Yo.
This is my FIRST FIC so try not to be too hopeful. I'm quite obsessed with the Arthurian legends, so as such, this fic will be based faintly on those (hehe, this will be fun). Also, there's gonna be a major love triangle comin' up, and its gonna be the most common one in bleach... you guys already know who I'm talking about.
Enjoy (hopefully XD)
Disclaimer: I can't draw.
The Plague had been spreading for a while now, leaving a trail of corruption in its path. Nobody had noticed it at first, mistaking it for another simple disease out of many other simple diseases. Sure it could kill, but that was nothing new to the poor world the people inhabited.
Except… it didn't kill.
It devoured.
The victims would come down with something akin to an incurable flu, bedridden for weeks on end. Their kin watched helplessly from the sidelines, unable to tend to their loved ones in fear of catching the deadly disease themselves.
But that wasn't it. And staying on the sidelines couldn't save you.
The victims?
Seemingly ill on the outside.
Already dead on the inside.
The Plague was not a sickness. It was a living, active parasite born purely of gluttony.
And the parasite had only one function: consume.
It lived off its victim's mind, devouring their thoughts, their sanity, their humanity. And it kept going after that, demolishing all love buried within its victim's senses until nothing but raw, pure, tender lust was left.
Lust for the thoughts that were lost.
Lust for a warm, beating heart.
Lust for blood.
Ichigo Kurosaki knew this better than most.
Because on June 17th, the victims destroyed his life.
It was raining when they came
As if the sky was crying
Nine-year-old Ichigo Kurosaki had been miserable, staring out the window into the depressing abyss of rain.
Mother was sick, so there was no need to smile. No need to be happy.
His father had told him and his sisters not to worry with the usual goofy grin adjourning his face. He'd told them Mom would be better in no time. That it was just a small cold, nothing to lose sleep over.
Ichigo had seen right through that lie.
After all, his mother had been down with this 'small cold' for an awful long time, and he wasn't so stupid as to believe whatever his idiotic father said.
He pushed himself away from the cold glass of the window, stumbling towards the main room where they all slept. He would take a nap with his baby sisters, he decided, after all, with Mother sick, there was no need to keep himself awake.
As he reached the opening into the hall, the soft mumble of voices echoed from the small, 'forbidden room' in which Mother lay, piquing his interest. He pressed his ear to the door separating him from the two speakers, attempting to make out the muffles of conversation.
"I'm not lea… away if that's all…"
It was his father's voice, but it was different. No high-pitched, goofy tone was evident, something Ichigo had deemed impossible. There was something else too… his voice almost sounded… weak.
"…coming soon Ishiin, and she's alm… too late to…"
Ichigo felt confused. Very confused. There was a stranger in the house… why would his father let a stranger in the house? They lived in a very rural area, one where the next house or cottage was miles away. So, because of this, no one but relatives and friends he knew well had ever set foot on the family's wooden floor. Why didn't he recognize the low, raspy voice? And what business did a stranger have in their small residence?
"Then hel… I don't care if they're damn gathering…"
"…You would be so stupid as to… children, Ishiin, CHILDREN!"
He gasped as the door was thrown open, unceremoniously slamming into his face. With a yelp, he staggered backwards into the wall, clutching his throbbing nose.
The stranger stood in the doorway, shaded gray eyes looking down on him in what looked like… pity?
Ichigo could see right away why someone like him would be friends with his father.
The stranger was lax in posture, hands casually grasping a wooden cane. The pale, white skin of his face was framed by light blond hair that not only dropped down between his eyes, but stuck out at all angles. The green and white striped bucket hat was pushed down low on his forehead, and his face was unkempt. A brown and green shirt, pants, and coat hung loosely off his figure, accompanied by a pair of traditional, chunky sandals.
If it weren't for the hints of stress that lurked faintly in his carriage, Ichigo would've assumed right away that the outsider didn't have a care in the world.
The man bent down, holding out a hand that Ichigo roughly pushed away, scuttling to his feet.
He smiled, "Ichigo right? Ishiin's often bragged of you. Name's Urahara."
Ichigo only stared at Urahara with wide eyes, wondering again why he'd never met the strange man before. His father slowly walked to stand beside Urahara, goofy demeanor up once again to mask the tension he was so obviously trying to hide.
"Ichigo," his dad grinned, "You and your sisters will be leaving on a vacation with Uncle Urahara a week from now. Dad has to stay with Mom to make sure she gets better okay?"
Both Urahara and Ichigo stiffened up at Ishiin's announcment. Ichigo because he was just plain confused at the moment, and Urahara for an entirely different reason.
Slowly, the blond haired man turned to face Ichigo's father, worry flaring up in his expression.
"Would that be wise Ishiin?" He mumbled, stealing a glance in Ichigo's direction.
But Ishiin, being Ishiin and all, just laughed and slapped Urahara a little too hard on the back, steering him towards the door.
"I'll see you in a week Kisuke. Keep safe."
The door shut.
xxxxxxx
The moon was a full circle that night, a glowing disk of emptiness casting white rays across the foul night sky. There were no stars, no minor distractions, just that huge mark of terrible beauty lighting the land with its subtle glow. On that night, that night of the full moon, Ichigo slept.
And dreamed.
He was standing in an abyss of nothing but darkness, in that way, he could not tell whether or not he'd lost his sight to blindness, or whether it was just the black, playing tricks on his mind. It was cold. The icy chill had dug its claws into his flesh leaving his body wracked with shivers. And still, nothing but a steady, haunting sound of dripping water accompanied him in his world of darkness.
So he sat.
"Hello." He said to Black. "My name's Ichigo."
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
"What's yours?"
Drip.
He waited.
Drip.
Drip.
"No name eh?" He whispered. "What about… Jomei? It means 'to spread light'…"
Drip.
Drip.
"No good I guess… How about Asa?"
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
"Amaya?"
Drip.
"Yoshi?"
Drip.
"Zuki?"
Drip.
Ichigo sighed and laid down, cradling the back of his head in his hands.
"There's no moon here. And yet it seems as though it's night… Are you lonely?"
Drip.
"Y'know, Mother once told me about a Raven who stole the sun… I wonder what happened to the moon here…"
Drip.
"Did it fall? Did it fade away? Did it just disappear?"
Drip.
"Or did you cut it down… Zangetsu."
…
Silence.
…
P A I N
Ichigo felt it, all around him, eating away at his flesh, embedding itself in his muscles, ripping out his throat in a hoarse, gut-wrenching scream. His back arched against his will, and his fingernails dug bloody trenches in his chest.
All around him, the Blackness was disappearing into a twirling mass, no, it was being sucked in.
Into him.
Tears of agony leaked down his cheeks, and his jaw was still wrenched open in a soundless cry.
And yet he felt it slowly fading. The pain. With every ounce of Black that disappeared into his body, an ounce of pain lifted.
Until it was gone.
The pain.
And the Black.
And Ichigo found himself sitting up in White, the cold steel of something stroking his leg.
There, on his lap, sat the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
A sword of the Black sat in front of him, its voice whispering to him of its greed for blood, for violence, for the cries of victims as it bit into their warm flesh.
And it asked him to look up. So he did.
A picture of his mother, brown hair flying, an her signature smile spread across her cheeks, was clutched in White fingers.
Sitting exactly opposite from him, was a mirror image of himself. Only in its lap, was not a sword of Black, but a sword of White. Its empty eyes were filled with a sense of longing and lust as it stared at him, though Ichigo knew not of what it desired. Then it spoke in a voice that was, and yet wasn't his, and shuffled towards him in a body that was and yet wasn't his.
"Wake up King," it whispered. "The Tainted are coming."
And it thrust the blade of White
Into his heart.
Elegant posture hath she,
As she walked the corridor,
And the mark of beauty stained her figure,
Drawing the eyes of those who were not welcome,
Oblivious to the warrior who lurked beneath her skin
"Milady, the king has informed me not to let you run away this time. He is… worried for you."
Momo Hinamori bowed down her head, locks of brown hair falling into her eyes. She stood in the doorway, the flowing cloth of the servants' outfit clinging to her slim stature.
It was a great honor, she'd been told, to serve the princess. However, despite her usual bubbly demeanor, nothing could cease the jealousy that came upon sight of the goddess.
Seven years. Seven years she'd been living her life as the princess's personal maid. Seven years of putting up with short-tempered beauty. Seven years was, she decided, enough to know exactly where the Kuchiki heir was positioned at this moment.
She knew the princess was sitting beside the large window that adorned the wall, staring out into the distance with the slight, well-hidden glimpses of longing buried deep within those unnatural violet eyes. That same, stubborn lock of raven hair would be, as usual, hanging down the middle of her face, brushed slightly to the left. The light of the sunlight would be splashed over her porcelain skin, and her small form.
And in just a few seconds, her luscious lips would move to say…
"Momo, I already told you; there is no need to stress the use of that godforsaken title around here! Forget my name again and I'll have to beat some sense into you myself. As for his paranoia… to hell with it! Even he himself knows I am more than capable of defending myself!"
Yes, it was truly amazing how a goddess of such beauty and grace could possess such an… umm… violent nature.
"I am sorry Rukia-san." Momo giggled, hiding the blush that, for the millionth time, appeared on her cheeks.
"Right then," the princess huffed, "I'm going out for some fresh air."
"But Rukia, your brother will be furious!" Momo warned.
But, of course, Rukia, being Rukia and all, just walked right past her lady-in-waiting and out the door.
Momo sighed as she caught full sight of her master. A white tunic and leather breeches- certainly not fit for a princess, much less any woman. Reluctantly, she followed the princess down the stairs.
xxxxxxxxx
Her breath painted the metal mask that guarded her face in a white mist. Sweat rolled off her forehead, but her hands were too occupied with the deadly weapon she carried to wipe it away.
Yelling, she jumped forward with the lethal grace she'd become famous for.
Her opponent was probably six to seven feet tall, and boy, he was a giant compared to her. A large, lumbering, two-handed sword was raised in one hand, while his other arm held a large shield embellished with the Kuchiki Crest.
Big? Oh ya.
Strong? Definitely.
Fast? Nope.
Using her speed, she quickly feinted towards his sword hand and he momentarily leaned towards the right. She didn't hesitate to use her short height to her advantage, diving under the raised shield and swiftly spinning her legs around into a kick to the legs.
As expected, the giant was a little confused by her sudden movements. And although the girl held barely any strength compared to his muscular build, she had more than enough knowledge of battle to make up for that.
For instance, she knew that the giant's armor made him a lot slower than he already was, giving her the benefit of speed. She also knew that his massive shield covered his vision to the left slightly, giving her a blind spot to work with. And so, she could predict that by staying within that blind spot, then feinting out of it towards his sword, the sudden movement would shock him into leaning himself vaguely forward in preparation for the force of a blow. Of course, by then she'd already be behind him, kicking the weak joint between the calves and quads, therefore causing his whole, lumbering mass to collapse.
She grinned once again as the man's eyes widened in shock.
The unique white steel of her sword touched his neck, distinct white ribbon flowing as the wind grabbed it.
"I win." She stated calmly.
Walking away from the arena now filled with the chaos of cheers, Rukia sheathed her blade, humming softly to herself.
The giant lay on he ground, wondering to himself why the boy's voice had sounded so familiar… and so… feminine. His actions too; they had been so graceful and measured. The boy's movements had almost seemed dainty… like a woman's…
But, of course, that was impossible.
After all, no woman was ever to set foot inside the arena; that was one of the top rules.
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