventh Division at all. Rather, it was – or at least had been before Moroji got a hold of it – a crisp white piece of paper, sealed with a wax insignia depicting a stylized crown.

At once, Shadrin tore open the seal to drink in the contents, unable to keep his hands from trembling in excitement as he realised the origins of the letter. It was a correspondence he had awaited eagerly, and he read the contents aloud.

“My dear friend,” he read, “I am most saddened to hear of the many difficulties you and yours face in the Seireitei. Be assured that the Queendom of Mikawa stands with you, as I promised it would, throughout the crisis you and we both face.”

Junshin, realising the nature of the letter himself, put down his own pencil to listen eagerly. Byleth herself remained rather unmoved, casting the pair only a casual glance that scarcely interrupted her own scribblings.

“I regret that the rebuilding of Nishio remains my priority,” Shadrin continued, “and I am unable to appeal on your behalf in person. However I have written to the office of the Soutaichou and to the Central Government expressing support of your venture. And that Nishio's continued cooperation depends on theirs. I have instructed the Regent of Wei to stand with me on this matter as a show of solidarity. For as you did not abandon us, neither shall we abandon you.'

“For all that we owe you,” he murmured, reading the letter's closing line, “Mikawa remembers. Your friend, Imagawa Takara. Queen of Mikawa.”

Folding closed the letter, Shadrin stared at the paper in silence for a moment in an attempt to collect his thoughts. When he lifted his gaze again, it was to offer Junshin one of the first truly genuine smiles he could remember wearing for some time. Not simply because of the good news the letter had brought; he realised, quite suddenly, just how many friends he seemed to be drifting apart from.

It was nice to hear from one.

“That's excellent!” Junshin spoke first, rising from his feet as he reached out to take the letter, almost as though he couldn't believe it were real until he held it in his hands. “One of our biggest hurdles has been getting the office of the Soutaichou and the Central government on board. But with this....they can't just ignore the breadbasket of the entire Soul Society making a direct request like this.”

“Manpower, resources,” Shadrin nodded, speaking Junshin's thoughts for him. “This certainly improves our position...Well....hopefully it improves our position. Maybe we'll finally be able to devise some more efficient way of getting everything in the Archive over here for translation.”

“Hmph,” Byleth's derisory snort cut through both men's enthusiasm, drawing their attention back to her as the Arrancar continued to go about her work. “One letter from a child half way across the Rukongai, and you'd already think you'd beaten Isharie the Seducer and saved the world.”

“Well....” Junshin made an attempt to fight back, but the wind had quite obviously been taken from his sails. “It's still good news, isn't it?”

“Oh, fantastic,” Byleth returned, frowning as she apparently needed to scratch out whatever she had written and replace it with something else. “Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll send an extra cartload of vegetables. Or maybe she can woo the other Apocrypha out of attacking by pacifying them with her country charm.'

“I don't think you can get too excited about Imagawa Takara helping you defeat Isharie the Seducer,” she added one final barb, “when the girl hasn't even been able to defeat puberty yet.”

Shadrin felt his jaw clench, but resisted the urge to snap back. Whether Byleth was attempting to provoke a reaction he couldn't say, but whatever the case he refused to provide her with one. Instead, he raised a hand to grasp Junshin's shoulder, giving the young man a reassuring shake.

“Aaraa,” he forced a smile. “We've all been at this for some time. How about taking a break? You'll probably work better once you've had a chance to clear your head a little.”

“That....sounds good,” Junshin admitted with a pensive smile. “But I shouldn't. This work is important, and-”

“If you don't take a break,” Shadrin interrupted, “I'll tell Saharu-san that you want to see her tonight. Alone.”

Junshin's face immediately lost all colour, looking at Shadrin as though the latter had threatened to kill him. Although he pretended to be utterly oblivious to the Saharu Hanaka's infatuation with him, Shadrin doubted very much that Junshin was quite so unaware as he claimed. The way the eighth seat never failed to take an excuse to brush up against him or flutter her eyelids at him made it quite obvious to the entire division that Junshin's dramatic rescue during the Arrancar invasion had made him the apple of her eye.

Frankly, Shadrin couldn't see much of a downside for Junshin in that regard. But it was a complication to his command that Junshin appeared determined to avoid.

“I'll.....I'll go take a break, then,” Junshin relented, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “What about you, Sato-san?”

“I'm fine,” Byleth replied to the pseudonym. “I'm made of different stuff than you.”

For once, Shadrin believed that the Arrancar was simply making a statement of fact rather than attempting another jab at her Shinigami hosts. It certainly was true that, so far as Shadrin could tell, Byleth required little in the way of rest. She certainly did sleep and eat; but there appeared to be something about the make up of Hollows that meant they required less of either than did a Shinigami.

“You go ahead,” he told Junshin. “I'll take a break later.”

Junshin didn't object, merely giving Shadrin a weary nod. There was no need for either man to openly express why Shadrin elected to remain. While Junshin was content to leave Byleth to her own devices under the watchful eye of the Onmtsukido – the black clad members of which lurked at a discrete distance along the path back to the barracks – Shadrin himself was less willing to do so. Junshin, he felt, trusted the Arrancar to stick to her end of the arrangement too readily. Shadrin himself entertained no such illusions, and considered it best that the Arrancar was never out of arm's length of someone physically capable of restraining her if the worst were to happen.

So long as Byleth still wore the seal forced on her by their agreement, he could still consider himself one such individual.

“I'll come back in an hour or so, then,” Junshin advised, before turning to begin his own trek back towards the barracks.

Although Shinigami assigned to projects had their schedule dictated by the project lead, the majority of the fifth division operated on a three-shift rotation, with the average Shinigami working for eight hours a day. Five o'clock was the hour at which the day shift ended and the less populous evening shift took over, thus the majority of the fifth division were finishing their work at much the same time as their Captain. Although very little of the division ground could be seen from where Shadrin stood – surrounded as he was on all sides by trees – he could nevertheless hear the buzz of voices and activity as those who called the fifth division home began to go about their leisure.

None of them would encroach upon the Captain's workplace, however, and Shadrin had no fear of interruption as he thrust his hands into the pockets of his hakama and sauntered back to the table upon which Byleth worked.

“Staying behind to babysit the big bad Arrancar?” she queried.

“I'm just following the advice you gave me,” Shadrin retorted as he returned to his seat. “Did you yourself tell me not to trust you?”

“I did,” Byleth nodded, frowning at her own work for a moment before scratching out another line of calculations that apparently disagreed with her. “Though I didn't mean it quite so literally as your Soul Society appears to believe. I was simply trying to make sure there were no illusions about our relationship. Ours was an alliance of convenience, and it would last only for as long as our goals were the same. I had no intention of becoming one of your.....What's the word? Nakama?”

Shadrin's lip curled at the thought, finding himself losing whatever appetite he had. Counting Byleth as an ally was one thing, but counting her as a friend seemed unthinkable.

“You don't exactly make it easy to trust you,” he remarked under his breath. He hadn't intended or expected Byleth to respond, but the woman's pencil once again ceased its scratching as she lifted her golden eyes to look at him directly. To his surprise, there was a note of indignant irritation upon her features.

“I'm the one wearing the seal that only a Shinigami of Vice-Captain rank or above can revoke,” she told him, a snap on the edge of her voice. “And I'm the one who's constantly under armed guard. I'm the one who has to pass herself off as a Shinigami because the Soul Society is crawling with people who would probably try and kill me if they found out who and what I am, and with this damned seal there are a fair number of them I couldn't prevent from doing it.'

“I am completely at your mercy” she raised a hand, a finger finger jabbing in Shadrin's direction before he could open his mouth to respond. “Bearing in mind that you've tried to kill me exactly the same number of times as I've tried to kill you, I still have no choice but to trust you. How nice it must be for you to have the luxury of not trusting me.”

She didn't raise her voice, yet Shadrin nevertheless found himself amazed to realise he didn't take the Arrancar's tirade to be another one of her attempts to dissimulation. Her complaint, though he might dispute its validity, appeared quite genuine. It could very well have been the first time since meeting her that Shadrin found himself actually believing the Arrancar meant what she said.

“Perhaps if you were bit more forthcoming with information,” he eventually replied, “things wouldn't be the way they are......It's not as though we suspect there are things you're not telling us. We know there are things you're not telling us. Not least of which why you're even helping us in the first place. How do you expect us to trust you if you won't even tell us what you're doing here?”

He expected the Arrancar to sullenly return to her work. However, instead she held him in her gaze for a moment – almost as though in silent consideration. Shadrin couldn't guess at what thoughts turned within her head; frankly, he didn't think he was depraved enough to imagine. However, when Byleth's expression shifted into a predatory smile, her lips peeling away to reveal the white point of her canines, the Shinigami felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise.

Her movement was so sudden that he was left no time to react as she almost seemed to glide across the table towards him. Reaching him in a heartbeat, the Arrancar planted a foot on each of the armrests of his chair, boxing him in as she sat upon the edge of the table; her upper body inclined forward so that she was almost nose-to-nose with him.

The presence of the seal on the woman's arm was small comfort in Shadrin's unguarded moment of surprise – withdrawing from her so sharply that he banged his head painfully against the high backrest of the chair. His reaction appeared to amuse Byleth, the Arrancar's smile growing even wider, though she made no effort to withdraw from him.

“Alright,” she spoke. “Let's be....forthcoming, as you put it. I'll play a game with you, boy. You obviously have a lot of questions burning in that half baked little brain of yours that you'd just love me to answer, so I'm going to let you ask some of them.”

Lifting a hand, she stretched out all five of her slender, elegant fingers to wave them in front of Shadrin's eyes.

“I'll let you answer five questions,” she told him. “And I promise that I will answer them truthfully. But, in return, I get to ask you a question that you have to answer truthfully. Five for one is a pretty good deal, don't you think?”

Momentarily transfixed by the fingers that hovered uncomfortably close to his eyes, Shadrin shook himself off. Scowling, he was quite prepared to push the woman away from him, doubting that she was even capable of answering a question directly, let alone truthfully. He also didn't like the idea of agreeing to give her an honest answer to whatever she wanted to ask; a question that would no doubt be formed in such a way to be as embarrassing as possible.

However, even as he prepared to shove her away, he found himself suddenly battling his own curiosity. Byleth continued to sneer at him, waiting in silence for his answer, and he expected that either outcome would be a source of equal amusement for her.

'If I say no, she'll call me a coward....No matter what I do, she'll find a way to turn it back at me.'

“.....Fine,” he grunted. “But no bullshit. If we're doing this, then you'd better give me straight answers.”

“Cross my heart,” Byleth crooned, withdrawing her hand to draw an X shape across her chest.

Shadrin shifted in his chair, still wishing that the Arrancar would withdraw to a more comfortable distance. He couldn't remember ever being so close to her, even when they were fighting. It was a disquieting reminded, now that he had nowhere else to look, that the demonic woman was actually eerily beautiful. But it was a cold, unsettling beauty; there was no warmth in her smile or in her golden eyes. She smelt of ink and blood – almost as though she had been so immersed in both that the scent was burned into her every pore.

“Alright,” he began, thinking it best to begin with the question that had prompted her challenge in the first place, “why exactly are you helping us? And I don't want some vague answer about how our 'goals are the same'. I want a straight answer. You served Isharie in the past, and you took part in the Incursions.....Why turn on her now?”

“That's technically two questions,” Byleth wagged a finger at him, her smile never faltering. “But I'll allow it. The answer is that I didn't turn on her 'now'. I turned on her the exact same moment I started serving her. I've told you before that I have my own ambitions for Hueco Mundo, and I allied with Isharie for the same reason I have allied with you. Because doing so is the best option for seeing my ambitions realised.'

“I realised rather too late that it wouldn't be a simply matter of letting my time with Isharie run its course and then find a way to remove her from the equation. One doesn't simply snuff out a God, and Pinnacle only provided a temporary solution. If I had wanted to, I could have conquered Hueco Mundo by now. I could have conquered it centuries ago. But I would always simply be on borrowed time, because I knew that sooner or later Isharie would resurface. And that isn't a fight I could possibly win.”

Shadrin was surprised. Her had expected some sarcastic remark or taunting. He had fully anticipated that Byleth would make a joke of whatever question he put to her. However, as much as the very notion caused him the beginnings of a headache, he actually found that he believed her. As incomprehensible as it seemed, it was almost as though she intended to make good on her promise.

“If you didn't want Isharie back,” he moved on to his second question, “why were you helping Tachibana Motonari? Isn't bringing her back exactly what he was after?”

“Because Pinnacle was already failing,” she answered. “And it had begun to fail decades ago. It was never a permanent solution, and Kami-chin had known it would never hold Isharie forever. The Goddess has been extending her hand into this world for a long time...for far longer than you can probably guess. She's been attempting to hasten her own escape ever since the first chinks in Pinnacle's armour appeared. Tachibana was her newest tool used to that end, but he wasn't the first.'

“Tachibana didn't know anything, about anything,” she continued. “Isharie whispered to him in dreams and visions, promising him power and status beyond imagination. She dangled a new Golden Age for Wei in front of his nose, and that was all he needed. The seal was going to fail sooner or later with or without him, though, so the best option was to use him. When he made his gambit in the South Rukongai to try and secure his way into the Central Government and thus gain access to Pinnacle, it would allow me to view the seal and get an idea of just how much time we had left. It wouldn't solve the problem, but it would have at least helped me plan ahead.'

“Of course, you and your merry little band went and stopped him, didn't you?” her eyes glittered with cold amusement. “I suppose it doesn't make any great difference. I couldn't have prevented the seal from failing. And after Pinnacle was moved, I had no idea where it had been moved to. I found out too late about Tachibana Aoshi and what he was doing to hasten the widen the break in the seal. If I'd known, I probably would have been there helping you kill him.”

Shadrin kept his eyes on those of the Arrancar, watching her face as much as listening to her words. Once again, there was an unexpected ring of truth in her words that ran exactly counter to what he had expected of her. However, now that he was beginning to think she was giving genuine answers, he found himself frustrated at just how many questions he wanted to ask despite only having three reaming.

Perhaps that was the cruel end of her game; to tempt him with just enough truth that he would be unable to decide what to even reach for.

“Tell me about Makabe-sensei,” he finally muttered.

“That isn't a question,” Byleth corrected him, waving another admonishing finger and prompting an irritated growl from the Shinigami.

“Fine!” he spat. “Then....How did she end up as a member of the Apocrypha, and how is it that the two of you started working together?”

“You're trying to sneak in two questions at once again,” Byleth chided, gleefully clapping her hands as though she had won some kind of prize. “And this time I'm going to be less generous. I'll answer both, but it'll cost you both. So why don't you mull over your last question while I shower you in exposition.'

“How exactly Kami-chin came to be a member of the Apocrypha I'm uncertain. As I said before, she was part of the crusade that Tamiel the Fallen led into Hueco Mundo. I wasn't in the capital at the time, but from what I understand the Balancers well able to get all the way to Las Noches. And, given Asmodeus was at Las Noches, that is also where they were stopped.”

Shadrin was unable to keep his eyebrow from twitching, noting the implication. As insanely powerful as the three Shinigami were, Byleth's words seemed to suggest that Asmodeus had fought and defeated them all.

'Just....how powerful is he?'

“Perhaps they were broken then,” she shrugged. “Perhaps they'd already betrayed the Soul Society and their return was a ploy. Or perhaps, after escaping back to the Soul Society, they succumbed to hopelessness as they realised the scope of what they were up against. Perhaps they simply wanted to be on the winning side, or perhaps they saw a chance to seize unimaginable power for themselves. All I know is that, before the Fourth Incursion, all three took part in a devastating attack on their own kind before fleeing back to Hueco Mundo. And Isharie the Seducer anointed them with new names, Tamiel the Fallen, Samyaza the Betrayer, and Leraje the Corrupter.”

Byleth paused, allowing her words to sink in. Shadrin couldn't say he liked the answer. He had rather hoped to hear the Makabe Kiyone – or, to give her her right name, Amaterasu Omikami – had become Leraje the Corrupter through some quirk of fate. And that she had never truly raised arms against the Soul Society, or killed any of her own in the execution of her ploy.

Byleth's account did not make it sound as though that were the case.

“As for how she and I came to work together,” Byleth continued abruptly, shrugging her slender shoulders, “I told you already that Kami-chin was placed in charge of the subjugation of Hueco Mundo. Asmodeus named me her deputy, and so the two of us worked closely. It was during that time that we both.....discovered, one another. She realised that my loyalty to the Empire was a facade, just as I realised that her defection was faked and she was actively plotting sedition.”

“And you decided to join forces,” Shadrin murmured, finishing the thought. “Just as we're joining forces now...”

“Oh, nothing quite so pleasant as this little arrangement,” Byleth corrected. “No, there were no convenient little seals and watchful guards to keep Kami-chin and I in line. For a few years, each of us devised a myriad of truly imaginative ways to try and kill the other to protect our own secrets, while trying not to attract the attention of Las Noches. But in the end I was able to convince her that she would enjoy my company much more as a close personal friend, than as an enemy.”

“How did you manage that?” Shadrin asked, barely noticing that he no longer spent any time mulling over whether or not what he was hearing was true.

“Is that really how you want to spend your last question?” Byleth asked with a lift of a silver eyebrow, a flash of amusement in her eyes.

“N-no,” Shadrin stammered, realising that had had forgotten the conditions the Arrancar had imposed on him. Also, he only realised after asking it that he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know the answer. Although, now that he only had one question left to ask, he found himself unsure what to put forward.

He couldn't be certain, of course, that anything Byleth had told him so far was actually true. However despite his lack of certainty he found himself believing her nonetheless. Everything she had said so far certainly seemed plausible enough, in the context of what he already knew. And while Byleth was a practised liar, he also felt she would stick to the rules of her own game once laid out.

But if she was telling the truth, when would he be likely to get another chance to get truth out of her? After his final question was asked, would she retreat back into the cloud of deception and avoidance that she usually hid herself in? If he only had one question left that was going to get a truthful answer, then he would have to consider it carefully.

“Are you intending to betray us?”

The question left his lips almost without thinking as Shadrin realised that it was, perhaps, at the forefront of his mind. Indeed, it was the very question that was at the forefront of his mind during all of his dealings with the Arrancar. Whether the entire temporary alliance with her was simply leading up to Byleth eventually stabbing the Soul Society in the back. The precautions taken by the office of the Soutaichou appeared to indicate it was a concern shared by all those involved in Byleth's residency. Though as legitimate as the concern was, Byleth's response was not what Shadrin expected.

She laughed.

Not merely a chuckle, or a snort, but a laugh. Byleth's doubled over in mirth, clamping both arms over her stomach as though in pain. With Shadrin looking on in astonishment, the Arrancar absolutely howled in laughter, making several attempts to speak, but her own hysterics preventing her from doing so. As she raised a hand to point at him, jabbing a finger in Shadrin's direction as though to indicate he were the butt of some private joke, Shadrin's surprise quickly shifted into irritation.

His chair scraped against the ground as he pushed away from the table to rise to his feet, done with the Arrancar's game. However before he would withdraw, Byleth's hand snatched the sleeve of his kosode, yanking him sharply back towards her as she shook off the last of her laughter.

“My my,” she remarked, glistening tears visible in the corners of her eyes, “that's cute. Quite unexpected. What exactly do you expect me to say? 'Oh yes, I'm just waiting for the opportune moment to hatch my diabolical plan'? Did you really think that if I was planning on betraying you, I would just admit it? You must really believe that I would answer any question put to me with the absolute truth.'

“It looks like,” her predatory smile was back, any indication of her earlier laughter gone from her features, “you're starting to trust me already.”

Shadrin snatched his arm away, cursing himself for being a fool. He no longer felt like a man reaching for answers; he felt like an idiot who had allowed himself to be toyed with. Had that been her intention all along? To underline just how easily she could manipulate him? If so, her demonstration was a terrifying one; he had believed her. He had allowed himself to be strung along by her every word until asking a question that even he in hindsight could tell was utterly stupid.

But she was right. In some small way, if only for a moment, she had made him trust her.

“Now now, don't go scowling at me,” Byleth soothed him. “I promised you answers so an answer you'll get. And I'm afraid that the only one I can give is that I'm not planning to betray you. But I'm willing to. To put it another way, there's no reason why our respective goals need be mutually exclusive, even after all is said and done.....assuming we're all alive, of course.'

“When this is over,” she explained, “I intend to turn my attention back to Hueco Mundo. Provided the Soul Society does not attempt to interfere with the plans I have there, then I see no reason why we need come into conflict. That is the consensus that Kami-chin and I reached and it is one I am extending, tentatively, to you.'

“But if you try and interfere with my long term goals,” she gave him a wink, “I'll burn you to the fucking ground.”

Once again, despite the games she was quite obviously playing, Shadrin couldn't help but admit – if only to himself – that he believed her. There was something bluntly honest and uncompromising about the Arrancar's reply; something that, deep in the recesses of Shadrin's psyche, made Ikazuchi laugh.

“.....Fine,” he relented. As unwholesome as the reply was, he was at least content with it. “You said you had a question for me?”

“Did I?” Byleth remarked, still smiling. “I do believe I said I'd ask you one, but that doesn't mean I had one prepared. I think I'll hold it in reserve for a while...I'm sure there'll be some point in the future where it would be useful to demand a truthful answer from you.”

“.....Fine,” Shadrin repeated, his lip curling. He didn't like the idea of Byleth holding such a bargain over his head, but at the very least it seemed she was done making him dance on her strings. “When you ask your question, I'll give you an honest answer. Just don't expect to like what you hear.”

“My boy,” Byleth returned, “I find delight in everything you have to say.”

Shadrin opened his mouth to snap back a reply, but closed it as he found his attention drawn to something occurring over Byleth's shoulder. Squinting through the evening shadows, he realised that a figure was once again jogging in their direction. Following his gaze, Byleth turned to look also as the figure drew closer; Shadrin realising, for the second time that evening, that it was the portly Yamato Moroji; looking every bit as red faced and out of breath as the last time Shadrin had seen him.

“Hello again, Yamato-san,” he called out to the junior officer. “Not more mail for me, I trust?”

Only as Moroji drew nearer did Shadrin realise that the man was not simply jogging; he was sprinting. Running far faster than Shadrin had ever seen him perform during training, the man's arms were flailing wildly as he went, his kosode slick with sweat as he pushed himself to his very limit.

“Something's wrong...”

It was Byleth who spoke, slipping from the edge of the table to stand upright. As much as it galled him to agree with the Arrancar, Shadrin couldn't help but accept she was right. No sooner had Byleth begun to move than Shadrin worked his way around the table to head in Moroji's direction, meeting the junior Shinigami half way as he half ran, half stumbled up to meet them.

“K...Kain Fukutaichou,” Moroji panted, waving an arm frantically back towards the barracks. His every word punctuated with a laboured gasp for air. “Kyo....Kyoko-Taichou. Says.....says you've to come right now.”

“Why?” Shadrin demanded. “What's going on?”

“Ge....general alert,” Morojo replied, still trying to catch his breath. “All available officers. The twelve division, they....they've reported that they identified some kind of reishi tremor in the East Rukongai early this morning. They finally identified it, ten minutes ago.”

“A reishi tremor?” Shadrin squinted, imagining that the term would probably have more meaning to an academic like Morojo than it did to him. “What is-”

“It's what happens when there's a rupture in the Dangai,” Byleth replied from directly over his shoulder, causing Shadrin to jump. Having apparantly followed him around the table, the Arrancar stood with her hands clasped behind her back; her features sent in an expression of almost eerie calm.

“There are a fair few innocuous phenomenon that can cause one,” she continued her explanation, Shadrin noting that her voice was utterly flat. “But given this panic, I suspect your twelve division had identified a different cause. The worst possible cause, I imagine.'

Her eyes, which had been peering eastward, suddenly turned towards Shadrin. It was a jarring experience for the Shinigami as he noted for the first time that Byleth's gaze reflected something he had never seen there before.

Fear.

“Someone's opened a Garganta,” she told him. “It's beginning.”
 

Seraphina

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Act IX: Prelude to Incursion


The East Rukongai
Somewhere in District 3





The last thirty minutes had been such a flurry of activity that Shadrin had trouble getting his thoughts in sufficient order to piece it altogether. Although, as a member of the eleventh division he was not directly answerable to Junshin, he had nevertheless accompanied the young Captain as he struck out to join a hastily assembled task force that was gathering in the East Rukongai. With little information to go on beyond what Moroji had already imparted, Junshin had not waited delayed any longer than required. Leaving instructions with his subordinates behind rather than prepare an escort, Junshin had at once struck out at such speeds that – frankly – Shadrin and Byleth were the only two who could have kept up with him.

Sailing over the Seireitei in a successive series of blistering shunpo, it was nevertheless a lengthy journey to the distant third district of the East Rukongai; a journey that would take the better part of two day a normal walking speed. At the pace set by the fifth division Captain, the stone expanse of the Seireitei peeled away within minutes to give way to the green canopy of the East Rukon; the group bypassing the shanty market set up at the border between city and jungle in the blink of an eye.

It was a blindingly accelerated version of the same trip that Shadrin had taken not so long before. But whereas the trip to Nishio had required careful navigation through the jungle with the aid of an experienced guide, there was no such requirement on this trip. Even were he not following Junshin, Shadrin would easily be able to detect the enormous collective spiritual pressure of the two Captains that had already gathered at the site.

Just behind him, Byleth kept pace with the two Shinigami with what was likely a considerable effort; given the limits placed upon her by her seal. With Junshin's blessing, she had left her Omnitsokido guards far behind – the men assigned to watch her every move vanishing into the distance almost the moment the trio had started moving; their meagre strength simply insufficient to match Junshin's pace. However, if the Arrancar was enjoying her chance to slip the leash, it didn't show.

From the moment she had told Shadrin of her suspicions as to what was occurring in the East Rukongai, Byleth had not said a word. When Junshin had stated her presence was demanded at the mission site, she had responded with nothing more than a grim nod. The possibility of a pending invasion appeared to have robbed the woman of her usual swagger in its entirety; replacing it with a state of deep thought that Shadrin wished very much he could read.

For his own part, Shadrin had little time to spend contemplating what could potentially lie ahead. Junshin was unforgiving in his charge across the Rukongai – the trio clearing hundreds of yards with every burst of shunpo, their feet treading upon the empty air above the canopy to propel themselves forward – that Shadrin could afford to do little else but concentrate on keeping up. Though he certainly had questions, he knew Junshin could not answer them; all he knew was what Junshin had told him – that the second and tenth division were organising a joint task force to investigate, and that Byleth's presence had been demanded.

The very fact that Byleth had been asked for most likely confirmed what the Arrancar suspected; that the disturbance over the Rukongai had indeed been identified as a Garganta. The fact that her expertise was being called upon, and the fact that two Captains were already present, plus a third in Junshin, meant that the Soul Society considered the threat serious enough to warrant a robust response.

It looked as though an invasion of the Soul Society was, indeed, being anticipated.

Against the darkening skyline, Shadrin squinted as he noticed a large shape looming upon the horizon – a darker shade against the skyline that lay directly in their path. Dwarfed against the enormous reiatsu of the two Captains that waited there, he had initially failed to noticed the gigantic dome shaped barrier that was stretched across what looked to be several acres of the jungle. He wondered briefly if the barrier's presence indicated that steps were in place of contain whatever had come through the Garganta, but the sheer size of the barrier made this seem unlikely; what he was looking at would have taken days to prepare.

“Training op?” he mused to himself, immediately regretting speaking his thoughts out loud as the rushing air dried out his open mouth. Clamping his jaws shut, he instead followed Junshin in silence as the latter's path began to descend from the sky towards the forest canopy, and to where the burgeoning presence of the two Captain level individual throbbed across Shadrin's senses.

Although notice had only reached the fifth division a short while ago of the impending threat, it was obvious that the second division had wasted no time in scrambling to respond. As the trio touched down on solid ground, they found themselves surrounded by a veritable swarm of Shinigami who rushed to and fro on various errands amidst the hastily erected camp. Canvas canopies held aloft by smooth wooden poles had been and were still being erected as makeshift tents; thin screens of mosquito netting draping from them to form gauzy walls through which Shadrin could see the second division members working.

Junshin's white haori was like a signal flare; his arrival going unnoticed all but impossible. No sooner had the group landed than the young Captain was at once accosted by a red faced, anxious looking junior officer to sought to urge him towards the Captain's tent. Shadrin himself went largely ignored, following behind with Byleth in tow as the Arrancar walked without her characteristic swagger; for the first time, Byleth seemed to take no interest whatsoever in what lay about her.

“Nothing to say?” he murmured over his shoulder, causing the Arrancar to lift her golden eyes from her feet to Shadrin's turned back. Ahead of them, the murmur of busy conversation between Junshin and the junior officer was inaudible, though Shadrin cared little to eavesdrop. Pertinent information, he was sure, would be provided at the Captain's tent.

He was more interested in coaxing whatever else Byleth might have to say out of the unusually silent woman.

“What would you have me say?” she uttered in reply, quickening a half step to draw level with Shadrin as they followed in Junshin's wake. Instinctively, the Shinigami flinched away from the sudden proximity; no more wanting to walk shoulder to shoulder with Byleth than he would a coiled snake. Though he resisted the urge to increase the distance between them once again.

“We're not in the fifth division any more,” Shadrin told her, his gaze remaining ahead. “If you're right, and there has been a Garganta opened above the Rukongai, you can be certain that the second division isn't going to tolerate your usual line of bullshit. They're going to ask you direct questions, and they'll expect direct answers. Junshin-kun isn't going to be able to protect you if they don't like what they hear.”

“Do I detect a hint of concern?” Byleth's reply would normally have been accompanied by a sneer. But there was no sneer this time; merely a humourless curve to the woman's lip.

“My only concern is protecting an investment,” Shadrin hissed through clenched teeth, lowering his voice as the trio were led at last to one of the many makeshift tents; the shapes of three figures within visible through the mosquito netting. “Just....be straight with them, okay?”

“Cross my heart,” Byleth grunted, taking a step forward to overtake Shadrin altogether. One step behind Junshin, she followed the young Captain into the tent as the young officer that had been guiding them swept back the gauze curtain to allow them access. Shadrin followed after, stooping slightly as he passed through the opening to avoid catching his hair on the netting; his eyes squinting as he passed from the darkening evening into the flickering candlelight of the interior.

Barely inside the tent he was forced to stop, very nearly walking into Byleth's back as the Arrancar came to a dead stop, arrested in place by the sound of a voice that raised in immediate, bristling anger at her appearance.

“Why is that thing walking around without an escort?”

The question did not receive an immediate reply, Shadrin and Junshin momentarily struck dumb by the unexpected fury that greeted their arrival. Despite being senior officers themselves, it was difficult not to be immediately intimidated when standing in the presence of two of the most well respected Captains in the gotei thirteen.

Of the room's three occupants, Shadrin knew two by sight. Seated quietly upon a foldable canvas stool, Laika Ivanova was the very picture of serene calm. The Captain of the tenth division sat with her right foot upon the floor, while her left leg was bent such that her left foot rested across her right thigh. Her left elbow she rested on her raised left knee, her cheek propped against her fist while her right hand grasped the halfway point of the long, rose lacquered sheath of her zanpakuto – the weapon held perfectly upright with the base of the sheath resting against the ground.

Although Shadrin imagined that the summons Laika had received was as urgent as that which had arrived at the fifth division, if she had rushed to the meeting site it was certainly not apparent. Her hair was fixed, as usual, into a long platinum braid that cascaded down the length of her back to pool at her feet; the tip of which, Shadrin knew, would only leave the ground when the woman stood upright at her full height of six foot three.

Her features had a certain cool, ageless quality to them. Shadrin thought at times she looked to be a woman in her late twenties or perhaps early thirties, yet even a casual glance from her ice blue eyes left little doubt that she was significantly older. Though at this time, those eyes merely flickered over Shadrin; her attention focused almost entirely upon Byleth.

It had not been Laika that had spoken, however. Not was it the man who stood directly behind and to the right of her. A broad chested, dark skinned man who stood at eye-level with Shadrin and looked to be every bit as powerfully built. His shaved head and angular features – coupled with the fact that he made no movement whatsoever – made him seem more statue than man; as though an artist had chiselled some ideal specimen of manhood from obsidian and dressed it in Shinigami garb.

The man did not wear the badge of a Vice-Captain, though Shadrin could not imagine he was anything but a single digit seat of the tenth division. Standing rigidly by his Captain's side, his hands were clasped behind his back and his spine utterly rigid. Though he did not so much as twitch, Shadrin was nevertheless stuck by the impression that the man was like a coiled spring; ready to explode into action at a moment's notice.

It was the room's third occupant that has raised his voice upon Byleth's appearance, and who was therefore Shadrin's most immediate concern. He was also the one with whom Shadrin was most familiar, as it was none other than Shadrin's former Captain.

Umeshita Hatsuo had been the Captain of the second division for the entire period of Shadrin's service in the patrol corps, and for a significant period before. A severe, somewhat brooding man, yet one who Shadrin had often characterised as 'tough but fair'. He had not been Shadrin's favourite officer to service under owing to an anti-social streak that was the stuff of legend within the division, but what he had lacked in charm he had made up for in competency. That he was able to expertly juggle command of the second division and all its various, overlapping duties and the Onmitsukidō was a testament to the man's work ethic and his talent for command.

During Shadrin's time in the second division, he had known Umeshita to be slow to give praise, and to voice disapproval as little more than an scowl. Therefore it was almost jarring to see his former Captain as he now did; his white teeth bared in a snarl as he rose sharply to his feet – the Captain rising with such vigour that the stool upon which he had been seated was thrown on its side.

Umeshita was not a particularly handsome man. His features was somewhat sharp and thin; his chin pointed and his eyes narrow. He was not by any means hideous, but he was rather plain looking; especially when compared to the overwhelming force of presence in Laika. It was a face that served him well as a spymaster, and his failure to look remarkable was compounded by a typically neutral expression that showed little to nothing of what emotions flickered beneath the surface.

Right now, though, Umeshita was livid. Plainly, obviously, livid.

A vein bulged in his forehead beneath his slicked back hair, his narrow jaw clenched as he glared at Byleth with what Shadrin could only describe as murderous intent. So ferocious was the Captain's stare that Junshin took a sideward step to interpose himself between the two, raising his hands in an appeal for calm.

“Please, Umeshita-taichou,” the young Captain implored. “Byleth is not unescorted. Both Kain-Fukutaichou and myself have travelled with her from the fifth division.”

“A Fukutaichou,” Umeshita growled, Junshin's words doing little to calm his temper, “and a child. Hardly a suitable guard for a creature such as this. I trust she is at least sealed?”

Shadrin's fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing. Although he instinctively wished to defend not only himself, but also Junshin, he knew it was not his place to speak during such an exchange. Though he was less concerned with the slight levied against them than he was with the knowledge that for Umeshita to be moved to such an outburst, the situation must truly be dire.

“She is,” Junshin replied, expertly dodging the insult and allowing it to lie. “I assure you, she is not threat.”

“It isn't me you should be worrying about, anyway,” Byleth grumbled from behind Junshin. She made no attempt to lower her voice, and her temerity was sufficient to draw Umeshita's ire once more. However, before the second division Captain could speak, Laika finally interjected – raising a long fingered hand in an elegant gesture for silence.

“Please, Umeshita-dono,” she instructed coolly, “this gets us nowhere. Remember that we are here to combine our efforts. Not to be at each other's throats.”

Laika did not raise her voice, but her words were nevertheless effective. Pursing his lips briefly, Umeshita drew in a long, low breath before turning to right his stool. Though the second division Captain's movements were stiff and his shoulders taught, it was evident that he made some effort to master his anger.

“Welcome, Kyoko-taichou,” Laika turned her gaze upon Junshin, offering her fellow Captain a nod. “Thank you for coming so quickly....and to you also, Kain-Fukutaichou, though I was not aware the eleventh division had been summoned.”

“I haven't come from there, Taichou,” Shadrin corrected, speaking aloud now that he was being addressed directly. “I simply happened to be at the fifth division.”

“Hrm,” Laika nodded – apparently satisfied with the explanation, and showing Shadrin no further interest. Her gaze instead turned once again to Byleth, where it remained. For her part, the Arrancar kept her old clear, golden eyes upon the Captain – returning her stare with impunity. It was so brazen a gesture that Shadrin almost thought he saw a smile play across the blonde Captain's features, before she raised a hand to gesture Junshin towards a third, unoccupied stool.

Jushin nodded, advancing across the tent to seat himself. The three Captains now formed a half circle, with Laika on the left, Junshin on the right, and Umeshita in its centre; all three looking upon Byleth and Shadrin. It was not a comfortable sensation to be under the collective gaze of three Captains; even three known to him and one of which was a close friend. Shadrin briefly considered sparing himself by moving to stand behind Junshin, but froze in place as Umeshita spoke once more.

“As you have already been informed,” he spoke with more measured control of his voice than before; the Captain that Shadrin was more familiar with emerging now that the man had calmed himself, “the twelfth division detected a reishi tremor above the East Rukongai at approximately seven o'clock this morning. As of forty five minutes ago, the source was positively identified as a Garganta.'

“The phenomenon lasted for three minutes and fourteen seconds, after which it dissipated,” he continued, giving no pause to allow for questions – everyone in the tent, most likely, having already known for deduced this much already. “It has been determined that the Garganta opened within a section of the jungle that has been commandeered for military training manoeuvrers by the second division. Since our arrival, attempts to contact the command team inside the barrier have been unsuccessful.”

“How many people are in there?” Junshin asked, leaning forward to rest an elbow on each knee, frowning thoughtfully at the floor.

“The operation consisted of forty members of the second division, and four of the kido corps,” Umeshita replied. “The commanding officer was my Fukutaichou, Yamanori Kotaro. The last report we received from inside the barrier before they went silent also indicated that a single member of the fourth division was present. He was not part of the operation, and appeared to have.....wandered inside.”

'Oh geez....don't tell me....'

Shadrin was able to repress a groan, but only barely. Although it was true he was not intimately familiar with most of the fourth division, he at least knew their sort. For the typically studious and level headed Shinigami under the command of Himura Sayuri, wandering into the middle of a sealed-off training area would be considered extremely unusual behaviour.

There was only one man in the fourth division that Shadrin knew to be capable of that kind of stupidity.

'Yukimura-kun....'

“The barrier makes it impossible to determine the condition of those inside,” Laika continued the briefing for Junshin's benefit, though her eyes continued to flicker in Byleth's direction. “An additional layer was added to the barrier shortly before they fell silent and, so far, we've been unable to penetrate it. While I could force my way inside, we are hesitant to do so until we know what is waiting for us.”

“You don't want to release something that could be on the other side of the barrier?” Junshin nodded, biting his lip. “I see.....But, surely preserving the lives of our own troops-”

“Must take second priority to preserving the Rukongai,” Umeshita interrupted – though Shadrin noticed that the Captain's jaw clenched when he said it. “Once we have successfully made a determination as to what lies inside the barrier, we will make plans for an effective rescue operation. Which brings us to her.”

His lip curling, Umeshita tossed his head in Byleth's direction. The Arrancar, having been listening passively to the conversation, stood up straighter as the attention of all three Captains turned her way. It was a situation that Shadrin imagined would usually have brought a sneer to the woman's lips. For once, however, Byleth was not smiling.

“If you'll permit me to skip to the end of this conversation,” Byleth offered, “I suppose you're going to eventually get to the part where you accuse me of somehow orchestrating this, and start interrogating me.”

“The thought had occurred to us,” Laika murmured. Unlike Umeshita, her tone was more thoughtful than the dry, matter-of-fact recital of her counterpart. “For all the same reasons that we have difficulties gaining access to Hueco Mundo, so too do Hollows have difficulty accessing the Soul Society. There are multiple layers of protection that shield this world from such an attack, and usually only very low-level hollows are able to seep through the cracks.'

“Evidently,” she continued, “you have discovered some means of piercing the barrier and freely coming and going. If a Garganta has been opened into the Soul Society one cannot deny that you are, at the very least, suspect.”

Byleth responded with a shrug. It was an accusation that Shadrin would have expected the Arrancar to revel in; having three Captains dancing upon her every word as she teased and taunted as to how much she was or was not involved. However, as Shadrin had already noticed, Byleth's typical bluster was simply not with her. Instead, she inclined her head towards Junshin.

“As I'm sure your Kiyoko-taichou will be able to attest,” she explained, “I have been under constant supervision during my time here. I have not been left alone for so much as a moment, at any hour of the day or night. Even if you believe I have the inclination to open such a route into the Soul Society, you'll find it hard to argue that I had the time or opportunity.'

“Of course, I'm sure you already realised that,” she continued, cutting off Junshin as the young Captain opened his mouth to speak. “Because if you truly believed I was responsible for an invasion of the Rukongai, I imagine we would be having this conversation in a far less polite and far more uncomfortable setting. So instead of trying to intimidate me into being cooperative, let's just get to the point shall we?”

Byleth's reply provoked a diverse response from the Captains. Junshin, who having just arrived had not been privy to any plan to coerce Byleth into cooperation looked askance towards his more senior counterparts as though seeking guidance. Umeshita, having regained control of his initial anger, retained the stone-faced calm with which Shadrin was more familiar, albeit with a notable tightening of his jaw muscles. Laika herself seemed to actually be amused, one corner of her mouth rising into the hint of mirth that was reflected in her icy eyes for only a moment.

“Very well,” the Captain of the tenth division nodded. “The situation is thus. The Soutaichou has commanded the Tenth and Second division to take point, while the fifth provides support. The other divisions are being held in reserve should other Garganta open elsewhere in the Soul Society and a rapid response is required. The Soutaichou has also ordered that you be asked to serve in an advisory capacity at the discretion of the operation lead.”

There was no need to elaborate on who the operation lead was. In terms of age, tenure and power, Laika Ivanova far outstripped Junshin and Umeshita put together. Although a strict interpretation of the chain of command within the Gotei Thirteen dictated that no one Captain was senior to any other – with each Captain answerable only to the Soutaichou – in practice any joint operation required that such a hierarchy be established. As always, the meritocratic nature of the Gotei Thirteen demanded that the strongest and most experienced took command.

Shadrin himself suddenly felt very out of place; his own division not called upon to partake in the operation and his presence neither requested nor anticipated. If the eleventh division was being held in reserve, then his duty was to return the barracks and await instruction. However, he refrained from excusing himself; instead, he lingered over Byleth's shoulder as his mind drifted back to his earlier thoughts. If Yukimura truly was the fourth division member that was trapped inside the barrier, then he couldn't turn his back now.

If Hitomi were there, she would have wanted to rescue Yukimura. Since she wasn't, Shadrin felt a certain obligation to take her place.

“-with this shackle around my arm, I can't do much else,” Byleth's voice returned Shadrin's attention to the conversation, the Vice-Captain shaking himself as he realised he had missed at least a minute of the conversation. “But I doubt you need concern yourself about a full scale invasion just yet. If this really was a full scale Incursion, Tamiel would already have killed you all. And the Seireitei would have been reduced to rubble.”

“Are you suggesting that the reading were wrong?” Junshin asked, sounded hopeful. “That there never was a Garganta after all?”

“No,” Byleth replied with a wry smile. “I'm sure that the Garganta was real. And I'm also sure that its location is no accident. That a Garganta would open inside a sealed area, where a small number of Shinigami are isolated from the others and we are unable to immediately respond....I doubt this is a conventional attack.”

“But you have no idea what kind of attack?” Umeshita growled from his chair – the edge in his voice a sure indication that, despite his calmed exterior, the Captain's frustration at being unable to assist his men was still bristling.

“No,” Byleth replied simply. “But if I were the one orchestrating this attack, I would have seized upon your training area to use as laboratory, of sorts. A section of the Soul Society completely cut off from the rest, where I would test tactics or weapons in controlled conditions against living Shinigami. That may be the enemy's intention. Or it may not be. The only way you're going to know is if you manage to break through the barrier and find out.”

Byleth's speculation did not please Umeshita, his face darkening as a scowl managed to creep through his self control. However he did not lash out, instead leaning forward in his chair as he looked back and forth between his fellow Captains.

“We cannot simply break through the barrier,” he reiterated his earlier point to them. “We don't know what we'd be unleashing on the Rukongai.”

“Agreed,” Laika nodded, her thumb easing her zanpakuto a few millimetres in and out of its sheath – the only visible sign of the woman's anxiety. “Suggestions?”

“I-I think we should concentrate our efforts on trying to establish communication with those inside,” Junshin offered, fumbling over his words slightly as though realising, for the first time, that he was in a position to speak with authority in such a meeting. “Trying to force a message through the barrier would be the same process as trying to break it down altogether, so if we discover that we do have to go in, the job will at least have been started. And if it's too dangerous, then at least we can find out what's happened to the Shinigami inside without risking the Rukongai.”

“We had already considered that,” Laika shook her head. “But puncturing the barrier one layer at a time, without causing any of them to erode or collapse would be delicate work. Using brute force, I could shatter all three layers of the barrier easily....but delicate work like what you suggest would be painstaking. It would take days.”

“Shingen-kun could do it.”

Shadrin felt his mouth dry up as he realised he had spoken aloud, all eyes in the tent turning in his direction. Laika raised an indignant eyebrow, while Umeshita cast the Vice-Captain a brief glower before turning back to his contemporaries. Junshin, however, was quick to perk up at the suggestion.

“That's right!” the young Captain nodded enthusiastically. “I'm sure that Uesugi-san could help. If most people would take days, then surely that would only be a few hours work for him!”

“Uesugi-san?” Laika queried with a frown, her eyes sliding sideways to exchange a sceptical glance with Umeshita.

“The fourth seat of the Seventh Division, Taichou,” Shadrin volunteered, stepping forward. Now that he had drawn attention to himself, he saw no further point in remaining in obedient silence. “He is a man of exceptional talent.”

Neither Laika or Umeshita looked very much as though their scepticism was relenting, and Shadrin grit his teeth. To them, it likely seemed absurd to suggest that a fourth seat could contribute much to their operation, and it would take more than the testimony of a Vice-Captain to convince them. To Shadrin's surprise, it was Byleth who came to the rescue.

“I, too, am of the opinion that Uesugi Shingen could achieve more with your barrier in a few hours than any of you will by sitting and staring at it,” she told them. “And even if he concludes that he cannot help with breaking through the barrier, he is still one of the only Shinigami alive who has fought against this enemy and can thus help corroborate whatever information I give you. That alone should be reason enough for you to call him here.”

Shadrin squinted at the back of Byleth's head, wishing not for the first time that he could somehow peer inside her brain and see what was going on there. It perhaps wasn't surprising that Byleth would leap at another opportunity to bring Shingan into the fold, given her attempts to recruit him for the Pinnacle project had failed. Though Shadrin still could not help but find it startling to hear the Arrancar speaking up on his behalf.

“There is.....one small problem,” Junshin grimaced, pointing a finger towards Byleth. “Uesugi-san has made it abundantly clear that he will not work in conjunction with Byleth-san.”

“That won't be a problem,” Shadrin spoke up again. “Not this time. If you were to send a runner to him and tell him about the member of the fourth division that blundered his way into the barrier and is now up to his neck in trouble, I guarantee he'll come. There's no way he'd refuse.”

Laika regarded Shadrin with an expression that left the Vice-Captain thoroughly uncomfortable. He felt almost as though she were looking at him for the first time, quietly weighing him in a fashion that was frighteningly reminiscent of the terrifying intelligence of Makabe Kiyone. However rather than respond she turned her head to look at Umeshita once again; the second division Captain responding with the barest of nods.

“....Very well,” Laika relented. “We'll send for him at once. For now we will work under the assumption that Uesugi-san will be able to establish communication with our forces on the other side of the barrier. We should make ready to move should it be determined that an all out attack is the best course of action.”

With a nod from Laika, Umeshita raised his voice in a commanding bark to summon one of the Shinigami lurking outside the tent. Shadrin stepped aside to make room as the same junior officer that had guided them to the tent at once rushed in to receive his Captain's instructions.

The Captains had already begun to talk amongst themselves once more, discussing how best to implement this change in direction and paying no further attention to Shadrin or Byleth. Relegated to remaining silent until spoken to, the Shinigami and Arrancar stood quietly within the entrance to the tent; Byleth's opinion, apparently, no longer being sought.

Shadrin once again glanced in the woman's direction, now at an angle that he could more clearly see her face. She stood with her eyes downcast, looking at the ground rather than the Captains; a tiny, barely perceptible furrow to her porcelain brow the only indication of what might be turning through her head. For Shadrin's part, he had trouble deciding if her presence was an encouraging or alarming one.

The fact that the Soutaichou had ordered her advice sought was an indication that he was taking the external threat offered by Hueco Mundo seriously. To request information from her was one thing, but to specifically bring her to a Captain's briefing as an advisor suggested, to Shadrin at least, that the opening of the Garganta had caused no small amount of panic in the office of the Soutaichou. Perhaps the Gotei had, consciously or not, believed that the tales carried back to them about the battles in the Rukongai were fanciful exaggerations that would never actually darken their door. If so, then the sudden appearance of a Garganta would have shaken that delusion to its core.

The quick deployment of the Second and Tenth division had the look of an organised response, but the longer Shadrin looked the more he felt it was haphazard. Although the ongoing appeals of Junshin had been largely successful, actual military preparation had been almost nil. The Soul Society had carried on business as usual, for the most part, and now found itself faced with a potential invasion it had never truly bargained for.

They had called on Byleth because they had no idea what to do. No idea what they were dealing with. Because they had not listened. They had not even summoned Shingen and Shadrin, those who had actually fought the enemy directly, on their own initiative, because they had never truly believed.

Perhaps they still didn't.

Shadrin jumped as the Arrancar's eyes suddenly shifted, leaving the floor to move in his direction. She did not turn her head, but merely looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Shadrin at once looked away, finding the woman's gaze uncomfortable. Though he had held it long enough to be left with the disquieting feeling that Byleth was just as lost as he was.

Although he had very little reason to trust that Byleth was giving full disclosure during any of their many conversations, when she claimed not to know the tactics behind the enemy's current invasion he found himself believing her. As a woman who seemed to pride herself on just how cunning she was, he couldn't imagine her failing to take the opportunity to flex that cunning in front of three Captains. If she knew the purpose behind the Garganta, and what – if anything – had been released into the Rukongai, then he felt certain she would have said.

The fact that she had ruled out a full scale Incursion should have been a relief to Shadrin, but it wasn't. An all out invasion was a nightmare scenario, but it was something he could at least understand. But whatever the enemy was up to, whatever dark purpose was behind the opening of the Garganta, it was something that he could not account for. Neither, it seemed, could Byleth.

To the Vice-Captain, that fact alone made their situation all the more terrifying.
 
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