AN: New AU Bleach fic. No Shinigami or hollows etc,. etc. So I made Ichigo a depressed serial killer with split personalities…..why? I enjoy it when characters endure psychological trauma….
Anyways…..this is kind of a sample chapter….I wanted this to be a oneshot but I'm too lazy right now to finish it all.
Enjoy! =3
Disclaimer: In no way am I claiming to own Bleach or anything associated with it
Chapter One: So simple, isn't it?
Ichigo, what is the difference between a king and his horse?
Red was the color of his life.
It stained his hands
His clothes.
His heart.
It fueled his rage.
His fear.
His depression.
I don't mean some bullshit kindergarten riddle like "one's a man and one's a horse" or "one has four legs and the other has two.
Assuming they are two different beings and their form, abilities, and strength are exactly the same when one becomes the king and dominates the battle, the other becomes the horse and lends his power, but what makes them different? That's what I'm asking
…There's only one answer…
INSTINCT!
A final scream faded on the man's lips as his life drained out of through the lacerations covering his bare arms and torso. He had been a simple man, a business man, on his way home from work to an empty apartment, save a now ownerless fluffy white cat.
None of that matters now.
His screams had at first been muffled by a large hand covering his mouth. He was dragged backwards and into van. The kidnapper hit him over the head with something and it all went dark.
He awoke leaning on a cold steel wall, with a throbbing pain in his head. As his eyes came into focus, he saw that he was now located in a brightly lit warehouse. It was sparsely filled with empty cargo containers. Some was spattered with what appeared to be dried blood. But he was too groggy to notice this.
The man heard a shuffling coming from behind the only door he could see. The door opened with a loud squeak. Another man emerged, this one younger, slim but wiry, with shoulder-length messy orange hair that was pulled back in a low pony-tail. The man thought it was strange that in each hand he was carrying a slim-bladed sword. One white and one black. The man wondered was those could possibly be for.
The orange-haired man tossed the black katana onto the floor in front of his captive.
"Pick it up." He commanded in a taunting voice that was bursting with excitement for what was to come. "Ready? I hope you can find it."
It was all coming together for the man on the ground. The reality was all coming together for him. He had been taken by the most infamous serial killer in Japan's history. There was no hope for escape.
He scrambled to pick up the sword. When he got to his feet, his vision blurred and his head throbbed even more.
"W-what do you mean f-find 'it'?" asked the man in a trembling, fear stained voice.
"You're Instinct of course."
The one thing all powerful people need to acquire power, the one thing needed to become a king is simply a fervent desire for battle and for strength! To crush your enemies without mercy, to rip them to shreds, to mince them to bits, to have an absolute lust for battle, to rip off our skin, carve our flesh, crush our bones, there, ingrained in our nerves lies a refined killer carved into us by the primal hierarchy.
THAT THING KNOWN AS RAW INSTINCT!
The captive's foggy brain could not process this as he stood up grasping the black weapon in his shaking hands.
"Are you ready to fight honorably to see who will be King," asked the killer his mouth curving in an insane grin readying his body for a fight, tensing his muscles, bending his knees, leaning forward while grasping his white katana firmly as side. A well practiced stance of a killer on the hunt.
The captured man let out a small scream and ran away, as fast as his battered body would let him. He ran right into the maze of cargo crates. Consumed by an ever-growing fear wobbled he on his feet as he frantically tried to find an exit to the labyrinth. All the doors had been welded shut. The only entrance was where the killer had entered.
The killer sighed. He rarely ever got to fight the way he wanted.
'This guy had such potential too….' He thought wistfully before disappearing like a shadow into the maze to stalk his prey.
The man had be running for a few minutes, now heard metallic footsteps sounding above him. There was a pause. The killer had jumped down from one of the crates. Slicing his katana through the air, he landed a well placed and purposeful blow to his victim's upper right arm, rendering it useless. Not that his captive would have much time to think now that he was upon him.
Slash after slash soon brought the man to the floor, where a final downward stab ended him.
The killer stood over his victim, his chest raising and falling rapidly from the kill and the adrenalin coursing through his veins.
Suddenly, he changed. The excitement left his eyes; they filled with terror and sadness.
"Why," he asked.
Isn't that what you wanted King? It's what you've always wanted.
~x~
The next morning.
"Ma'am, a call came in. He has killed again."
The police chief, sitting at her desk said, "Send out the forensic team, I'm on my way."
AN: hope you liked it. feedback would be lovely :3