King Came Back
GrimmIchi
Summary: My version of Grimmjow's epic return. GrimmIchi.
Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own Bleach. Nor the 2 Kings.
What was this….pain?
Was that really the only emotion he was granted left?
The last thing he saw…a flash of orange, and a call of his name….
The self-proclaimed King walked through the Kingdom he had grown so familiar with, it was like the back of his sword.
Order had been partially restored, after God's departure. The shark was the queen, the Panther that had not been found, was his own King. He would never follow the orders of another being, let alone a woman.
What was once a pristine, beautiful white sandy desert, filled with that bastard's army…now turned into an absolute wasteland, the perfect definition of "hollow." Perhaps, it was better of this way, to live in a crumbling world…without a God.
'What's going on?" He inquired to himself, noting at the gruesome surroundings around his feet. Arrancars, torn and battered. Men that he was knew, and now they were in a bloody mess, as if bowing at his feet. He snickered. They wouldn't bow to him in their life, but they would in their death.
He found it ironic.
With swelling ego, and the hot trail of dead bodies falling in a line, he overheard the talks of…men? Arrancars still alive? No…they were speaking in his language, not the language of Hueco Mundo. Vandenreich? Shternritter? What the fuck?
And then the word "Quincy" met his ear. Quincy? What is a Quincy?
He growled in annoyance, the name was on the very tip of his tongue. He had heard it recently. It was…an enemy. The word rung once more in his head, until the bell finally tolled.
Kurosaki brought a friend with him that had the same title.
How many days had it been since he bowed down to his new king…
...Kurosaki.
The last he remembered of that day, before the total darkness were to take over, was the shadow of his enemy, the one he called his prey.
He remembered the pain, the anger, and disappointment in himself, as he lay in the bloody sands of his "resting place."
Utter defeat. No king should have to bow down to their prey, repenting in their past crimes and hoping for that better tomorrow. None should have to, when they still feel that overpowering feeling of still being able to crush anyone and everyone. When they are still able to be King.
And yet, he fell to the hands of his own prey, allowing self defeat, offering that last bit of hope.
To him.
Who the fuck did that kid think he was? Acting as a king himself on his own high horse, he trampled on another rising king's ambitions, hopes, dreams, everything in which he thought of even without a heart.
Yet, still.
The boy had a heart. He had something that could prove he had life, though he stood as a figure of death.
A transcendental being.
Sympathizing, relating with a man like he. How foolish.
How could he have let this young boy share these very same feelings with him, and throw them out as if they were nothing. Like his life was easier to be in contact with, easier to handle.
Maybe he wasn't selfish?
Countless hours, days, weeks, months, he built these feelings up so gradually, allowing them to amass until his conscience almost burst, and his ego almost inflated.
And this boy had these very same feelings at the age of 15?
How?
How could he relate to a man like him?
How?
How could he look at a King, with such eyes? With eyes of…acceptance? Relation?
"How?" The fallen King roared, over the bloody sands of his resting place, over each and every bloody tear his body had shed.
Broke down, he did.
TO BE CONTINUED.
So? Not too bad is it…