Now You Feel Like Number None [Bleach Arrancar Quest]
- Thread starter Omicron
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Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
Are you saying that Seated Officers aren't essentially mooks?
- Location
- Australia
The only seated officers that are even slightly important belong to Squad 11.
- Location
- NZ
Wow, then Shinigami mooks are worse than I thought.
Reminder that Orihime beat two unsteaed shinigami unconscious with her bare hands. At the same time.
- Location
- Texas
I've pointed this out before, but your baseline unseated shinigami takes a dive against Orihime with 2 to 1 odds in their favor. Granted, she sneak-attacked them, but on the flip side, she's a petite teenage girl whose fighting experience to date consisted of her best friend telling her how to throw a punch.
Unseated shinigami are worse than Star Wars stormtroopers for being mookish.
Unseated shinigami are worse than Star Wars stormtroopers for being mookish.
Unless you ask Bleach wiki, which lists her as a "Expert Hand-to-Hand Combatant" and estimates her at being at the fighting skill of a black belt in karate.
...Bleach wiki has a generally rosy picture of the actual fighting skill of characters. Such as Ichigo the "Master Swordsman".
- Location
- USA
Ichigo "I'll just hit it with my sword until it dies" Kurosaki? Wow, no wonder no one takes wikis seriously.
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- Location
- NZ
It also says Shinigami are trained in hand to hand at their academy which either means Orihime is actually an expert or training standards there are so low it may as well be nonexistent.
- Location
- Texas
In the TV show, she says Tatsuki trained her and estimated her to be about a yellow belt.
Which is, to be fair, not a trivial level of karate proficiency, if you assume it's true and the Tatsuki's estimate is accurate.
But shinigami are fighters. Like, they have a whole school for it. Hand-to-hand fighters, even. Who are armed with swords. This is your job, guys. Not only did you lose the fight, while outnumbering her, you didn't even last long enough to yell for help.
It's really the same phenomenon as the Hueco Mundo arc, where the protagonist team takes a run at an enemy that is supposedly super-badass, but inexplicably steamroll them without serious casualties. It still amuses me, though, that this ends up with your common soul reaper legbreaker, after intense and exclusive training, being no match for a 98-lb waif.
Which is, to be fair, not a trivial level of karate proficiency, if you assume it's true and the Tatsuki's estimate is accurate.
But shinigami are fighters. Like, they have a whole school for it. Hand-to-hand fighters, even. Who are armed with swords. This is your job, guys. Not only did you lose the fight, while outnumbering her, you didn't even last long enough to yell for help.
It's really the same phenomenon as the Hueco Mundo arc, where the protagonist team takes a run at an enemy that is supposedly super-badass, but inexplicably steamroll them without serious casualties. It still amuses me, though, that this ends up with your common soul reaper legbreaker, after intense and exclusive training, being no match for a 98-lb waif.
I'd like to note that the Kenpachi page also claims him to be a "Master Swordsman" and one of the most proficient swordsmen in Soul Society.
If this is correct, Fourth Division is truly the most important division of all, as it is the only possible reason any shinigami alive still possesses even one limb.
After all, with Zaraki as the benhcmark for one of the peaks of sword skill, everyone else must be accidentally chopping one of their own fingers off at least every time they try to swing their weapon.
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- Location
- USA
I'd like to note that the Kenpachi page also claims him to be a "Master Swordsman" and one of the most proficient swordsmen in Soul Society.
...in Los Noches he explicitly states that he doesn't know jack about how to sword property. One fight session with the actual best doesn't equal Master level, that just means he's got more Kubo power.
- Location
- USA
Ok. I kinda get where they're coming form, but that isn't skill. It's just power. With the way things work in Bleach he could just flail around and kill 90% of the people in the afterlife because they couldn't hurt him. I remember Tousen, a Captain, was having trouble delivering any meaningful hit onto him during their fight.
- Location
- Texas
It's true that Kenpachi isn't really your standard for refined sword use, but on the hand, it's not exactly wrong, either.
Kenpachi does, in fact, win a lot of sword fights, against people who are very good at sword fights. I'm not sure, if you're committed to not calling him a master swordsman, what the best way is to convey "do not get in a sword-fight with this man, because he will beat you. Casually."
Kenpachi does, in fact, win a lot of sword fights, against people who are very good at sword fights. I'm not sure, if you're committed to not calling him a master swordsman, what the best way is to convey "do not get in a sword-fight with this man, because he will beat you. Casually."
If the Hulk picks up a metal wedge and starts swinging it around, is the Hulk a Master swordsman?
- Location
- USA
I don't have a problem saying that he would win a fight. I just have a problem with them calling him "Master". That implies skill that he doesn't have.
- Location
- Australia
He has skill, it's just he gets it from instinct rather than training. You wouldn't call Grimmjow an inexpert hand to hand combatant just because he never took Hakuda lessons, would you? Nnoitora was a peer in terms of power level and yet Kenpachi was fully able to keep up with all four of his scythes. Not only that, but he broke through his Hierro - a Hierro strong enough to withstand a Cero Doble and Lanzador Verde outside of Resurreccion - not with raw power, but by adjusting to his opponent's spiritual pressure so he could cut better. That's skill.
Even if you have issues with using the word "skill" to describe what he has, calling him a "master swordsman" is perhaps not the worst thing the wiki has done.
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]Take a surgical kit, needles and cloth and fluids all designed to operate on an Espada. She was the weakest of all, and still brave enough to operate on them. You will make her proud.
Voting just to say this: with our Marana we'll be able to sew Espada back together. We can be doctor Frankenmoth!
IT LIVES! IT LIVES! You cackle maniacally as you put the final touches upon your creation.
"K͇̘̼̠͡i͖͓̜ ͈̻͕̹̙̘͖i̛̲͖i̺̰ ̟͓̺̜l̺l̥̰̫̀l̴̟̘̝͖ ̜m̠͖̳e̬͎ḛ͓̤e.̛̬̭ͅ.͉͉̹̺̠͘.͏̟͍͎͕͉͇͉" rasps the sewn together amalgamation of strange creatures you dragged from darkness between worlds.
You pat it on the back. Well, what looks like a back anyway. There are so many experiments to conduct. You can't wait!
The poor abomination just whimpers fearfully.
Yes. It would be a good idea to level Marana as well.
Voting just to say this: with our Marana we'll be able to sew Espada back together. We can be doctor Frankenmoth!
IT LIVES! IT LIVES! You cackle maniacally as you put the final touches upon your creation.
"K͇̘̼̠͡i͖͓̜ ͈̻͕̹̙̘͖i̛̲͖i̺̰ ̟͓̺̜l̺l̥̰̫̀l̴̟̘̝͖ ̜m̠͖̳e̬͎ḛ͓̤e.̛̬̭ͅ.͉͉̹̺̠͘.͏̟͍͎͕͉͇͉" rasps the sewn together amalgamation of strange creatures you dragged from darkness between worlds.
You pat it on the back. Well, what looks like a back anyway. There are so many experiments to conduct. You can't wait!
The poor abomination just whimpers fearfully.
Yes. It would be a good idea to level Marana as well.
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- Location
- madison
I think it's a rank inflation thing. Kenpachi is very good at swording, but for a captain, his actual skill isn't super impressive. He's not bad for his rank certainly but not exceptionally skilled compared to other captains.
Canon Omake: Cometh the Hour
- Location
- Canada
Cometh the Hour
...Thank you...
Pollia makes a satisfied sound as you slid it back into it's sheathe, the ascending soul shedding light on the two of you and the alleyway you're in. A mangy black stray is the only other occupant, and it looks up at the two of you for only single, cursory second before resuming it's nap with typical feline apathy.
You continue to watch the soul of the kindly old man as it soars higher, until its no longer distinguishable from the other stars in the night sky. A minute passes while you simply admire the vista, take it in, before you bring your eyes back down to the dirt and grit of the alleyway and walk briskly out. The hems of your uniform easily retain their fresh whiteness; a marvel of stitching that you must thank Alphonse for later. While you usually avoid such alleyways, traveling over and not through, the old man's chains were tight and he could not wander far.
You do not mind. It is not a tiresome thing, helping souls pass on. Your favorite are the elderly; there is a certain grace that seems to only come with age and nothing else. They make the brightest stars. But while listening to the old ghost's stories was pleasant, that is not why you opened a Gargantua.
The crack of Sonido accompanies your appearance to the top of a telephone pole. The city unfolds to your senses, light and sound and the faint pinpricks of Pressure as Hollows and Soul Reapers begin their respective hunts. Night was always the time when your kin became more active; perhaps the night sky feels more comfortable to them, the denizens of Hueco Mundo and it's own sunless vista?
You're getting distracted again, you mentally chide yourself as you being your dash across the city. You can't afford to do something like that now that you are a Fraccion to the Diez Espada; there are standards you must uphold! The other Fraccion will be watching you, judging you! Then again, it wasn't like Cirucci placed lax standards upon you prior to her ascendancy-wait.
Should you still call her Mistress Cirucci? Or would Lady Cirucci work better? The Lady Diez? Su Alteza la Décima? The other Fraccion varied in how they displayed their devotion to their Espada, so it stands to reason how you address Cirucci would depend on her-
ARRRGGGGHHH! You don't think you've even been this distracted before! Your thoughts derail, your concentration is abysmal and you keep recalling the feel of Cirucci's-
You stop, perched on a windowsill, take a deep breath and slap your cheeks. Focus. You have a job to do right now. The new place Cirucci has chosen as her place of residence needs to be decorated and furnished. There is lots of things to do, many things to set right, and you do not have the time to daydream.
You breathe in deeply and wrangle your errant thoughts. Very well then. The item you were asked to retrieve on this excursion was a clock; something suitably grand and ornate. A grandfather clock perhaps, one which will thrum the air when telling the time. It need be large and impressive enough to stand center stage in Cirucci's new great room, one of the many new markers of her higher station, proclaiming her status as an Espada. Another such marker would be a Fraccion that does her duty competently and doesn't waste time daydreaming about her Lady's lips.
Energy suffuses your legs and you're gone.
You could have gone to a furniture store; you passed dozens of them on your dash across town and just one would have ended your search quickly. In fact, if it was the Nemo Elcorbuzier of a few weeks ago, you would done exactly such a thing and completed the request as quickly as possible.
But you've grown, even in such little time, and shopping at anywhere but a specialty store is anathema to you. Of course, such words are only worth anything if you manage to actually find a specialty clock store. You've spent almost an hour traversing the city and you still can't find one; have humans lost all need to keep track of the time in extravagant ways?
You take a moment to rest, leaping down from your perch on high to a cracked and pot-holed street. You're in a road guarded by tall buildings, all dark and dead at this time of night. The sounds of the city is gone here, the acoustics blocked by some trick of the road and houses. The only illumination is a lone streetlamp down the road, a dull, cracked thing that leaks flickering orange light with a tortured whine. Everything else pools with shadows, even the stars clouded over. The moon is dark now, something you expected because of it's full twin shining down on Hueco Mundo.
The linked phases between the two moons was something you had wondered about often, although few Hollow discussed it. An idea sprouts in your mind, of a Hollow ages past who attempted to pull the moon from the human world into Hueco Mundo to give it light. But the task was to great for her, or her enemies too numerous, and she failed halfway through and the moon is forever stuck swiveling in between the two worlds. Perhaps it is a Hollow, one who was trapped and placed in a white cage, forced to give off light when the sun is asleep-
Again! You've been standing on this street for almost five minutes! What is the matter with you? Energy gathers in your legs for another Sonido when suddenly something catches your eye. Behind you, sitting squat and dark, is a single-story store that's curiously absent of the graffiti that infects it's neighbors. It has two wide windows, both shuttered, and a door that's been boarded up, but what attracts your attention is the worn and torn sign that hangs above all three.
"Ishikawa's Longcases!" it declares in peeling yellow paint, cheery as a clouded sun. Below it in curly, playful white lettering, words so faded that you have to rely on the impressions left, is another sentence: "Comtoise, Bornholm, Alker, Hermle, Hofmeier, Mora and much more!". A final sentence is beneath all of them, almost touching the door, and spelled out in serious block letters.
"Always Open"
Intriguing. Comtoise and Bornholm were types of Grandfather clocks. The word "Longcase" itself was a term for them; it seems like you've found your specialty store. And it wasn't that far from where you had exorcised the old ghost judging by the stray's appearance. You probably didn't see it because of it's height; it's shadowed by two tenement buildings on either side, which almost push and shove the small store into obscurity. Perhaps searching from the rooftops has it's disadvantages, you chide yourself.
Still, you pause before entering as a worry strikes you, this store looks ancient. The shuttered and boarded windows and doors don't paint the picture of a thriving business. It may not have much in terms of inventory, maybe even less than one of the brightly-light big box stores you've avoided.
But to be quite frank, you're incredibly tired of searching. It's been more than an hour and you really just want to get back to Cirucci. If there really isn't anything in the store, at least you can see if there's any guides or maps that will point you towards others such like it. Better than continuing to search aimlessly.
And with that, you slide through the front of the store, brushing through shutters, cracked windows, dusty shelves and a worn counter before you reach an open space. And then a black bag is pulled over your head.
You blink and reach for the bag, trying to pull it off your eyes but only end up almost poking them out instead. You haven't been blinded; the store is just incredibly dark. The light that manages to get through the windows and debris is too tired to illuminate anything but a few feet into the store. The rest, including where you are, is blacker then the deepest pits of Hueco Mundo. Even your sense of Pressure isn't useful here, given how starved the living world is of spirit particles.
If you were anyone else, your foray would have ended there and you would have settled for taking a clock from a more well-lit store, but there's a trick with your Pressure you've recently that would help in places like this. The latent energy within you swirls and you direct it at your hands, a tiny, delicate trickle that would not compare to a Bala or a Cero. It swirls inside your hand for a moment before breaking out in the form of a small grayish flame, the light from it pouring out to give the room a watery, washed out look.
You lift your hand higher, looking around the store. It is small, barely larger than your old nest back in Las Noches and filled with tall white shapes looming around you. For a heart-stopping moment you think you're back in Las Noches, before the shapes resolve into simple moth-eaten covers. Likely to protect the clocks. Seems like the store wasn't closed down, just shuttered while the owners were away. You reach up to pull one of the sheets away-
"Can I help you, Dearie?"
You stop your flinch, berating yourself for your laxness. You hadn't detected anyone on your way in, all your senses told you that the store was empty and there shouldn't be anyway, let alone an old woman peering at you from a corner of the shop, the pale light from your flame making her appear flat and withered.
"Oho, I didn't scare you did I? Forgive me, I so rarely get visitors." She leers at you, her voice rough as old oak. You note that she is wearing a gray dress, intricately embroidered and old-fashioned, more for style than comfort.
You breathe, letting your blood calm. Even if she hadn't said it, it is clear the old woman is a ghost, a Plus. A long, black chain spotted with rust spools from the middle of her chest, wrapping around her legs before disappearing into the gloom.
You quickly sketch a bow and shake your head politely at her. Even in the dead of night with a ghost, your uphold your manners. And as much as you hate to say it, she did get the jump on you. Her Pressure, now that you can see her, is almost invisible, blending into the background noise of the store almost perfectly. It may have been possible to detect her if she was a Hollow or a Reaper, but only a lowly Plus?
"And may I ask why you would disturb this old ladies rest?" Her claw like hands smooth the front of her dress jerkily. Her skin is wrinkled, as gray as the dress she is wearing. "I do hope you're not here to steal from me like so many others."
Your finger scratches your cheek apologetically in front of the harsh tone. In your defense, you assumed that the store was abandoned. And it wasn't like you were going to steal everything, you just needed one of her wares. In fact, you only came here because you're a connoisseur, otherwise you would have gone to one of those mass-produced stores elsewhere!
She snorts, stepping closer. "Well, at least you're an honest one, even if you're trying to butter me up. I've lost count the number of vandals and thieves I've had to deal with."
Ah, the lack of graffiti. If a Plus was haunting the store and scaring off vandals, no wonder it's been left largely untouched.
Your musing is cut short when the Plus steps fully into the circle of your light, throwing her face into sharp relief. It's a ruin. Teeth like broken windows, a nose that's been broken multiple times, white hair that hangs in patchy rivulets, but the worst of all are her eyes. They are two deep black pits, scarred and marred, not even your light able to penetrate their depths. Her eyes had been gouged out.
"That is, if you can actually pay." She is taller, barely, but it seems for a moment that the Plus is towering over you. "If you can't, you're just another petty thief and I've had practice dealing with them."
You smile stiffly. You have little to offer a ghost. Little except passageway that is-passageway to Heaven.
The clanking of chains is heard, and then stops. "Heaven? Really? That's how you intend to pay for one of my wares? I've heard better sales pitches from my husband when he wanted to try something new in the bedroom."
You very firmly do not blush at that. You're a Fraccion. Still, such cynicism isn't unwarranted. Many Pluses respond the same way, and you can understand why. And you yourself don't know if were you send souls to would be considered a "heaven", but it's certainly better than wasting away here, where the only fate is to end up as some monster's food. There would be a chance for something new, to live a new life without being chained to your old one, maybe even see her loved ones again. All that would be required would be for her to sell you a clock.
Something seems to change in the old woman's expression at that, but she still peers at you in suspicion, the empty holes where her eyes would be almost hypnotic in their flat blackness. Eventually, she relents and takes a step back.
"You do believe what you're saying." She says, in suspicion. "Even if it's one of the most ridiculous things I've heard. And you've done this before? What are you, then? You're not human, you're not like the other ghosts or like...those things. Are you an angel?"
You shrug. You find it's best to let Pluses draw their own conclusions about you and your role. Trying to explain about Arrancars and Las Noches and how you're technically at war with the place you're sending them to tends to hinder more than help.
A long silence passes, as the old Plus ponders with a down-turned head. You spend the time idly looking around, waiting. A brief usage of Pesquina confirms that the two of you are the only spiritually active beings in the vicinity, and hers is weak enough to blend in with the store. It's actually really interesting now that you take a closer look; the entire store has practically the same signature as her, and itself blends with the surrounding Spiritual Pressure in the atmosphere. If one didn't have the aptitude to detect how stable the Pressure was in here, they would think it was completely empty. Your average Hollow wouldn't even give it a second glance.
Perhaps that's how Pluses survive against Hollows? Hiding themselves away, quiet and still in a world of monsters. They would be able to survive, but it would backfire because Reapers wouldn't be able to find them either, meaning they would just waste away until their chain rusts completely. It's an intriguing example of spiritual ecology you hadn't thought about before, but it does make sense, as Pluses needed someway to survive Hollows-
Come on, Elcorbuzier. Focus.
"Very well then." The old Plus finally says, raising her head and fixing you with those chilling eyes. "I'll accept; I'll give you one of my wares in exchange for you opening the way to...Heaven."
You bow in thanks. While there would have been little she could do if you were to take one of her goods by force, you'd rather not do anything like that. It would have been annoying to continue searching for another store like this, however, and so you're grateful she accepted the trade.
"But please, call me Ishikawa. Yamaoto Ishikawa, but I don't believe we're on a first name basis yet." The woman states, waving a hand. "Well then, if you would be so kind as to follow me."
She gestures at you, already turning away to head deeper into the store. You glance over confusedly at the covered clocks around you. She's not going to show you any of these here?
"Hm? Oh no, those are just to scare off vandals." She say, flicking her sleeve at them. There's a clank of chains and suddenly all the hanging cloths collapse. Your eyes widen momentarily as you see the chains that had been holding up the covers slither out from under them, retreating back into the darkness.
You've heard of hauntings, but you've never seen one yourself. Ishikawa must be chained tightly to the store to be able to do such delicate work.
"Oh, if you had said that to me when I had lived, I would have cut you down." She chuckled as she led you to the back of the store. The pale light from your hand reveals little more than a few doors and dust. Most of them head outside to the back, but one opens at Ishikawa's approach to reveal a set of stairs. "I loved this store more than my own life. To say that I was chained to it would have made me wroth indeed."
She goes silent for a moment, than asks, casually. "Everyone goes to heaven then? After they die?"
You nod, deciding not to comment further. She must be thinking of that husband she mentioned before. It is not your place to remark or judge upon her life, just guide the way to the next. And to retrieve a clock for your Lady's great room. Can't forget that.
The two of you head down, but you notice your flame shedding less and less light as you go down. The latent Reiatsu of the store (and Ishikawa herself) is making it harder and harder to control the delicate balance needed to keep it alight. The darkness grows heavier and closer, while your steps begin to drag as you try to concentrate to keep it going.
"Hm?" Ishikawa asks, noticing your discomfort. "Oh you silly dear, are you afraid of the dark? Come, give me your hand."
Her hand snakes out before you can think of refusing and grabs your raised hand that's holding the flame. A chain reaches over and wraps around both of your hands, it's metal links cool against your skin. The energy in your hand is tugged downwards and, after a brief moment of hesitation, you acquiesce and let your energy flow down the chain.
The ghostly light trickled down from your hand into the chain, a turbulent stream of your power rushing into Ishikawa's still pond. The minuscule amount of your energy spreads, stabilized and corralled by the chains until they glow with the light of your energy. You're rather astonished by that. It's far more versatility you would expect a single Plus to have.
Ishikawa's smile is bitter as she releases your hand, the light still trapped within her chains. "I've had a long time to learn some tricks."
The two of you reach the bottom of the stairs and enter into a large room that's as dark as the store above. That is, until your guide waves a hand and the light from the chain spreads out to the rest of the room.
Row upon row of grandfather clocks meets you. There must be almost a hundred clocks here, all of different makes and models, each more beautiful than the last. One glance shows you hour hands in the shape of intricate keys, another glance and you see exotic, curling arrows. There's polished brass dials that go from eight inches to ten and all the way to fourteen. The movement pillars are wrought in every manner of style. And the Dial Spanderals; you could spend hours just examining the fine artistry that went into them.
You take a step forward, entranced at what you're seeing, only to hear the clink of chains beneath your feet. A glance reveals a troubling sight; the floor beneath you is covered almost to invisibility with chains. They completely carpet the floor, making your usually silent footsteps blatant in this quiet room. You didn't know a single ghost could have such a long and tightly bound chain of fate. Some even raise, like snakes, to hug clocks in strangling loops.
You've never seen this many soul chains, let alone all from one Plus. You turn to Ishikawa, a question in your eyes, but she's gone.
You whirl around, trying to catch a glimpse of her gray figure, but there's nothing to see besides clocks and black chains. The room is not that large, but it is crowded with lots of places to hide and you can't rely on your Pressure sense to locate her.
The ticking of a clock reaches your ears, cutting through the silence. You perk up, following the noise, navigating between the still cases, brushing aside chains and cobwebs with equal impatience. The glow from the chains is still as unearthly pale as ever, radiating luminescence that reveals the dusty and cracked faces of the clocks. The chains beneath you shift and clink all the while, almost tripping you at times.
You pass many different types of clocks: lantern clocks, hook and spike clocks, hanging wall mounts, fully enclosed clocks. There's a dizzying variety, but even the cursory glance you give them tells you that none of them fit. There's always something off about them, some quirk of height or detail that makes them unfit to grace Lady Cirucci's quarters. Your sense of duty prevents you from picking any of them.
Just as you're thinking that maybe coming into an abandoned, haunted store to look for a new clock may not be the smartest of ideas, a space opens up between the claustrophobic rows and you see your guide and purveyor. Ishikawa is standing in a clearing of chains, gazing at a snow white case, her brows furrowed.
You take a heavy step atop the last chain before the clearing, not wanting to sneak up on her. Ishikawa turns even before the chain begins to rattle, almost as if she knew the moment yous stepped on her chain. Probable, given what you've seen of her abilities.
"This may serve you well." A slight smile mars her face. "It's one of the last I detailed, before...well, before."
You approach cautiously, curious. The longcase she is looking at is not as freshly white as you thought, only a pasty gray that is lightened by the shine of the chains around it. The craftsmanship, from what you can tell with your amateur eyes, is neat and tidy, but not inelegant.
She smirks. "Well, aside from the fact that it's one of the newest clocks still here? It's because you're getting this for a lover, are you not?"
Once again, you adamantly do not blush. A simple shrug is all that Ishikawa gets. You're not going to dignify that with anything more.
The Plus cackles evilly. "Oh yes, I know exactly that look. I've seen it many a time back when I wore a younger woman's clothes. A present, something to celebrate an occasion, no? A birthday? An engagement? A housewarming gift-ah. There it is."
You glare up sternly at Ishikawa. Leaving aside how she managed to figure all that out, she seems very relaxed considering she's teasing an angel. If you didn't know any better, you would think she's had dealings with other spiritual guides before. She's acting like teasing angels is a hobby for her.
She waves a hand, managing to convey both amusement and exasperation. "Oh no, it's just that you're an open book to these eyes. Really dear, you need some experience before you can hide your tells from me. I've spent much of my life dealing with love and those in it."
You stifle a sigh and shake your head. Whatever. At least, can she answer why she wishes to offer this clock?
Ishikawa's mirth dies down and is replaced by a weary grimace. She turns to the clock, brushing her hand across it, almost reverently.
"I detailed this to commemorate my husband's death. It may not look like it, but it's my most prized work. Some say that most of my works were products of passion, but only this one was. This one I made in a frenzy of artistic fervor; the others were made with more care. But, and forgive an old lady's assumptions, but I feel like you would like this one more than the rest for that fact alone."
You aren't listening. You're standing in front of the case, your eyes tracing the designs that make up the clock face. They swoop and swirl, intricate filigree of silver and pearl that are almost alive with a curious frenzy. The minute and hour hands expand upon that theme and are like spun sugar in their delicacy, fluttering with every movement.
They're wings.
The clock strikes suddenly behind you, a deep thrumming noise that vibrates your bones and sends your teeth chattering. A glance shows that it's striking one hour after twelve. You didn't even know that it was wound; had Ishikawa done it with her chains?
You turn back towards her and the massive door that's looming over the shop.
The breath catches in your throat and you take an involuntary step back. There had been no warning, no rising Pressure to forewarn of such a thing happening; one moment you, Ishikawa and her glowing shop were the only spiritual beings in the area. The next, a red door materialized, adorned with two massive skeletons grinning down, one on each side.
"What in the-" Ishikawa beings, noticing that's something wrong with the way you were reacting, but any further words die in her throat when she turns around and sees the impossible door. The surface is rough and pitted, like the surface of a bone peeled and stretched over a frame and decorative flames are scrawled over it. Huge golden chains link the skeletons to the door and hold it together, binding a black column embossed with gold cygnets.
You wish it would go away. You don't know where such a feeling came from, but you dread the door the moment you saw it. Something in it's hateful red tint or the hungry look in the skeletons' expressions strikes deep within you. It's almost familiar, a memory that's clawing it's way to the forefront that you so desperately do not wish to recall.
And the moment arrives, the one you feared. The door begins to open, pulled apart by the skeletons in a mockery of life. A howling wind pours from it, a cloying stench and the distant sound of screams echoing from within. Within the door, betwixt the two great slabs, is a red darkness so profound, so deep and empty that you almost forget yourself within it's depths. Your body starts to shake, another feeling rising, one that you do not wish to acknowledge any more than the fear you felt when you saw it, anymore than you wish to acknowledge the darkness that dwells deep inside you.
"I-I don't-What is this?" Ishikawa tries to speak over the rising winds. "Is this the way to Heaven?"
You aren't listening. Every fiber of your being is focused on the slow creak of the opening doors. You spare no thought of what might be behind the doors, of what might be coming and what will happen. You lick your lips unconsciously, Pollia almost vibrating in her sheathe. Its..Something from within calls you. Not you, the Nemo of style and grace and loyalty. But another you, deep down, one that still hunts beneath starless skies. The clock continues it's count, the sound almost quiet against everything else. Your mind blurs, a surprisingly familiar feeling, as you struggle internally, old instincts fighting vainly against your new training.
You don't notice when a massive arm, gray and alien, impales Ishikawa on the edge of an equally massive knife. You don't notice the look of growing horror and rage on her face, contorting her expression into something almost Hollow-like. You don't notice when it drags her back into the delicious darkness laughing, a booming noise that resonates with the clock, as Ishikawa's screams grow fainter and fainter until they're indistinguishable from the others.
You only jerk back to reality when the doors slam close with all the finality of the grave, fading quickly. The mesmerizing Pressure is gone now, no longer distracting you with tantalizing smells and tastes. You can finally think again, but…
You shake your head, trying to piece together what had just happened. You remember...a door. A horrible, awful door. And you remember Ishikawa being dragged through it...and something else. There had been...foreign feelings. A rising anticipation, dread and fear mixed in a heady froth, and then raging...desire?
The clock behind you tolls out it's last, falling silent once more. The street around you returns to normalcy, the lamp at the far end finally sputtering out. A cat yowls somewhere, nosily proclaiming that it's alive.
You gaze upon the grandfather clock, white as fresh snow and as unmarred, and it gazes back down onto you.
Pollia makes a satisfied sound as you slid it back into it's sheathe, the ascending soul shedding light on the two of you and the alleyway you're in. A mangy black stray is the only other occupant, and it looks up at the two of you for only single, cursory second before resuming it's nap with typical feline apathy.
You continue to watch the soul of the kindly old man as it soars higher, until its no longer distinguishable from the other stars in the night sky. A minute passes while you simply admire the vista, take it in, before you bring your eyes back down to the dirt and grit of the alleyway and walk briskly out. The hems of your uniform easily retain their fresh whiteness; a marvel of stitching that you must thank Alphonse for later. While you usually avoid such alleyways, traveling over and not through, the old man's chains were tight and he could not wander far.
You do not mind. It is not a tiresome thing, helping souls pass on. Your favorite are the elderly; there is a certain grace that seems to only come with age and nothing else. They make the brightest stars. But while listening to the old ghost's stories was pleasant, that is not why you opened a Gargantua.
The crack of Sonido accompanies your appearance to the top of a telephone pole. The city unfolds to your senses, light and sound and the faint pinpricks of Pressure as Hollows and Soul Reapers begin their respective hunts. Night was always the time when your kin became more active; perhaps the night sky feels more comfortable to them, the denizens of Hueco Mundo and it's own sunless vista?
You're getting distracted again, you mentally chide yourself as you being your dash across the city. You can't afford to do something like that now that you are a Fraccion to the Diez Espada; there are standards you must uphold! The other Fraccion will be watching you, judging you! Then again, it wasn't like Cirucci placed lax standards upon you prior to her ascendancy-wait.
Should you still call her Mistress Cirucci? Or would Lady Cirucci work better? The Lady Diez? Su Alteza la Décima? The other Fraccion varied in how they displayed their devotion to their Espada, so it stands to reason how you address Cirucci would depend on her-
ARRRGGGGHHH! You don't think you've even been this distracted before! Your thoughts derail, your concentration is abysmal and you keep recalling the feel of Cirucci's-
You stop, perched on a windowsill, take a deep breath and slap your cheeks. Focus. You have a job to do right now. The new place Cirucci has chosen as her place of residence needs to be decorated and furnished. There is lots of things to do, many things to set right, and you do not have the time to daydream.
You breathe in deeply and wrangle your errant thoughts. Very well then. The item you were asked to retrieve on this excursion was a clock; something suitably grand and ornate. A grandfather clock perhaps, one which will thrum the air when telling the time. It need be large and impressive enough to stand center stage in Cirucci's new great room, one of the many new markers of her higher station, proclaiming her status as an Espada. Another such marker would be a Fraccion that does her duty competently and doesn't waste time daydreaming about her Lady's lips.
Energy suffuses your legs and you're gone.
~~~
You could have gone to a furniture store; you passed dozens of them on your dash across town and just one would have ended your search quickly. In fact, if it was the Nemo Elcorbuzier of a few weeks ago, you would done exactly such a thing and completed the request as quickly as possible.
But you've grown, even in such little time, and shopping at anywhere but a specialty store is anathema to you. Of course, such words are only worth anything if you manage to actually find a specialty clock store. You've spent almost an hour traversing the city and you still can't find one; have humans lost all need to keep track of the time in extravagant ways?
You take a moment to rest, leaping down from your perch on high to a cracked and pot-holed street. You're in a road guarded by tall buildings, all dark and dead at this time of night. The sounds of the city is gone here, the acoustics blocked by some trick of the road and houses. The only illumination is a lone streetlamp down the road, a dull, cracked thing that leaks flickering orange light with a tortured whine. Everything else pools with shadows, even the stars clouded over. The moon is dark now, something you expected because of it's full twin shining down on Hueco Mundo.
The linked phases between the two moons was something you had wondered about often, although few Hollow discussed it. An idea sprouts in your mind, of a Hollow ages past who attempted to pull the moon from the human world into Hueco Mundo to give it light. But the task was to great for her, or her enemies too numerous, and she failed halfway through and the moon is forever stuck swiveling in between the two worlds. Perhaps it is a Hollow, one who was trapped and placed in a white cage, forced to give off light when the sun is asleep-
Again! You've been standing on this street for almost five minutes! What is the matter with you? Energy gathers in your legs for another Sonido when suddenly something catches your eye. Behind you, sitting squat and dark, is a single-story store that's curiously absent of the graffiti that infects it's neighbors. It has two wide windows, both shuttered, and a door that's been boarded up, but what attracts your attention is the worn and torn sign that hangs above all three.
"Ishikawa's Longcases!" it declares in peeling yellow paint, cheery as a clouded sun. Below it in curly, playful white lettering, words so faded that you have to rely on the impressions left, is another sentence: "Comtoise, Bornholm, Alker, Hermle, Hofmeier, Mora and much more!". A final sentence is beneath all of them, almost touching the door, and spelled out in serious block letters.
"Always Open"
Intriguing. Comtoise and Bornholm were types of Grandfather clocks. The word "Longcase" itself was a term for them; it seems like you've found your specialty store. And it wasn't that far from where you had exorcised the old ghost judging by the stray's appearance. You probably didn't see it because of it's height; it's shadowed by two tenement buildings on either side, which almost push and shove the small store into obscurity. Perhaps searching from the rooftops has it's disadvantages, you chide yourself.
Still, you pause before entering as a worry strikes you, this store looks ancient. The shuttered and boarded windows and doors don't paint the picture of a thriving business. It may not have much in terms of inventory, maybe even less than one of the brightly-light big box stores you've avoided.
But to be quite frank, you're incredibly tired of searching. It's been more than an hour and you really just want to get back to Cirucci. If there really isn't anything in the store, at least you can see if there's any guides or maps that will point you towards others such like it. Better than continuing to search aimlessly.
And with that, you slide through the front of the store, brushing through shutters, cracked windows, dusty shelves and a worn counter before you reach an open space. And then a black bag is pulled over your head.
You blink and reach for the bag, trying to pull it off your eyes but only end up almost poking them out instead. You haven't been blinded; the store is just incredibly dark. The light that manages to get through the windows and debris is too tired to illuminate anything but a few feet into the store. The rest, including where you are, is blacker then the deepest pits of Hueco Mundo. Even your sense of Pressure isn't useful here, given how starved the living world is of spirit particles.
If you were anyone else, your foray would have ended there and you would have settled for taking a clock from a more well-lit store, but there's a trick with your Pressure you've recently that would help in places like this. The latent energy within you swirls and you direct it at your hands, a tiny, delicate trickle that would not compare to a Bala or a Cero. It swirls inside your hand for a moment before breaking out in the form of a small grayish flame, the light from it pouring out to give the room a watery, washed out look.
You lift your hand higher, looking around the store. It is small, barely larger than your old nest back in Las Noches and filled with tall white shapes looming around you. For a heart-stopping moment you think you're back in Las Noches, before the shapes resolve into simple moth-eaten covers. Likely to protect the clocks. Seems like the store wasn't closed down, just shuttered while the owners were away. You reach up to pull one of the sheets away-
"Can I help you, Dearie?"
You stop your flinch, berating yourself for your laxness. You hadn't detected anyone on your way in, all your senses told you that the store was empty and there shouldn't be anyway, let alone an old woman peering at you from a corner of the shop, the pale light from your flame making her appear flat and withered.
"Oho, I didn't scare you did I? Forgive me, I so rarely get visitors." She leers at you, her voice rough as old oak. You note that she is wearing a gray dress, intricately embroidered and old-fashioned, more for style than comfort.
You breathe, letting your blood calm. Even if she hadn't said it, it is clear the old woman is a ghost, a Plus. A long, black chain spotted with rust spools from the middle of her chest, wrapping around her legs before disappearing into the gloom.
You quickly sketch a bow and shake your head politely at her. Even in the dead of night with a ghost, your uphold your manners. And as much as you hate to say it, she did get the jump on you. Her Pressure, now that you can see her, is almost invisible, blending into the background noise of the store almost perfectly. It may have been possible to detect her if she was a Hollow or a Reaper, but only a lowly Plus?
"And may I ask why you would disturb this old ladies rest?" Her claw like hands smooth the front of her dress jerkily. Her skin is wrinkled, as gray as the dress she is wearing. "I do hope you're not here to steal from me like so many others."
Your finger scratches your cheek apologetically in front of the harsh tone. In your defense, you assumed that the store was abandoned. And it wasn't like you were going to steal everything, you just needed one of her wares. In fact, you only came here because you're a connoisseur, otherwise you would have gone to one of those mass-produced stores elsewhere!
She snorts, stepping closer. "Well, at least you're an honest one, even if you're trying to butter me up. I've lost count the number of vandals and thieves I've had to deal with."
Ah, the lack of graffiti. If a Plus was haunting the store and scaring off vandals, no wonder it's been left largely untouched.
Your musing is cut short when the Plus steps fully into the circle of your light, throwing her face into sharp relief. It's a ruin. Teeth like broken windows, a nose that's been broken multiple times, white hair that hangs in patchy rivulets, but the worst of all are her eyes. They are two deep black pits, scarred and marred, not even your light able to penetrate their depths. Her eyes had been gouged out.
"That is, if you can actually pay." She is taller, barely, but it seems for a moment that the Plus is towering over you. "If you can't, you're just another petty thief and I've had practice dealing with them."
You smile stiffly. You have little to offer a ghost. Little except passageway that is-passageway to Heaven.
The clanking of chains is heard, and then stops. "Heaven? Really? That's how you intend to pay for one of my wares? I've heard better sales pitches from my husband when he wanted to try something new in the bedroom."
You very firmly do not blush at that. You're a Fraccion. Still, such cynicism isn't unwarranted. Many Pluses respond the same way, and you can understand why. And you yourself don't know if were you send souls to would be considered a "heaven", but it's certainly better than wasting away here, where the only fate is to end up as some monster's food. There would be a chance for something new, to live a new life without being chained to your old one, maybe even see her loved ones again. All that would be required would be for her to sell you a clock.
Something seems to change in the old woman's expression at that, but she still peers at you in suspicion, the empty holes where her eyes would be almost hypnotic in their flat blackness. Eventually, she relents and takes a step back.
"You do believe what you're saying." She says, in suspicion. "Even if it's one of the most ridiculous things I've heard. And you've done this before? What are you, then? You're not human, you're not like the other ghosts or like...those things. Are you an angel?"
You shrug. You find it's best to let Pluses draw their own conclusions about you and your role. Trying to explain about Arrancars and Las Noches and how you're technically at war with the place you're sending them to tends to hinder more than help.
A long silence passes, as the old Plus ponders with a down-turned head. You spend the time idly looking around, waiting. A brief usage of Pesquina confirms that the two of you are the only spiritually active beings in the vicinity, and hers is weak enough to blend in with the store. It's actually really interesting now that you take a closer look; the entire store has practically the same signature as her, and itself blends with the surrounding Spiritual Pressure in the atmosphere. If one didn't have the aptitude to detect how stable the Pressure was in here, they would think it was completely empty. Your average Hollow wouldn't even give it a second glance.
Perhaps that's how Pluses survive against Hollows? Hiding themselves away, quiet and still in a world of monsters. They would be able to survive, but it would backfire because Reapers wouldn't be able to find them either, meaning they would just waste away until their chain rusts completely. It's an intriguing example of spiritual ecology you hadn't thought about before, but it does make sense, as Pluses needed someway to survive Hollows-
Come on, Elcorbuzier. Focus.
"Very well then." The old Plus finally says, raising her head and fixing you with those chilling eyes. "I'll accept; I'll give you one of my wares in exchange for you opening the way to...Heaven."
You bow in thanks. While there would have been little she could do if you were to take one of her goods by force, you'd rather not do anything like that. It would have been annoying to continue searching for another store like this, however, and so you're grateful she accepted the trade.
"But please, call me Ishikawa. Yamaoto Ishikawa, but I don't believe we're on a first name basis yet." The woman states, waving a hand. "Well then, if you would be so kind as to follow me."
She gestures at you, already turning away to head deeper into the store. You glance over confusedly at the covered clocks around you. She's not going to show you any of these here?
"Hm? Oh no, those are just to scare off vandals." She say, flicking her sleeve at them. There's a clank of chains and suddenly all the hanging cloths collapse. Your eyes widen momentarily as you see the chains that had been holding up the covers slither out from under them, retreating back into the darkness.
You've heard of hauntings, but you've never seen one yourself. Ishikawa must be chained tightly to the store to be able to do such delicate work.
"Oh, if you had said that to me when I had lived, I would have cut you down." She chuckled as she led you to the back of the store. The pale light from your hand reveals little more than a few doors and dust. Most of them head outside to the back, but one opens at Ishikawa's approach to reveal a set of stairs. "I loved this store more than my own life. To say that I was chained to it would have made me wroth indeed."
She goes silent for a moment, than asks, casually. "Everyone goes to heaven then? After they die?"
You nod, deciding not to comment further. She must be thinking of that husband she mentioned before. It is not your place to remark or judge upon her life, just guide the way to the next. And to retrieve a clock for your Lady's great room. Can't forget that.
The two of you head down, but you notice your flame shedding less and less light as you go down. The latent Reiatsu of the store (and Ishikawa herself) is making it harder and harder to control the delicate balance needed to keep it alight. The darkness grows heavier and closer, while your steps begin to drag as you try to concentrate to keep it going.
"Hm?" Ishikawa asks, noticing your discomfort. "Oh you silly dear, are you afraid of the dark? Come, give me your hand."
Her hand snakes out before you can think of refusing and grabs your raised hand that's holding the flame. A chain reaches over and wraps around both of your hands, it's metal links cool against your skin. The energy in your hand is tugged downwards and, after a brief moment of hesitation, you acquiesce and let your energy flow down the chain.
The ghostly light trickled down from your hand into the chain, a turbulent stream of your power rushing into Ishikawa's still pond. The minuscule amount of your energy spreads, stabilized and corralled by the chains until they glow with the light of your energy. You're rather astonished by that. It's far more versatility you would expect a single Plus to have.
Ishikawa's smile is bitter as she releases your hand, the light still trapped within her chains. "I've had a long time to learn some tricks."
The two of you reach the bottom of the stairs and enter into a large room that's as dark as the store above. That is, until your guide waves a hand and the light from the chain spreads out to the rest of the room.
Row upon row of grandfather clocks meets you. There must be almost a hundred clocks here, all of different makes and models, each more beautiful than the last. One glance shows you hour hands in the shape of intricate keys, another glance and you see exotic, curling arrows. There's polished brass dials that go from eight inches to ten and all the way to fourteen. The movement pillars are wrought in every manner of style. And the Dial Spanderals; you could spend hours just examining the fine artistry that went into them.
You take a step forward, entranced at what you're seeing, only to hear the clink of chains beneath your feet. A glance reveals a troubling sight; the floor beneath you is covered almost to invisibility with chains. They completely carpet the floor, making your usually silent footsteps blatant in this quiet room. You didn't know a single ghost could have such a long and tightly bound chain of fate. Some even raise, like snakes, to hug clocks in strangling loops.
You've never seen this many soul chains, let alone all from one Plus. You turn to Ishikawa, a question in your eyes, but she's gone.
You whirl around, trying to catch a glimpse of her gray figure, but there's nothing to see besides clocks and black chains. The room is not that large, but it is crowded with lots of places to hide and you can't rely on your Pressure sense to locate her.
The ticking of a clock reaches your ears, cutting through the silence. You perk up, following the noise, navigating between the still cases, brushing aside chains and cobwebs with equal impatience. The glow from the chains is still as unearthly pale as ever, radiating luminescence that reveals the dusty and cracked faces of the clocks. The chains beneath you shift and clink all the while, almost tripping you at times.
You pass many different types of clocks: lantern clocks, hook and spike clocks, hanging wall mounts, fully enclosed clocks. There's a dizzying variety, but even the cursory glance you give them tells you that none of them fit. There's always something off about them, some quirk of height or detail that makes them unfit to grace Lady Cirucci's quarters. Your sense of duty prevents you from picking any of them.
Just as you're thinking that maybe coming into an abandoned, haunted store to look for a new clock may not be the smartest of ideas, a space opens up between the claustrophobic rows and you see your guide and purveyor. Ishikawa is standing in a clearing of chains, gazing at a snow white case, her brows furrowed.
You take a heavy step atop the last chain before the clearing, not wanting to sneak up on her. Ishikawa turns even before the chain begins to rattle, almost as if she knew the moment yous stepped on her chain. Probable, given what you've seen of her abilities.
"This may serve you well." A slight smile mars her face. "It's one of the last I detailed, before...well, before."
You approach cautiously, curious. The longcase she is looking at is not as freshly white as you thought, only a pasty gray that is lightened by the shine of the chains around it. The craftsmanship, from what you can tell with your amateur eyes, is neat and tidy, but not inelegant.
She smirks. "Well, aside from the fact that it's one of the newest clocks still here? It's because you're getting this for a lover, are you not?"
Once again, you adamantly do not blush. A simple shrug is all that Ishikawa gets. You're not going to dignify that with anything more.
The Plus cackles evilly. "Oh yes, I know exactly that look. I've seen it many a time back when I wore a younger woman's clothes. A present, something to celebrate an occasion, no? A birthday? An engagement? A housewarming gift-ah. There it is."
You glare up sternly at Ishikawa. Leaving aside how she managed to figure all that out, she seems very relaxed considering she's teasing an angel. If you didn't know any better, you would think she's had dealings with other spiritual guides before. She's acting like teasing angels is a hobby for her.
She waves a hand, managing to convey both amusement and exasperation. "Oh no, it's just that you're an open book to these eyes. Really dear, you need some experience before you can hide your tells from me. I've spent much of my life dealing with love and those in it."
You stifle a sigh and shake your head. Whatever. At least, can she answer why she wishes to offer this clock?
Ishikawa's mirth dies down and is replaced by a weary grimace. She turns to the clock, brushing her hand across it, almost reverently.
"I detailed this to commemorate my husband's death. It may not look like it, but it's my most prized work. Some say that most of my works were products of passion, but only this one was. This one I made in a frenzy of artistic fervor; the others were made with more care. But, and forgive an old lady's assumptions, but I feel like you would like this one more than the rest for that fact alone."
You aren't listening. You're standing in front of the case, your eyes tracing the designs that make up the clock face. They swoop and swirl, intricate filigree of silver and pearl that are almost alive with a curious frenzy. The minute and hour hands expand upon that theme and are like spun sugar in their delicacy, fluttering with every movement.
They're wings.
~~~
"I'm surprised. I thought I would have to be more forceful." Ishikawa says, an elbow cupped as she taps her cheek with a finger. "One of my more easier transactions, I must say."
A shrug is all she gets. More than one person can be mysterious.
"Oh please, I'd rather not bore you with an old lady's stories." She laughs. "Besides, a ghost shouldn't be focused on the past, but on what comes after. Now come, I am growing impatient. To my forehead, yes?"
The two of you are outside, well, you are. Ishikawa is standing on the threshold of her store, as she refused to take a single step outside. The lone streetlamp is still vainly struggling to give off light and your Lady's new clock is sitting patiently on the sidewalk. Bringing it up had been an arduous process. Not because it was heavy, but because Ishikawa continually criticized how you held it. The moon is still dark, but at least you can see a few stars peeking out from behind the clouds now.
Your hilt makes an almost metallic clink as it taps her forehead, marking her with an illegible scrawl that sinks into her skin. You're thankful that you learned of this method of guidance, of sending souls to Soul Society. Stabbing Pluses with your sword got tiring after awhile. Not to mention the screams always made you think that this time you had screwed up, that you weren't sending them to a better place, just stabbing them in the chest with a sword.
There is a brief pause, before a bright blue glow appears on her chest, from the point where her chain connects. It spreads, the blue radiance cleansing it's way through the many links in the chain. It snakes it's way down, faster and faster, a coil of spiritual light far brighter than the one that had lit up the store before. It's reminiscent of those strings of lights you see when the snow is heavy upon the town, but mono-colored.
How would a normal human view this, you wonder, as you watch the store slowly light up. Would it appear as a source less, ghostly glow, inciting more stories about the haunted place? Or would they see nothing at all?
"Pretty..." Ishikawa mutters, looking down at her chains. Her store is brightly lit now, the light even spreading to the walls and roof of the place. She look up at you, an anticipatory grin stretching her face. "I will so dearly love seeing my husband and his children again."
You bow, your chest warm. You've done this so many times before that you know she will disappear soon, transforming and ascending as a bright star.
Ishikawa's black pits meet you when you raise up again. She's watching you. Strange. Usually the light would have absorbed the Plus by now, swallowed them and their chains and taken them away. Why is it taking so much longer here? Perhaps because of the sheer volume of-
A shrug is all she gets. More than one person can be mysterious.
"Oh please, I'd rather not bore you with an old lady's stories." She laughs. "Besides, a ghost shouldn't be focused on the past, but on what comes after. Now come, I am growing impatient. To my forehead, yes?"
The two of you are outside, well, you are. Ishikawa is standing on the threshold of her store, as she refused to take a single step outside. The lone streetlamp is still vainly struggling to give off light and your Lady's new clock is sitting patiently on the sidewalk. Bringing it up had been an arduous process. Not because it was heavy, but because Ishikawa continually criticized how you held it. The moon is still dark, but at least you can see a few stars peeking out from behind the clouds now.
Your hilt makes an almost metallic clink as it taps her forehead, marking her with an illegible scrawl that sinks into her skin. You're thankful that you learned of this method of guidance, of sending souls to Soul Society. Stabbing Pluses with your sword got tiring after awhile. Not to mention the screams always made you think that this time you had screwed up, that you weren't sending them to a better place, just stabbing them in the chest with a sword.
There is a brief pause, before a bright blue glow appears on her chest, from the point where her chain connects. It spreads, the blue radiance cleansing it's way through the many links in the chain. It snakes it's way down, faster and faster, a coil of spiritual light far brighter than the one that had lit up the store before. It's reminiscent of those strings of lights you see when the snow is heavy upon the town, but mono-colored.
How would a normal human view this, you wonder, as you watch the store slowly light up. Would it appear as a source less, ghostly glow, inciting more stories about the haunted place? Or would they see nothing at all?
"Pretty..." Ishikawa mutters, looking down at her chains. Her store is brightly lit now, the light even spreading to the walls and roof of the place. She look up at you, an anticipatory grin stretching her face. "I will so dearly love seeing my husband and his children again."
You bow, your chest warm. You've done this so many times before that you know she will disappear soon, transforming and ascending as a bright star.
Ishikawa's black pits meet you when you raise up again. She's watching you. Strange. Usually the light would have absorbed the Plus by now, swallowed them and their chains and taken them away. Why is it taking so much longer here? Perhaps because of the sheer volume of-
DING DONG DING DONG
The clock strikes suddenly behind you, a deep thrumming noise that vibrates your bones and sends your teeth chattering. A glance shows that it's striking one hour after twelve. You didn't even know that it was wound; had Ishikawa done it with her chains?
You turn back towards her and the massive door that's looming over the shop.
The breath catches in your throat and you take an involuntary step back. There had been no warning, no rising Pressure to forewarn of such a thing happening; one moment you, Ishikawa and her glowing shop were the only spiritual beings in the area. The next, a red door materialized, adorned with two massive skeletons grinning down, one on each side.
"What in the-" Ishikawa beings, noticing that's something wrong with the way you were reacting, but any further words die in her throat when she turns around and sees the impossible door. The surface is rough and pitted, like the surface of a bone peeled and stretched over a frame and decorative flames are scrawled over it. Huge golden chains link the skeletons to the door and hold it together, binding a black column embossed with gold cygnets.
You wish it would go away. You don't know where such a feeling came from, but you dread the door the moment you saw it. Something in it's hateful red tint or the hungry look in the skeletons' expressions strikes deep within you. It's almost familiar, a memory that's clawing it's way to the forefront that you so desperately do not wish to recall.
And the moment arrives, the one you feared. The door begins to open, pulled apart by the skeletons in a mockery of life. A howling wind pours from it, a cloying stench and the distant sound of screams echoing from within. Within the door, betwixt the two great slabs, is a red darkness so profound, so deep and empty that you almost forget yourself within it's depths. Your body starts to shake, another feeling rising, one that you do not wish to acknowledge any more than the fear you felt when you saw it, anymore than you wish to acknowledge the darkness that dwells deep inside you.
"I-I don't-What is this?" Ishikawa tries to speak over the rising winds. "Is this the way to Heaven?"
You aren't listening. Every fiber of your being is focused on the slow creak of the opening doors. You spare no thought of what might be behind the doors, of what might be coming and what will happen. You lick your lips unconsciously, Pollia almost vibrating in her sheathe. Its..Something from within calls you. Not you, the Nemo of style and grace and loyalty. But another you, deep down, one that still hunts beneath starless skies. The clock continues it's count, the sound almost quiet against everything else. Your mind blurs, a surprisingly familiar feeling, as you struggle internally, old instincts fighting vainly against your new training.
You don't notice when a massive arm, gray and alien, impales Ishikawa on the edge of an equally massive knife. You don't notice the look of growing horror and rage on her face, contorting her expression into something almost Hollow-like. You don't notice when it drags her back into the delicious darkness laughing, a booming noise that resonates with the clock, as Ishikawa's screams grow fainter and fainter until they're indistinguishable from the others.
You only jerk back to reality when the doors slam close with all the finality of the grave, fading quickly. The mesmerizing Pressure is gone now, no longer distracting you with tantalizing smells and tastes. You can finally think again, but…
You shake your head, trying to piece together what had just happened. You remember...a door. A horrible, awful door. And you remember Ishikawa being dragged through it...and something else. There had been...foreign feelings. A rising anticipation, dread and fear mixed in a heady froth, and then raging...desire?
BONG
The clock behind you tolls out it's last, falling silent once more. The street around you returns to normalcy, the lamp at the far end finally sputtering out. A cat yowls somewhere, nosily proclaiming that it's alive.
You gaze upon the grandfather clock, white as fresh snow and as unmarred, and it gazes back down onto you.
~~~
"Hm..." Lady Cirucci murmurs thoughtfully, running an eye up and down the white longcase. "Ostentatious, but not overly so, and the white ties the room together. And of course, the sound is delightful."
You stand at attention, waiting patiently for her verdict. The stance you are at is one she had drilled into you from the beginning, something to show proper respect and readiness. And yet, you can't help the way your eyes keep drifting over to the clock, stop your ears from listening to it's infernal ticking.
"Yes. Yes, this will do quite nicely." Your Lady says happily, turning towards you. "Now then, onto the next item-"
The clock chimes mournfully and you hide a flinch; not well enough judging by Lady Cirucci's look of concern.
"Nemo? Is everything alright?"
You simply smile and shrug it off, trying to ignore the faint screams that you hear whenever the clock sound. You're starting to wish you hadn't brought the clock back, but it is a really nice clock. Not to mention the idea of a Fraccion being nervous around a timepiece is rather preposterous; leaving it back in the world of the living feels like an affront to Lady Cirucci's dignity.
Later, you tell yourself sternly. Later, you will ask Ren and maybe your Lady what they know of the Door you saw. Of giant gray creatures and places spirits go to other than Soul Society or Hueco Mundo. And perhaps they will know what happened to Ishikawa, what you did to her and if it will happen again.
Later. For now, you simply bow towards your Lady and await your next order.
You stand at attention, waiting patiently for her verdict. The stance you are at is one she had drilled into you from the beginning, something to show proper respect and readiness. And yet, you can't help the way your eyes keep drifting over to the clock, stop your ears from listening to it's infernal ticking.
"Yes. Yes, this will do quite nicely." Your Lady says happily, turning towards you. "Now then, onto the next item-"
The clock chimes mournfully and you hide a flinch; not well enough judging by Lady Cirucci's look of concern.
"Nemo? Is everything alright?"
You simply smile and shrug it off, trying to ignore the faint screams that you hear whenever the clock sound. You're starting to wish you hadn't brought the clock back, but it is a really nice clock. Not to mention the idea of a Fraccion being nervous around a timepiece is rather preposterous; leaving it back in the world of the living feels like an affront to Lady Cirucci's dignity.
Later, you tell yourself sternly. Later, you will ask Ren and maybe your Lady what they know of the Door you saw. Of giant gray creatures and places spirits go to other than Soul Society or Hueco Mundo. And perhaps they will know what happened to Ishikawa, what you did to her and if it will happen again.
Later. For now, you simply bow towards your Lady and await your next order.
AN: 5.6K warning. Thanks to Andres for the beta.
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chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
Ah, wow. That was.
It focused a little too much on what Nemo was feeling, I felt; Like a crescendo in a movie, but the sounds blur out to focus on an internal monologue right when it got to the most dramatic part.
It focused a little too much on what Nemo was feeling, I felt; Like a crescendo in a movie, but the sounds blur out to focus on an internal monologue right when it got to the most dramatic part.
You know, the whole lack of fighting skill thing could be easily explained. We've seen with Kenpachi, and with Ichigo: Raw spiritual power just plain matters much more than technique.
So Orihime hit two mook Shinigami with a mere Yellow Belt level of skill, with the relative impact power of a truck. As which point you realize she only really needs enough skill to connect at all.
So Orihime hit two mook Shinigami with a mere Yellow Belt level of skill, with the relative impact power of a truck. As which point you realize she only really needs enough skill to connect at all.