This is mostly an introductory chapter. If there are a few things you don't know about in the world of Bleach, this chapter should give you all the information required.
The midnight sky in Karakura town tonight was almost completely clear. Though there were a few wisps of cloud here and there, dozens of stars, perhaps hundreds could be seen from a single spot. It was rather quiet out tonight, and not so much as a snore escaped into the city's streets as the wind blew some late-Autumn leaves along the sidewalk. There was a cool breeze coming in from the South, which had been called a bad omen occasionally by the more superstitious, those few claiming that "When the wind blows from the South, evil spirits will be summoned to earth."
Whether it was an evil spirit coming tonight, or if it was merely a lost soul, was a matter of question.
The moon was a perfect crescent, almost exactly replicating the moon of Hueco Mundo, the world of Hollows; spirits that had lost their hearts and gained a whole instead as they grew a white mask and changed into a monstrous form; losing all of what they once were. Among these lowly hollow there were a higher breed, the "leaders" of Hueco Mundo, if there were such a thing. And Amongst the lowest of these "leaders", or rather, the Menos Grande, were the Gillian; towering masses of blackness with immense power and a white-faced mask, a long pointed nose sticking straight off of its face with holes in it.
In general, these Menos Grande had little intelligence and absolutely no individual will. They were much akin to a massive spire of energy that only knew how to move and to release the energy. Any semblance of thought was completely beyond them. However, occasionally, this is not the case. Gillian are created when many Hollow gather together and fight and devour one another to satiate their uncommonly strong thirst for souls. As they battle they fuse together and fuse together and become the large and powerful Gillian. But when one of those Hollows has a much greater will or their powers far exceed the others, they retain their individual thought. This enables them to continue eating other Gillian, further increasing their power.
Once they reach a certain level, the Gillian evolves into a stronger form of Menos; an Adjuchas. These Menos Grande are much more intelligent and, while they aren't as large as Gillian, are much stronger. The ultimate goal of any Hollow desiring ultimate power is to become a Vasto Lorde; a humanoid hollow with immense powers capable of taking on an entire world on its own. Though there is another way to gain a vast amount of power while not evolving to the Vasto Lorde stage. This secret power is gained when a Hollow tears its mask off, thus gaining a humanoid form and a zanpakuto; a soul sword that reflects the core of their being. Quite simply, it is the source of all their power made manifest.
Hollows that remove their mask, become humanoid and gain zanpakuto are known as Arrancars. Among the very strongest of these unique beings are a group of ten individuals known as the Espada. They are given a number that signifies their strength in the group, from one to ten. One of these Arrancar has been expelled from the Espada, banished to the human world to eventually be killed by soul reapers; long-living beings that also wield zanpakuto who destroy Hollows and send souls to their new home; the Soul Society.
But he is not one to simply lay down and die. Though his body is broken and torn, his pride and determination are unbreakable. This Arrancar was ranked number 6 in the Espada; Grimmjow Jeagerjaques.
The wind suddenly picked up, as if being disturbed by some external force. What few clouds remained in the sky gathered into a large cloud of unnatural color. As soon as they had gathered, a long thin black line cut them in half, slowly opening to reveal a pitch-black space that looked like the very essence of evil. Something shot down from the space, hurtling into the street below and creating a massive tremor in the surrounding space, if only for a moment. Then the space closed and disappeared and the clouds dispersed once again, returning to their previous resting places in the sky, leaving only the crater in the street and the one who occupied it as a testament to what had just transpired.
For a few moments, the street was quiet, aside from the sound of the leaves once again being blown along the sidewalk. Suddenly the relative silence was shattered as the creator of the cavity sprung to life. His body was immediately enveloped in pain and he felt each and every one of the bruises, lacerations, fractures and burns. Among the greatest of the wounds was a dismemberment of his shoulder, which left it unusable.
His body trembled, more in pain than in anger, as he dragged the hand of the other arm through the gravel of the crater and grabbed his shoulder, scowling as he snapped it back into position. A beastly growl emanated from his throat; the man's absolute refusal to cry out in pain.
The hard chunks of rock and concrete grated at his burned flesh as he reached one arm forward to grab at a handful of it, trying to pull himself up out of the crater. He grunted as grits of stone dug into the cuts in his hands, but that only served to further drive his desire to escape this pit and he threw the previously dismembered arm up as well to pull at the sides of the crevice.
Little remained of his clothes, as most of them had been singed off when he received the burns; his hakama pants barely made it down past his knees and his jacket was barely even a tattered vest now. Blood dripped down from his scalp, despite the fact a lot of it had already coagulated in his hairline. The red liquid ran down his forehead and through his brow, suddenly filling half of his vision with red.
Grimmjow gnashed his teeth together, like a panther threatening to pounce. And then he brought his legs underneath his torso and did just that. The battered man lunged his way out of the gash in the road and landed on the even harder surface of the intact street that lay above it.
His ice-blue eyes glared out at the world, ignorant or stubborn to the fact that he was at his weakest and challenging anything that stood or walked to fight him. Nothing responded to the challenge, yet the intensity in his eyes didn't falter as he pulled something from his "belt"; a katana with an S-shaped silver guard as well as blue wrapping and scabbard. Against his beaten and torn condition the blade of the katana would have stood out, had it been removed from its scabbard. It had been chipped and cracked in numerous places and a normal sword would have been rendered useless by now.
But this was Grimmjow's soul. His essence. So though it was splintered and worn the shine that gleamed off it, even in the pitch black darkness of the scabbard's cover, was like that of the light shining off a panther's fangs.
The bottom of the scabbard beat its way down into the concrete as Grimmjow Jeagerjaques forced himself up first onto one knee, then onto both legs. Numerous gashes and deep bruises could be seen along his shins alone and though his legs felt as if they would burst under the strain he now put on them the blue-haired man ignored it.
"You'll…pay for that!" He spoke harshly, barely making the words audible, as he soon spat out blood onto the road, stepping onto it and splattering the mark into a simple red smear. Each and every one of those who had attacked him and thrown him out of Hueco Mundo would get ten times what they'd done to him back at them, and then some.
"I'll show them who's the king." He repeated again in his mind as he slowly made his way down the street, using his katana within its sheath as a support.
The cold breeze blowing across the street made his burns ache, but also helped revitalize him slightly, if only enough to take one extra step.
"The human world, huh? I'll make them regret not throwing me into the very depths of the Soul Society."
His words didn't seem so tough now, with the condition he was in. But it'd take a hell of a lot more than a few scrapes and brush burns to kill him. First thing was first though, he had to find somewhere where he could rest.
The human world appeared all but dead at night. And there were tons of buildings on this street alone. It wouldn't be difficult to find a place to go.
Grimmjow forced himself to stand up a bit straighter, as if being slouched over made him feel insulted by his own body. As his head looked up, he spotted the crescent moon in the night sky, and his eyes fixated on it.
For a moment the buildings and street vanished. As did his pain and wounds. He was walking on all fours, his tail following closely behind him as he ground his teeth together and followed the moon through the land of sand, towards his next kill.
Grimmjow quickened his pace down the street, allowing the moon to guide him to where he needed to go, just like always.