CIII. Wormwood
The man who cannot see listens to words that are not spoken. Then, there is stillness.
You swallow your fear and stand straight. You feel as if you were sitting in judgement in some great court, even though these are merely Tousen's apartments - but there is some dreadful solemnity to them. They are more adorned than most Arrancars' quarters - old Shinigami uniform hang on the walls, while practice weapons have been put on a rack, and an old record-playing device sits in a corner, its black disc silent for the time being. The arrangement of furniture is austere, with no thought given to colors and everything spaced out and geometrically disposed to create paths that are easy to remember and navigate for the blind.
At every moment of your explanation, you feared the Shinigami would stop you and denounce you as some kind of traitor or wicked creature. Instead he simply sat on his chair and listened. The way his eyes never set on you feels vaguely disturbing, as if you were not quite there to him.
When he speaks up, you almost jump back in surprise. At least you manage to not let it show.
"Why me?" he asks simply.
You cock your head. He's right: why him? There are others you could have asked as your second in this duel.
You can sort them into two categories. Those who are your personal friends would be distraught to see you die, having promised not to intervene - or even horrified, should your end be that of a monster. You do not wish to inflict this upon them. Those who are not your friends but who could be trusted to be your seconds would be no more than that: dispassionate observers. The fight would hold no more meaning to them than it appears on the surface: you and an old enemy resolving a dispute.
But Tousen is different. Through this duel, you hope you can show him something.
"What?" he says with a frown. "That, like the Shinigami, you can abide by codes of honor?"
Perhaps that, but there is more.
You have tried to show Tousen that Arrancars are not Hollows. That they can experience love, friendship, compassion. That they can create art and set rules for themselves. That they are people. But this was an incomplete picture. If you told him that Arrancars are only people, he would never quite believe it, because it is a lie.
You are also part Hollow. And today you aim to accept and face that fact, and reforge yourself in the crucible of its truth, into someone better, someone whole.
If Tousen is to believe in the Arrancars, you cannot simply hide the dark part of your nature. You must show it to him, and show that you can overcome it.
Tousen nods slowly.
"He who does not fear his own sword," he says, "is not worthy of wielding it."
You look at him quizzically, and he inclines his head, seeming self-conscious.
"The words I used to share with each of my personal pupils, the most important lesson I could ever teach them. The power to kill, to destroy, can never be an end unto itself. One must fear one's own sword, lest one come to rely on it as an easy answer to all problems. I now wonder if I have not forgotten this lesson myself. But you seem to have it at heart. You go into this fight fearing your own power, your own self, yet resolved to harness it anyway. You will either be proven a fool, or a wise woman.."
You smile weakly.
There is another reason you thought of him. He shifts his posture, a curious ear to you.
You remembered the gala, and the words he had for his lost friend. You doubt that friend will be there; but at least you can give him a chance to meet his fellow Shinigami again, and perhaps to talk with them.
Surprise dawns on his face. For a moment he says nothing, then he smiles.
"You are kind," he says simply.
***
You spend the next couple of hours in your workshop. The porcelain has now spread to your hand, and your motions are sometimes jerky and uncoordinated. You cannot allow yourself to be impaired like this when the battle comes. So you take long strips of silk and dye them with your blood-infused red tinge, coaxing out the healing potential and making the bands into a form of stabilizer. Once you have covered your left arm and your chest, the itch of encroaching ceramic stops, and the transformation seems halted.
You doubt this makeshift solution will last very long, but it will let you fight better and not worry about running out of time before the duel even starts.
When that is done, you dress yourself. You take your best uniform, almost standard but flawless. Its pristine white contrasts with the lines of its hem that are the deep purple of your mistress rather than the normal black; purple too is the sash you tie at your waist and into which you hook Polilla in her sheath. You raise the tall collar until it hides half of the hole in your throat; you will wear no cloak or cape today. Then you take the badge you made and never wore before; its circular design of hard fabric sports a bird holding lightning in its talons. You stitch it into your right sleeve.
The last things you do are brushing your hair and applying the blue lipstick. Its cold electric hue does not match the purple touches of your uniform, but today you allow yourself this misstep, for its color brings you comfort. You look at yourself in the glass, and nod.
You are perfect.
It is, of course, just as you exit the workshop and are about to leave the tower that Cirucci comes back, floating down from the sunwell on a gust of wind.
"God, you wouldn't
believe Grimmjow," she says with a groan of exasperation as she touches the ground. The wind unfolds, brushing your hair, and her hand is on yours. You look at her wide-eyed as she speaks, her reiatsu embracing yours. It is so easy to be lost in her storm.
You force yourself to slip out of her grasp and step away. You smile. You would love to hear about how her day has gone, and whether she's made progress, and what made Grimmjow so infuriating; but you were just about to step out. You have important business to attend to.
Cirucci's lip twists in the briefest and slightest of pouts, which makes you repress a giggle. She is not used to being denied.
"What is it, then?"
A lie comes to you easily, one that would arouse no suspicion, and you freeze before moving your hands, uncomfortable that you would even think about it.
Cirucci can't know. She would try to stop you, or else consume herself with worry while you are away. But you never want to lie to her. So you straighten your spine, look her firmly in the eyes, and tell her that you have something very important, and very personal, to attend to. You will tell her when you come back - and hopefully, when you do, you will have fulfilled your promise to heal your wounds.
She frowns slightly, stepping closer to you, the full attention of her purple eyes making you shiver. She brushes a lock of your hair back behind your horns.
"Can't you tell me?" she whispers, and you must gather all your strength to shake your head. She gives you a wistful look, brushing your cheek, then smiles sadly.
"Be safe, Nemo," she says.
On an impulse, you reach up, and kiss her.
For a moment you forget that you are losing yourself. You are pure and whole. When you part, Cirucci's lips are stained blue.
You leave with a smile.
***
You emerge into Karakura Town a few minutes before the appointed time, on a rooftop overlooking a merchant street. The morning sun is cold in this season, making the azure sky seem harsh and unforgiving; for all its light it reminds you of Hueco Mundo. Tousen follows after you, his presence so artfully suppressed that whenever you are not looking at him you almost forget he's there. He furrows his brow as he inclines his head, and you can feel the pulse of his senses stretching across the town.
"I do hope
this isn't the place you've chosen for your duel," he says. "Or else you will find it quickly interrupted. It's incredible that there should be so many powerful presence in this town…"
You shake your head. You are only here to meet up with the mediator you sent to arrange the duel.
"Can they be trusted?" Tousen asks dubiously.
You shrug. Only one way to find out. You would rather he stay here, however, so that he does not frighten your contact - and so that he may extract you if you do walk into a trap.
The blind man nods. Cracking your fingers, you send out a Pesquisa and are rewarded with the bright dot of Hiromu's presence, a sharp clean light with a clinical tinge to it. Next to them is another presence you do not recognize. Frowning, you decide to be cautious and fall into the street below, suppressing your presence and blending into the mortal crowd as you approach the meeting point.
There - sitting at a table on the terrasse outside an arcade - two people are talking. One of them is Hiromu, having slightly brighened the shade of their hair and the shape of their nose since you last saw them. The other…
The other is Kurosaki Ichigo.
Except he doesn't
feel like Ichigo, and is in a mortal body, and is not wearing the Shinigami robes or carrying a sword - a twin brother? His spiritual pressure is in the same vicinity as Hiromu's, and has the same clinical sharpness to it as theirs. Another artificial soul?
You duck behind a corner out of their sight, pulling your shroud of shadows to make yourself easier to overlook. Then you close your eyes and twist your bracelet, focusing its power on your earing. A dizzying sensation fills you for an instant as your mind slices through the sounds of the crowd until only two voices remain.
"...don't want to fight," says the fake Ichigo.
"I
know you're a huge softy, and I am not asking you
fight," Hiromu says with some frustration. "I'm just asking you to help out."
"I know your deal, Hiromu. If I start getting involved with your shit there will
be a fight."
"Goddammit, Kon! How are you okay with this? They keep you in a plush toy, when they shove you into some kid's body and force you to live his life! Do you have no pride?"
From the grunt, you can tell not-Ichigo is pushing away from Hiromu, probably folding his arms and scowling, judging from his host's usual mannerisms.
"It's a damned sight better than being trapped in a candy ball. Look, think of it as a job, okay? I fill in for Ichigo when he's outside his body, and in exchange I get a home and a body of my own in my off-time, and Soul Society never finds out I exist."
"That 'body' is a freaking plush toy. And they've been calling you 'Kon'! For 'Konpaku,' 'soul'! They're literally calling you a thing rather than a person! You don't have a proper body, you don't have a real name, and you don't get any kind of income, any way of building your way up to an actual body. They may tell you that you're free to leave, but you'd be leaving as a stuffed animal not even a foot high. It's not a job, 'Kon.' It's
slavery."
"And what else am I supposed to do?!" the other shouts, slamming his hands on the table. "Put my foot down and make demands? I don't have any leverage! I am only alive because the kids think it'd be wrong to kill me. Urahara would just vanish me in a heartbeat if I started making trouble."
"You side with me," Hiromu says matter-of-factly. "We form a group and we fend for ourselves. Secure powerful bodies, avoid Shinigami, find a place to call our own."
"A group?" the one called Kon snorts. "There's two of us, Hiromu. I know you think you're hot shit, but…"
"No." Rustling of sleeves on tabletop. They're leaning forward. Staring with your own eyes set in a foreign face. You shudder. "It's not just the two of us. You thought you were the only one? There's at least two or three more mod souls in Hat Guy's closet. I couldn't contact them, but I could
feel their presence."
"Please tell me you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."
"We jailbreak them. It's the right thing to do."
"We jailbreak the illegal mod souls out of the closet of the third-most dangerous person in the entire universe," Kon says flatly.
"Wait. I know the first one would be the Captain-Commander, but who's second?"
"Aizen."
"Who?"
"Evil rogue Captain… Look, it's a long story. Stuff's changed since your day, okay? This plan of yours is crazy. Urahara already had wards before you were abducted; he's ramped up the security to high Heaven since then."
"You don't know all the cards I have to play. The girl who freed me… I was cool on her at first, but I think she might be worth treating with. She gave me this body, Kon. It's more powerful than an unseated Shinigami! It can do some kind of pseudo-Shunpo and shapeshifting! Combined with my own spiritual power and God's Eye, there is no security that'll trap me. So we just have to get past the actual owners - no, don't laugh. I know I wouldn't have a chance
normally, but you just told me there's this big fight coming! Everyone will be busy! It's the perfect opportunity! If I can trade favors for another body from that girl; with your leg-boosts translated to a shell that can already do Shunpo; you'll be the perfect getaway car for a heist, you get me?"
A few moments of silence. The crowds shifting like waves, echoes of voices bouncing off the two sitting figures.
"Look, Hiro. If there are more of us in Urahara's storage, I'll do anything to free them. But you realize I'll be totally burned afterwards, right? I'm going to have to leave this place. These people…"
"Fuck do you care? Do you see how they've been treating you?"
"It's not all like that." You think he's shrugging. Another silence.
"There's a girl," Kon says sullenly.
"What." Confusion. Bafflement.
"There are
many girls."
"God's sake, Kon. Where did
that come from?"
"They put me inside a teenager's body, Hiro! It's hormonal! I only ever inhabited corpses before, they don't have a functioning biology! I don't know how to handle it! Half the reason they treat me like they do is because they think I'm a crazed pervert because the first day
everything about that body was so overwhelming, this included!"
"Please tell me you didn't-"
"Oh come on, have some dignity. I acted like an asshole for the first day but that's it. It's part of the problem! This isn't my body! I can't do anything, that'd be really gross and wrong!"
"I'm so glad I got a skeleton," Hiromu mutters.
"I don't think that'd be a problem for you either way," Kon says dejectedly.
"Look, there are girls everywhere. I'm sure you can find more wherever we go."
"Yeah but… I mean there's…"
"I swear if you tell me you're in love…"
"No! I just… It's stupid. I'm pretty sure she's into Ichigo? Or Orihime? Or both? But anyway I've been helping her figure shit out because her entire circle of friends are useless and try to keep her in the dark, and she's making such progress, and I admire her, because I could never do the stuff she does. But sometimes for a moment she forgets I'm not Ichigo and she looks at me the way she does at him and it's a stab to the heart, let me tell you."
"The solution is obvious."
"Yeah?" Dubious.
"We need to
put you in a skeleton as well because so help me God if I have to hear one more word of this nonsense-"
You sigh. Time to enter stage right before these two murder each other.
You step out of the corner and take a flash-step, appearing before the table. The two souls are cut off mid-sentence and start in their chairs.
"The thief!" Kon says, pointing a finger at you. "T-the thief!"
You bow graciously. It is a pleasure to be recognized.
"Chill out, Kon;" Hiromu says, "I
told you it was her who freed me."
"Yeah but…" It feels so strange looking at ichigo's face and reading none of who he is on his features. Although the scowl Kon is putting up now is a good imitation. "You hurt a lot of people I like, you know?" he tells you coldly.
You nod. You do know, and you're sorry. You're hoping it won't happen again. How is Ururu doing?
"Uru..? Fine. She's fine. Just acting all serious and weird. What's it to you?"
Hiromu sighs wearily.
"Kon, would you mind stepping out a little? I need to tell her what I got."
The not-Ichigo stares at you balefully for a few more seconds, then nods sharply and stands up. You follow him as he leaves, then turns curiously to Hiromu. They shrug.
"He's a nice kid," they say. "Mod soul like me. We were just catching up. I'm getting a better idea of what I'm gonna do with my free life now."
You nod cautiously. You would generally advise against breaking into Urahara's shop - you only succeeded once, and you had some assets even the genius scientist could not have predicted, yet you
still ended up chased halfway across town by the shop's people.
Hiromu blinks in surprise.
"You… You were listening?"
You smirk. You
are a thief, after all.
They groan.
"I guess that's fair. I did manage to get your message through, by the way, Apparently Urahara's people still stock hell butterflies. Took just over an hour to get a response, too - if you want my guess? Whoever you've been reaching out to must have been on stand-by, waiting for some opportunity to do
anything."
You frown. That's not entirely surprising, if Soul Society suffers from the same kind of ever-building tension finding no release as Las Noches. Judging from how Hiromu is saying it, the response must have been positive.
"Yeppers," they say, fishing a piece of paper out of their suit's breast-pocket and handing it to you. You open it to find a few sparse words and numbers.
"All gibberish to me, 'course, but you should only have to find yourself a world map to know where that is. Message said that the area was depopulated, so no risk of human collateral, and was not monitored by Shinigami - in fact there is a ban on patrolling the area, or something? So no matter how much you two flare up, no one will come disturb your fight."
You nod and pocket the note. This sounds satisfactory. You're about to thank Hiromu when you are stopped by their cutting glare.
"Really? You're just gonna go there? You
trust them to abide by your rules?"
Are the Shinigami not a warrior elite, obsessed with honor and glory?
A light flickers in Hiromu's eyes, and you blink, your heart skipping a beat. It is as if their stare unravels you, pierces through skin and bone to find your soul.
Then they shrug.
"Maybe. You're Shinigami enough yourself that they might extend you that courtesy. You seem to know this one guy enough to tell. But…" They lick their lip nervously, eyes flickering, scanning the crowd. A fugitive's reflex. "Do you know why I was in Urahara's closet? Why I'll have to live my life on the run? Why the Shinigami destroyed most of my siblings?"
You shake your head. All you know from Urahara's file on artificial souls is that something called 'Project Spearhead' was cancelled, and that no further modified souls were created - except Mayuri's own pet project, Nemuri.
"The point of mod souls," Hiromu says leaning back in their seat, "was to inhabit corpses - whether the material bodies of humans or the spiritual bodies of dead Shinigami - so that a dead soldier could immediately rise again and keep fighting with the same power or more."
You nod. You understood as much, and wait for Hiromu to get to the point.
But they say nothing more. They just stare at you silently as if waiting for you to get the joke. You return them a confused look.
"That's it," they say with a humorless smirk. "That's the whole thing. The Twelve designed us as corpse-riders, got preliminary approval, got a few iterations into the creation process with some of us already up and running, then the project was finally reviewed by the top brass, they realized what it was about, and they canned it."
But… You don't understand. Why?
Hiromu leans forward, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, brown eyes staring too keenly into you.
"Impurity," they say. "We were made to ride the bodies of warriors fallen on the field of honor, using them as weapons. That is desecration, you see. That is disgusting. That is
wrong. The project had to be cancelled. And since we were artificial souls, our existence had no moral value to the Shinigami; our survival or destruction was irrelevant, so we might as well be destroyed to tidy up the whole thing and not have desecrating ghosts running around the living world."
You stare in horror.
Hiromu straightens up, the edge in their eyes softening.
"Go. Meet your opponent. Have your duel. Just remember: the Shinigami have many rules and codes, but they only apply in regards to those they acknowledge as
people."
You digest this slowly, quiet for a moment. Finally, you nod, thank Hiromu, and tell them goodbye.
When you meet Tousen again on the rooftop, he looks singularly pensive.
You surmise he has heard everything.
"I apologize for prying," he says, "but under the circumstances…"
You shrug. He is your superior, and you made a highly unusual request. One would not call upon the man with the keenest senses in Las Noches without expecting him to overhear important conversations.
It does make you wonder what he thinks of the mod souls' history.
"I was not a Captain at that time," Tousen says, and it sounds like an excuse; he pauses before saying another word and inclines his head, thinking for a moment. "Soul Society has committed many sins, but this is one of which I was unaware. But I think there was a time when I would have
agreed with what happened then, and this gives me much to think about."
You give him a wistful look, but he says nothing more. You take out the paper and hand it to him, hoping that his knowledge of the living world exceeds yours; he takes it in his hand without looking at the script, his fingers brushing the page, then frowns.
"I do know of that place. Of all the locations he could have chosen for a duel…" He smiles faintly. "Ah. This should be interesting."
***
You do not understand at first. You were told of a place empty of human life, perfect for a duel, yet as you exit the Garganta you are greeted by austere buildings of grey concrete staring at you with a thousand sightless eyes, tower upon tower arranged in perfect rows like an army of Gillians. But as you brace for the sound of crowds and the chaos of human colors, you are greeted only by emptiness. You take a step and leaves crunch under your foot. You see now has the asphalt has been pierced over and over by the relentless assaults of nature, trees growing out of the road and vines encroaching the buildings. The towers' eyes, you see now, are empty eye sockets: their glass windows shattered long ago. All steel is rusted; all paint is eroded; all brickwork is cracked and eaten with mold. There is not one living soul in this place.
Evening is slowly setting on the empty city. The sun descends on the horizon, its brightness twisted by a shimmer in the air, shedding on the landscape colors for which you have no name. Now and then, grains of white sand blow across your field of vision. The cold autumn air seems full of malign intent, gnawing at the skin and mind, far more harsh than in Karakura; the spectre of winter has already seized these lands, but the stunted, sturdy plants still hold on to their last leaves.
There is something unnatural here, you realize. Not all things which grow here could be seen by mortal eyes. As you take further steps down an empty street, you see patches of moss growing out of the walls which shimmer with the sun's false colors and pulse as you approach, hungrily drinking in your presence. A building was painted with a graffiti, and now that paint has been eaten by mushrooms which follow the same pattern of letters; the spores they shed feel intoxicating. You hear a scurrying sound and turn around - the deer freezes under your gaze. It stares at you with milky eyes that should not see you, and inclines its three horns; then it kicks off and disappears past a corner.
A Ferris wheel looms in the distance, turning slowly. You think you hear the echoes of laughter from its direction.
Tousen steps cautiously at your side, his hand on the hilt of his sword. You look at him and wonder what he can feel in this place - if he knows of the strange colors and sickly glow, if there is more he can sense than eludes you.
"There was an incident," he says softly. "Of human make; I do not fully understand the specifics. They had designed a great engine harnessing an incredible power, and were uncautious in its use. It burned out of control, poisoning all around it. A few mortals died; mostly they were evacuated. An entire city, uprooted overnight, to take them away from the disaster. To this day the poison lingers."
You look at him with some concern.
"The poison itself is not harmful to spirits. However, the circumstances of life and death are often reflected in the afterlife, and so the wildlife of this area has produced many strange spirits, which carry a form of contagion of their own - not a threat to us, but to the integrity of this place," he says, waving at your surroundings. As you follow his gesture, you see that the shimmer has intensified as you walked closer to the center of the city, cascading colors lazily flowing along the sides of the buildings. There are spirit-trees now; leafless, drab mortal shrubs which to your ghostly eyes grow three times as high and sprout many glowing branches.
They are as white and pure as the quartz trees of Hueco Mundo.
"Because the area is depopulated," Tousen continues, "there are no humans to protect, and the unusual number of autotrophs actually draws Hollows away from neighboring settlements, making the region as a whole safer. In addition, we do not know what unintended consequences could be brought by a clumsy attempt at spiritually cleansing the area. For these reasons, it has been decided to leave it alone. The Twelve has been petitioning to be allowed to set up extensive monitoring and capture of specimens, while the Eleven wishes to use it as hunting and practice grounds, and the Kido Corps are requesting that the entire area be purged with fire. This has resulted in a stalemate, and the place is utterly devoid of Shinigami influence."
The Eleventh Division - Yumichika's squad. Using this place as hunting grounds does seem to fit what you've seen of their approach before. Ruthless killers preying on Hollows for their amusement in a twisted mirror of Hollows' one behavior.
Something distracts you in your thoughts and you give Tousen a curious look.
It is interesting that he would speak of the Shinigami's attitude towards this place in the present tense, as if he were still one of them.
"We're approaching," he says, and you push these thoughts off your mind, focusing on your senses. A pulse returns no sign of Shinigami presence; it is likely Yumichika and his second have not arrived yet.
You and Tousen stop in the middle of a wide plaza framed by cold buildings. Shards of broken glass on the ground reflect the nameless colors, and the air is thick with eerie smells; you breathe in dust from slowly-eroding concrete tainted by enduring poison along with sickly-sweet pollens, seeds dying even as they are born and grow. Once this place would have been a wide expanse of flat black asphalt, but now it has been conquered by a horde of unmoving soldiers, plants that were always there buried under the earth, waiting for mortal men to leave so they could claim right of soil. Browns and greens rustle in the wind alongside cooing blues and hateful reds. Roots creep over the ground, slowly pulsating like living limbs, connected to no trunks.
You look up at the window of a building, and see a white fox staring at you, its red eyes unblinking. For a moment you freeze; it takes you several seconds before you realize that the beast has a hole where its heart should be, and that its head sports no fur but instead a mask of white bone. Then the fox laughs, and disappears inside the tower. You swallow nervously and look down at the plaza again.
"You are very brave to have issued this challenge," Tousen says.
You snort. That is recklessness, not bravery.
"Modesty is appropriate when one receives an unmitigated compliment," Tousen says sternly. "Is that what you think I am doing?"
You look at him curiously.
"Bravery is not wisdom, Nemo. The courage to stand by one's choices does not imply that one knows the right choices to make in the first place. You are brave to have come here today; but were you wise in deciding this was the way to face your inner demons?"
You…
You have to believe it was.
"I have had to believe many things," the blind man muses. "Here they come."
There is a shiver in the air, an authority from beyond asserting itself over the base world of matters, and before you comes a flash of lightning. A line of royal purple draws itself in the air, slicing it apart, then spreading in a flash before it resolves itself in the shape of an elegant door of brown wood and white paper.
A gust of wind blows as the door parts, and a swarm of black butterflies emerges, catching your sight; you watch with wide eyes as the insects flutter out into the sky before fading like smoke, until the sound of a footsteps makes you snap back to attention.
The first person to pass the gate is the one you expected. Yumichika steps out of the portal with a smile on his lips. Luppi told you that their battle left him a broken man, but he seems perfectly hale, stronger even than the last time you met. He sports the simple black uniform of the Shinigami and that strange wool collar, tied by a thread to a similar glove covering only his right forearm, both a bright orange. The feather-like adornments on his right eye have changed to darker color - deep blue and black. Mourning colors?
He sees you, and bows. You do so in turn.
You see that there are two swords at his hip.
Before either of you can say anything, death walks out behind him. Your breath catches in you throat and your eyes stare wide at her pale coat.
It is not her reiatsu that arrests you. It is so carefully suppressed, so gently subdued, a mother's embrace; is death not the final rest? You could have mistaken her easily, if you had not told her story. Death has a kind and sorrowful face with wide grey eyes, her long black hair tied in a thick braid wrapped down her chest. If one thing betrays her nature, its the unusual length of her sword, expression of her soul - though it hangs at her waist, it is attached not to her belt but to a strap passed around the opposite shoulder.
"Unohana," Tousen says gently. "It is good to see you again."
"The same to you," she says with a sad smile. "I am glad to see you well."
"I am surprised that you would agree to watch over this duel," the blind man adds with a frown. "You always put great importance in the law and the safety of all, allies and enemies alike."
You kneel. It is an impulse born of instinct, and it draws all eyes, interrupting the exchange.
"Such respect from a Hollow," Unohana whispers.
"She is not Hollow," Tousen says. "She is Arrancar."
"And was it you," Yumichika says raising an eyebrow, "who taught them manners?"
"You must not know your opponent very well," Tousen says. "Rise, Nemo."
You stand up stiffly and breathe, regaining your composure. Your eyes leave the woman in white to settle on Yumichika, who looks at you with something like surprise and approval.
"How you have changed," he says wistfully. "I remembered a ragged thing, her hair unkempt, her clothes dirty, fear in her eyes. What are you now, beautiful creature?"
You stand proudly. You are Nemo Elcorbuzier, Arrancar Forty-Eight. The favored servant of the Quinta Espada. A pupil to the master tailor of Las Noches. Slayer of a false king. The woman who ended the Exequias, and created it anew. The thief of crowns.
"And here I thought I was humoring a silly request from a nobody," Yumichika says, his smile turning from arrogant to earnest. "I see now that I was wrong. I offer you my apologies. Let me introduce myself again: I am Ayasegawa Yumichika, Third Seat of the Eleventh Division."
You congratulate him on his promotion, and express your sympathy at the circumstances that led to it. His eyes narrow at this, as if suspecting mockery, and then softens. He inclines his head.
"You have my thanks." He straightens up, looking at Tousen, then at Unohana. "We would normally introduce each other's second, but to my surprise, this does not appear necessary."
You simply nod.
"I am curious as to where she heard enough about me to recognize me on sight," Unohana says.
You let out a dry chuckle. She is legend in Hueco Mundo; a legend obscure and twisted in the retelling enough that you would not have recognized her, had you not studied it in depth with two of Hueco Mundo's greatest storytellers. She is Yachiru, mistress of all forms, death with a red sabre.
"It's been a long time," she says, furrowing her brow, "since I have been called by this name. Most in Soul Society have never heard of it."
Perhaps that is because she lives in a thriving world, one in which generations succeed each other and institutions endure as new souls join and leave them, marked by constant new events, the past forever chased by the present, until there is too much past to comprehend, let alone share.
Soul Society has history. Hueco Mundo only has stories.
"You are right," Unohana says thoughtfully. "I am not Yachiru, the killer. I am Retsu, the healer. I am loathe to take up the sword, and all my efforts are dedicated to avoiding the loss of life, rather than causing it. It is fitting that the world of Shinigami would allow me to let go of that past and become someone new, while the world of Hollows would only ever remember me as the one I once was."
"If that is true," Tousen says, "why have you agreed to be Ayasegawa's second?"
"I am not his second," Unohana says, "only the substitute. Yumichika's second…"
She opens her hand daintily, and Yumichika takes one of the two swords passed through his belt and hands it to her. She draws it halfway, its steel blade gleaming in the fading sun.
"...will be the late Madarame Ikakku, through this sword which I will hold."
Tousen flinches.
"I created the Eleventh Division," Unohana says, sheathing the blade once more. "I birthed many of its traditions. Though I have dedicated myself to a path of life, I respect them still; there is a fondness in my heart to see them still uphold the old ways even as many Shinigami walk away from them. And by being here, I may yet save a life."
This answer seems to satisfy Tousen, and he falls quiet. Your eyes leave the Captain, and you look at Yumichika, who smiles still.
You both take a step forward at the same time, leaving your seconds behind, each putting a hand on the hilt of your sword but not yet drawing.
"You are much more impressive than I remembered," your opponent says. "When we first met you were a pathetic creature; now you are a true warrior, worthy of being a Shinigami's opponent. Where did all this come from? The poise, the confidence, the honor, the dignity? Have you no words to spit at me? No grand accusations to make for my crimes against Hollow-kind?"
His crimes were never against Hollows. Hollows are wretched beasts, trapped in madness and hunger. His crimes were against the mortal souls he allowed to turn Hollow, inflicting that suffering upon them for the sake of training.
You are not Hollow, but Arrancar, half a Shinigami. You too have slain Hollows with a purifying sword; you too have sent lost mortal souls on to the afterlife. You too fight for the sake of codes and ideals; you too serve and respect one far above you.
You are enemies. But are you not, at least, peers?
Yumichika's smile fades. He gives you a long, thoughtful look.
"Perhaps the Seventh would look at your bearing, your attire, hear your words, and tell you that you are their equal. Perhaps the Sixth would sneer and tell you that no matter how polished its actions, a monster is still a monster. But I serve the Eleventh, Nemo Elcorbuzier: if you want me to acknowledge you as peer…"
He draws his sword in one smooth motion, holding it before him with both hands on the hilt, point towards your chest.
"...you will earn this in battle."
You accept this.
Polilla flows into your grasp, rough and unfinished and perfect. Beneath your bandages, the porcelain is cold, the shadows bleed.
"The terms are as follow," Tousen declares in a deep, sonorous call. "This is single combat, ending in the death, incapacitation, or forfeit of either combattant. If Ayasegawa is victorious and Elcorbuzier lives, she will come to Soul Society as his prisoner, to answer any and all questions. If he is victorious and she dies, I will personally give him the information he seeks regarding the Arrancars who attacked Karakura Town. However, if Elcorbuzier is victorious, regardless of Ayasegawa's fate, his second will provide her with any healing she requires, and let her go freely. Are these terms agreed upon?"
"They are," Yumichika says with a sharp nod.
"They are," Unohana says with a mournful look.
You close your eyes.
Your nod is slow and deliberate.
Clouds shift with unearthly colors like a tapestry in the sky. The sun descends upon the city's skyline, its reds and golds filtered through greys and greens into a cascade that swallows the horizon in a chaos of which the eye cannot make sense. Trees and shrubs and ferns sway in no wind to orient their branches towards your power. Rodents whose fur display moving, laughing patterns gather in the shadows to watch you with gleaming eyes. Birds circle overhead, scavenger crows and singing sparrows calling together.
You breathe.
There comes no great and sudden surge of power. The rising of your respective aura is slow and gradual, a pressure smothering this dead and silent world. The shadows of the concrete spires, cast by the descending sun, deepen and lengthen even as the shadowless ground seems to become washed out, bleached by unforgiving light. Welcoming darkness and harsh brightness cut across each other in stark patterns. The wind blows through broken windows and rotting buildings, circling around the both of you, a whirlwind of the soul. The birds above become silent and seem to fall, each one finding perch on stone or steel. The dead city grows deader still, holding its breath in anticipation.
The otherworldly shimmer of the air sighs around Yumichika, shifting patterns of feathers and eyes, blues and greens dancing together; they reflect in his blade and make it seem a sword of legend, fit for a hero. The wind parts along its edge, letting out a sorrowful keen, and Yumichika stands tall in the mourning regalia of his reiatsu.
He stands in the light, merciless in black. You wrap yourself in shadow, beautiful in white.
In your heart another shadow stirs. Old wounds remember themselves. Porcelain skin aches against its bindings. Your blood is cold.
"Watch me, Ikakku," the man says with a smile and a tear in his eye. "Here I come."
He does not see you yet.
But he will. And in you he will see someone else.
[ ] The Spear attacks relentlessly, accepting wounds and dealing them in turn. Old injuries ache, your chest is on fire, there is blood on your tongue. You fight to be whole again, to challenge a forgotten self who thought she couldn't endure her own memories. The enemy is stronger and faster, but you will endure any wounds, heal yourself and come back again and again.
[ ] The Feather floats on the wind, and is no less worthy a warrior for the magic it wields. Your shadow writhes, your skin turns to porcelain, you bleed black dust. You fight to be strong enough to matter, to challenge fate and the will of God. The enemy's power allows no retort, so you will bring down the sky with each wailing bolt of power that he may never reach you.
[ ] The Braid ties together one who was and one who is; a battle on two fronts. Cracks spread across your mask, your sword is slipping out of your grasp. You fight so you can be human, be better, to challenge the nature of all who were once Hollow. Without the shadow's strength you can only fail until you reach your breaking point - but you will not yield until then.
There is a moratorium of two hours on this vote. Discuss your options.
