Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite. Death of the Discworld, Fate and the Lady of Discworld, Time, History Monks, belong to Terry Pratchett.
Spoiler Warning: On Bleach, if you're not at least past chapter 223, or episode 126, then yes, there might be spoilers. Regarding Discworld, any spoilers are likely to be unnoticeable.
Notes: Continuation to 'Lending Time.' Reading that isn't compulsory, but it helps. I never intended there to be a continuation, but the urge to again toy with this idea was too strong. For those who have never read a Discworld book, I'm not abusing capitals for any reason but for the fact that Death speaks in capitals. I've taken liberties regarding the King of Soul Society, as there isn't any info right now on the person in canon. Feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated.
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Death volunteered for this responsibility for one reason, and he suspected Azrael knew as such and permitted him to go because, while there were things in which Azrael could never indulge, the Death of the Discworld could indulge for Him. Death was part of Azrael, as were all Deaths, but he did not pretend to understand Him.
He pulled out the reason from his robe. It was a small hourglass, with carefully painted lines of green and white where brass should have been. It was sporting a little green and white striped fisherman's hat. The hat had materialized atop the hourglass a week ago, a faint 'pop' the only evidence that it had not been there before.
He walked past the unknowing guard, past the small, white-clad girl, and headed straight for the slit of open air in the wall that passed for a window. Walking around unnoticed was part of the job. What people did not believe could be possible, what they did not expect, often did not happen at all. The guard strongly believed it impossible that another version of Death could exist, because that would create a paradox that would inevitably cause the world to reverse into a white hole of anti-existence.
People were fond of going overboard with apocalyptic predictions.
Rukia, however, could see Death with complete clarity, because, in a way, she had been expecting death since she returned to Soul Society. Not exactly Death, but an anthropomorphic personification was close.
Death sighed at the familiar sight beyond. OH. DRAMA. AGAIN. DO YOUR PEOPLE EVER GET TIRED OF THIS? WHAT IS WRONG WITH A GOOD QUICK SLASH?
The instinctual part of Rukia wanted very much to ask who he (at least, she was sure the voice reverberating in her head was the tone of a male being, or maybe a coffin lid carved from a male tree, if trees had genders) was, but she had a strong feeling powered by a tone that all but literally spelled 'DOOM' in large capitals that she knew exactly whom it was, anyway, even though she knew it was impossible and it forced logic to go home and quit its day job.
Well, not impossible now and the world did not appear to be draining away into an invisible sinkhole of oblivion, so that was a good sign that things still made as much sense as they did a few minutes ago, which probably still did not bode well.
Her brain felt as though it just lost a few important screws, so she asked, because she felt the silence needed filling, "Why are you here?"
The robed figure turned from the view of Soukyoku to stare at her with two bright, duck egg blue pinpoints. There was no malevolence in its eye sockets. Actually, they appeared to regard her with polite consideration. TO COLLECT AND SORT YOU IF YOU DIE. YOUR REGULAR GUIDE HAS TAKEN A DAY OFF.
Rukia frowned to keep from looking perturbed. "There wouldn't be anything to collect. That's the point of Soukyoku. It doesn't leave anything left."
THAT SEEMS TO BE WHAT EVERYONE HERE BELIEVES. DISREGARD EVERYTHING THEY TOLD YOU ABOUT SOULS COMPLETELY BURNING AWAY. IT DOES NOT HAPPEN LIKE THAT. TAKE A FLESH BODY, FOR EXAMPLE. THEY CAN BURN TO NOTHING, BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN THE SOUL IS GONE. YOU COULD SAY THAT YOUR SOUL HAS ANOTHER MORE CENTRAL SOUL THAT GETS PASSED ON.
She did not think Central Forty-Six would be pleased to know this bit of information. "Okay, but, what do you mean, 'if?'"
THE COLLECTORS AND GUIDES OF YOUR WORLD ARE NOT SURE WHETHER OR NOT YOU WILL DIE. THEY HAVE GIVEN UP TRYING TO FIGURE IT ALL OUT AND HAVE STARTED PLACING BETS. THERE IS A GROUP OF HUMANS WHO ARE TRYING TO TIP THE BALANCES OF YOUR FUTURE SCALE. From what Death had been told, Soul Society's guide had been so flustered with all the confusion that he was ordered to take a vacation lest he have a nervous breakdown. He was a twitchy type. The orange-haired human seemed to be causing the most trouble. He was doing more than tipping scales; he was hacking them into metal heaps with his oversized kitchen knife. The other humans seemed quite adept at blowing things up. And there were other people in inactive play to consider…
Death was waiting for a particular inactive player to return to the game. He could feel the pull of the borrowed time. The glass itself had returned to him some months ago, and now rested in the recesses of his robe, but it was mysteriously devoid of the telltale sand. The sand was part of the essence of his being; simply put, the grains were made of the grounded anti-fibers of his robe of shadows, the miniscule fragments of his ivory bones.
All of which were things he had been persuaded to bet.
"You're not afraid you'll lose to me, are you?"
I DID NOT KNOW YOU WOULD BE SO DESPERATE AS TO REDUCE TO PROVOCATION.
The man raised his hands in a placating gesture. "It was only a question. One you're avoiding, by the way."
I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE SMARTER THAN THIS. LITTLE GOOD EVER COMES FROM BARGAINING WITH ME.
"But there is some, and that's really all I need. Besides, you forget, I'm a Death, too."
A HUMAN ONE. YOU CANNOT EVEN DO HALF THE THINGS I DO WITH A SNAP OF MY FINGERS. It was a fact. Death had no reason to brag, especially when he knew other people stood no chance. At the end of the day even chances died.
"I can build things that can. Improvisation." This was also a fact. This man possessed an ego the size of a lake and would gloat about it being bigger than all the combined bodies of water on Earth, Death could tell these things, but not even a spoonful of that ego was present. Those were the words of a man whom knew exactly what he was doing, how he was going about it, and the consequences.
YOU KNOW I CANNOT GIVE LIFE. I CAN ONLY GRANT AN EXTENSION AND IT WILL ONLY LAST SO LONG.
"An extension is all I'm asking for. If I win."
AS YOU WISH. Death, surprising even himself, hesitated a moment. ARE YOU CERTAIN? IF YOU LOSE, YOU WILL BE BOUND TO ME FOR ETERNITY AND AFTER. YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO LEAVE MY LAND. YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO DIE. He thought perhaps a bit of melodrama would make the man give his decision a second thought.
"An eternity is a long time," the man agreed, "I suppose if you don't want an eternity of my riveting company, you will just have to hope I win." He smiled.
It was the smile Death had found disconcerting. It was a reflexive smile, one that spoke of centuries of intriguing secrets and memories, a smile that said, 'I know things' and left it at that, infuriatingly lacking in detail.
The time had not returned to him. The man was bound to know something about this phenomena. Death could feel it suspended in a container of sorts, frozen and waiting. There was not much of it left. The man had certainly not been joking when he said he could improvise on Death's powers. As far as Death knew, besides himself, only the History monks and Time himself could freeze, well, time.
But even he could only continue with it for so long…
He was not the only one waiting for that one particularly troublesome player. The Fates had their eyes on that person and another since the day they challenged the Ladies to an inter-universe game that resembled chess, but every move depended on the roll of the die and the abilities of their main pieces.
The Fates and Ladies did not create their pieces; they simply went through a complicated choosing process and prepared them. They set before them tasks and obstacles to succeed and overcome with the roll of two die. Whether they triumphed or not was entirely up to them. The pieces were exactly who they made themselves. The game was set in a universe where death truly was only the beginning. Thus, the game had lasted several centuries, but the climax was drawing near, and soon after that, the resolution. There would not be another hundred years.
Technically, there should only have been one Fate and one Lady anthropomorphically personified, but every universe had their own Fates and Ladies, and while on the Discworld it took a massive amount of belief for those gods to exist, the rules of the Discworld universe were only guidelines in the others.
Rukia stared resignedly at the opposite wall, eyes tracing a jagged crack in the almost perfect marble. "Where will I be taken?"
PESSIMISTIC TYPE, Death thought. DOESN'T EVEN THINK OF THE POSSIBLITY THAT THE ORANGE-HAIRED BOY WILL SUCCEED IN HIS HACKING TO SAVE HER. Death returned to the view of Soukyoku, which was slowly becoming the view of the dawn light glinting off the edge of the gigantic halberd. It was, admittedly, an impressive sight, but the size of the execution weapon always ruined it. YOU WILL BE SORTED. I AM NOT ENTIRELY FAMILIAR WITH THE PROCESS, BUT THE END PRODUCT IS THAT YOU'LL BE REINCARNATED TO ANOTHER WORLD, OR POSSIBLY EVEN THIS ONE.At Rukia's blank look, Death elaborated. For some reason, most people always got lost on the 'many worlds' bit.
THIS UNIVERSE WAS CREATED BY A LITTLE OLD MAN WITH A LEATHER SACK. THIS UNIVERSE IS RESIDING IN THE AFOREMENTIONED SACK. THERE ARE OTHER LITTLE OLD MEN WITH LEATHER SACKS HOPPING ABOUT THE PLACE, ADDING NEW THINGS, SCRATCHING OTHER THINGS OUT. YOU CAN THINK OF THE UNIVERSE AS ONE BIG PICTURE ON AN EVEN BIGGER CANVAS. THE SACK CONTAINS THE ART SUPPLIES.
She took a moment to allow the chiseling echoes of the engraving of a tombstone to settle in her head. "Is the 'little old man' part compulsory?"
NOT AT ALL. THEY SEEM TO PREFER THAT PARTICULAR SHAPE. THE UNCONSCIOUS UNIVERSAL RULE ONE AMONG HUMANS WAS A GREAT INFLUENCE.
Rukia leaned forward, intrigued and eager to know this 'universal rule one.' It sounded useful. "What is it?"
DO NOT ACT INCAUTIOUSLY WHEN CONFRONTING A LITTLE BALD WRINKLY SMILING MAN.
She blinked. "Um?" It sounded useful enough, if she ever thought one of those were capable of attacking her. What would they do, chew their gums at her?
YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND IF YOU HAVE EVER MET A LITTLE BALD WRINKLY SMILING MAN.
Rukia thought about all the men she knew that fit in that category. Captain Yamamoto Genryuusai-Shigekuni was old, but he was not little and nor did he smile. Captain Ichimaru never stopped smiling.
Death appeared to have sensed her distress. WELL, TAKE AWAY THE 'LITTLE BALD WRINKLY' PART AND YOU WILL HAVE THE GENERAL IDEA. PEOPLE WHO SMILE TOO MUCH ARE USUALLY NOT VERY GOOD FOR YOU. LITTLE BALD WRINKLY SMILING MEN ARE EVEN MORE DANGEROUS BECAUSE NO ONE EXPECTS MUCH FROM THEM.
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Rukia lay back against the wall. "Which world do you come from?"
THE DISCWORLD.
"What's it like?"
…FLAT. IT'S A WORLD THAT RESTS ON THE BACK OF FOUR ELEPHANTS, WHICH IN TURN ARE STANDING ON THE BACK OF A GIANT TURTLE, AND THEY ALL FLOAT THROUGH SPACE, THOUGH, NOT AIMLESSLY. THE TURTLE ACTUALLY KNOWS WHERE ITS GOING, BUT IT HAS NOT BOTHERED TO SHARE THAT INFORMATION. Not that it could, Death reflected, but that was irrelevant.
"…And you think Soukyoku is weird…"
If Death had lungs and nostrils, he would have sniffed at the remark. IT IS TOO BIG.
"It's not even released yet."
Death's eye sockets bored into her. WHAT? IT HAS TO BE LET LOOSE? WHAT DO YOU DO, UNBIND IT AND ALLOW IT TO FALL ON YOU?
"No! It has another form!"
OH. NO, WAIT, DON'T TELL ME. IT GETS BIGGER.
Rukia shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yes. It gets fiery, too. But, I've never seen its true form…it hasn't been used in centuries…"
Death felt curiosity poking its way into his cranium, which was not often a good thing. ARE YOU AFRAID?
"I…it's that--well…I don't know. Should I be?" In that moment, she looked smaller than she actually was, suddenly lost in a place she had dwelled nearly all of her afterlife, and could not understand why she was condemned for doing what she had been taught to believe was her duty by her captain: saving lives.
Death looked away from the bright, pleading eyes. I DO NOT KNOW. It niggled at him, the fact that his mind had failed to grasp a memory he knew was swimming at the forefront of his skull.
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"Have you been here before?"
Death replaced an hourglass with long, furry appendages that looked suspiciously like bunny ears back into his robe and surveyed Rukia with his pinpoints of light.
She shrugged. "You seem to know the procedure for whatever goes on here."
I HAVE BEEN HERE ONCE BEFORE, OVER A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. THE CIRCUMSTANCES WERE SIMILAR. SOMEONE WAS ALSO WAITING TO DIE. WELL, MAYBE NOT DIE. HE WAS WAITING FOR SOMETHING, AT ANY RATE.
Rukia folded her knees and wrapped her arms around them. "Where did his soul end up?"
HE DID NOT DIE.
Her eyes widened. "That's impossible. Soukyoku can't be stopped--"
I NEVER SAID HE WAS TAKEN TO IT. HE ESCAPED AND BORROWED TIME FROM ME. I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING, AND NO, YOU SHOULDN'T. YOU WILL NOT WIN. I CANNOT EXPLAIN WHY HE DID. He should have remembered the outcome before it happened, but the memory had been even bigger than his vast mind could grasp. It was like trying to grab a whale with your bare hands. So he took his chances. Looking back on it, they had not been strong chances.
She leaned back against the whitewashed wall. "How?"
Death, while not having any skin and muscles to do so, conveyed his desire to scowl quite well. HE BEAT ME AT CHESS. WRETCHED GAME. I HAVE NEVER BEEN AN EXCEPTIONAL PLAYER. She could tell it irritated him a great deal to admit it.
She frowned, not at all certain why she was about to ask this. "Do I know him?"
Death thought about it. Azrael had mentioned something…crumbling treasure. YES, he said, eventually, THOUGH YOU'LL WISH YOU NEVER HAD.
Rukia tried not to dwell on the thought.
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YOU WANTED TO LEARN HOW TO PLAY.
"I don't think I'm moving these horses the right way--"
DON'T WORRY. I CAN'T GET THEM RIGHT EITHER. THEY'RE KNIGHTS, BY THE WAY.
"So, what is this 'castling?'"
IT'S WHERE YOU MOVE THE KING AND ROOK NEXT TO EACH OTHER AND THEY SWITCH PLACES.
"Really? Is there a number of steps?"
UM.
"You don't know."
I AM THINKING.
…
…
…
…LET'S GET BACK TO CASTLING LATER. WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE QUEEN?
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WHO WAS THAT DARK WOMAN?
Rukia thought she saw a faint spark of recognition in those pinpoints, but pushed it away, figuring it must have been a figment associated with her fatigue. "She was famous in her time, a legend now. One day, she just disappeared. She was thought to have died years ago."
Death's mutter lingered in her mind, and the only words she could make out were 'INACTIVES' and 'MOTION.'
"What?"
NOTHING. He seemed to remember something. WHAT ABOUT THE FLOWER PETAL MAN?
Rukia smiled, glumly. "He's my brother."
YOU ARE NOT CLOSE.
"No. But he is my brother. He took me into his home, and I am grateful."
WILL HE NOT HELP YOU?
"Not him. The family name is already at stake. I am not worth the trouble."
Death peered down at the top of Rukia's head. DRAMA AND ANGST TO BOOT. Death stared at the opposite wall and shook his perpetually grinning skull. THOSE HUMANS CAME FOR YOU.
She did not respond.
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WHAT IS 'KAIEN-DONO?'
Rukia flinched and shut her eyes. She berated herself for speaking out loud. "A person. A friend. He died."
YOU BLAME YOURSELF. Death was something of an expert with the angst-ridden. He lost count of the number of people who killed themselves or other people, or even both, and declared numerous reasons for why it was necessary. Death was not one to dwell on the details of the departing, but occasionally he allowed himself a moment to futilely contemplate why. He held no illusions; he could deal with the living, but he could not completely understand them. He tried and found that Life was illusive and had many tricks up her sleeve.
Rukia did not take her eyes off the blade beyond the slit in the wall. "I killed him."
Death thought it best not to ask. The blanket of silence that descended over them crackled with tension, but he did not say anything. A procession was coming to take her to the execution ground.
She knew. "I suppose I'll see you soon enough?"
Death did not respond, not even as the group walked out onto the bridge. He followed close behind the solemn, white figures as he reached into a fold in his robe and pulled out the hourglass with the bunny ears. He shook it experimentally and replaced it. He reached into another fold, pulling out a scale with a complicated tangle of balances. There was a pair of furry, pink bunny ears protruding out of the top knob. He studied them intently, searching for something he had been instructed to keep an eye socket on since he entered this world.
It did not take long to find.
OH. Death watched a particular water droplet on the scale, watched as the world in it glinted and reflected the light. The droplet edged off its own balance plate and dropped onto another, murkier droplet that looked as though it had come from a mud puddle. The drips of water merged and a future had changed. Several of the other droplets were following the example of their fellow drops and he watched futures bend and twist in the liquid. He returned the scale to his robe and took the time to comprehend the weight of what had occurred.
He opted not to follow the gloomy party any further, already knowing what was about to happen. Why spoil it for her. He snapped his fingers. The air shimmered and shifted, particles swirling to fit in the new area. He was in a dimly lit room filled with the sound of rain pattering on thin metal. Scales lined the towering shelves. Droplets were precipitated to empty balance plates, drops on rusty scales evaporated to the looming gloom of the sky above, rusty scales themselves breaking down bit by tarnished bit. This place was one of the many halls of life in this universe. It was the Hall Of Falling Water. Death figured no one had ever accused the christeners of originality.
He returned the bunny-eared scale to the far corner of a shelf. After an internal debate with himself, he seized a ladder and climbed to the very top of a shelf beside a patch of cumulonimbus clouds. He attempted to gently shift a tiny, enthusiastically pouring puff of cloud away with the handle of his scythe, but, having noticed that it was pouring on a particular scale, gave up. He picked up the strange scale wearing a little green and white striped hat on its knob. The balance plates were overloaded with drops. They piled on each other like globs of tapioca. The little cloud poured cheerfully, oblivious to the fact that the balance plates were shifting shape into bowls to better accommodate the droplets.
As he returned the scale to its place, he slowly turned his skull to another tapioca-filled scale on the other corner of the shelf. As with the other one, this one also had a happy little cloud precipitating joyfully on it, the balance bowls steadily filling with pattering droplets. This scale had a pair of square-rimmed spectacles attached to the knob; the lenses were cracked.
He was acutely aware of the other presence in the room.
WHAT BRINGS YOU TO SUCH A PLACE, YOUR MAJESTY?
A distorted voice, neither recognizable as male nor female, answered. "Same as you. They've had the attention of everyone here since they appeared. I remember when they had only two balance plates apiece."
As Death climbed down the ladder, he noted that, besides being the only two with clouds constantly presiding over them, the two unique scales were also the only ones occupying the top surface of a shelf.
The King of Soul Society wore a plain black robe with the cowl over its head and most of its face, so that all anyone could see was darkness where there should at least have been a mouth. It leaned against the doorframe. "Personally, I prefer the Room Of Moderately Nice Weather, but the future has become fairly important as of late."
PEOPLE ARE NATURALLY CURIOUS ABOUT THE MORBID.
The darkness under the cowl emitted a noise like a sniff. "The Room Of Moderately Nice Weather is underrated."
AND WHAT OF THEM?
The King glanced at the two scales high above the rest and beckoned for Death to follow as it turned its back to the sullen hall. "Beanstalks. They've got carrots and lemons on them."
UM. Death did not know what to make of this revelation.
"It is a garden of good memories. There isn't anything to worry about from there."
AND WHAT OF THE NOT SO GOOD?
"The Room Of Weather That Could Be Better is still only a place of memories. Tall, dead trees decorated with rotting vegetation."
MEMORIES ARE NEVER JUST MEMORIES. Death shook his ivory skull. WHY DO THEY INSIST ON SUCH THEATRICS?
The King shrugged. "The souls picked for play by the Fates and the Ladies are bound to stand out somehow. They've had centuries to build things to an epic scale, excuse the pun. If you ask me, I think this is how they keep track of their main players."
Death nodded his agreement. THE GAME IS COMING TO AN END.
The King paused in its stride to look at Death, or at least it gave the impression of looking. "A new game will begin. You know the Fates cannot tolerate loss and the Ladies--."
AND WHO SAYS THERE WILL NOT BE A STALEMATE?
The King surveyed its companion before reaching a decision. It continued its journey with Death respectfully trailing a few steps behind, pushing their way through walls and passing through corridors. They stopped in front of a pair of impressive stone doors. Designs swirled and gleamed octarine, the color of magic. "The Hall Of Ifs, Buts, And Why nots." The King promptly stepped through. Death followed and, as soon as he was through, stared.
The place was overgrown with flora. Daisies popped out of the walls, chrysanthemums hung from above their heads, lilies bloomed out of the corners of the ceiling. Long, thick creepers trailed along the walls and writhed a bit as Death stepped past. A huddle of wilting orchids straightened themselves as the King strode further in to follow its companion.
"Every petal is a 'what-could-have-been.' I see you've found theirs'. I suppose it wasn't difficult."
This was an understatement. Each soul in this particular universe had a group of flowers that symbolized all the events in their lives that could have turned out another way, but there were only two who had small gardens dedicated to their 'what-could-have-beens.'
"You see the possibilities that were, and, technically, they are in an alternate world. You saw the bowls of possible futures back in the Hall Of Falling Water. The possibilities are always there. Stalemating only further proves my point that a new game will be played. If not in this universe, then another."
Death's pinpoints landed on a group of lilies and sunflowers hanging just above his head. There was a tag attached to the stem of the longest sunflower; it had a picture of a crudely drawn pink bunny beside the name.
The King followed his gaze. "She will live to continue to the next game."
THERE ARE MANY ROLES SHE COULD BE. IT ALL DEPENDS HOW THESE TWO END UP.
The King squinted. "I count six possibilities."
I SEE TOO MANY. THESE GODS WILL NEVER BE SATISFIED. THEY ALL PLAY TO WIN.
The King shook its head. "Wrong. You've forgotten. The Fates play to win; the ladies play not to lose."
Death considered that and was reminded of a chess match he had lost long ago to a human death god, thought of a not-so-young girl whom had false ideas of why she was to be killed, and abruptly remembered that he would soon have an inevitable appointment with a man sporting broken glasses.
This was beginning to become more than a simple request for a rematch. OH, BUGGER.