Author's Note: I use many Japanese/Bleach terms which describe the less than accurate american name. For most of the items, I just called it the American simplified version but follow up with its name in Japanese/Bleach, which is more accurate item which I would like you, the reader, to imagine. If you don't know what to imagine, just look the Japanese/Bleach term up and find a picture. The rest is all derived from the anime Bleach. The canon characters and past experiences belongs to the rightful owners of Bleach. I only own this story and the characters. Enjoy!
The Soul Society. The afterlife for souls. The waiting place for rebirth. The living place for the dead. Many people call it different names.
In the far corner of Rukongai, in the 70th district of the West, lived the fearful people. The whole district is in shambles. Many hide in the shadows, making sure they wouldn't fall victim to numerous bandits who launch random attacks for the smallest amount of food. Some try to stop the attacks but many fail. Those who do survive and fend off the attacks often leave to become Shinigami, leaving behind the trash district. Those who survive by living in the shadows only wait until their rebirth, ever hoping to end this poor style of living.
Slash! Klang!
A group of bandits rigidly stood in the tower of light, attentive of the attacks coming from the shadows. A group of trees surrounded the light, providing shadows to the unknown. The cold evening air pierced their bodies, causing them to shake in their boots. Their breath could be visibly seen, creating little clouds which float but dissipate. They wore regular tan rags which covered their bodies, revealing light leather armor underneath. It was deadly silent. The bandits' hearing was pierced by anxious heartbeats. Then, the slaying began.
One by one, the attacker slowly cut them down until only one bandit was left. The last bandit was shivering, no, trembling. He shakily held his sword, or katana, in his hands, keeping his feet directly under his shoulders, eyes wide, sweat dripping from his brow. His flimsy hair whipped back and forth as he continuously changed directions, eyeing the shadows as if they would develop a limb.
From behind, a sword appeared from thin air and sliced through the bandit's back, effectively putting him down without a yelp. The handle of the sword is detailed to strike harshly against the seer, imposing bright red scratches along the black handle. A string is tied to the bottom of the sword, flowing through the wind. The sword is sleek like polished metal. It held the form of a katana, slightly bent along the sharp blade. It glinted in the light, blood dripping from the tip onto the ground. The katana came out from the darkness, attached to a hand then a body.
A right arm entered the light, displaying fair skin which disappeared into the dark blue sleeve of a shirt, or kosode. A few cuts made its way into the kosode, striking the fair skin underneath. The light illuminates the clothing, exhibiting the yellow stripes on the contrasting sleeve. His trouser, or hakama, was as dark as the night, reflecting no light whatsoever. Finally, the 130 year old (13 in human years) boy stepped into the light, standing at a height of 5'4" and exposing his light brown hair which reached down to the top of his eyes, curling at the tips. He wore an aging shark tooth necklace, crusted with years of dirt and sweat. His slim body fit well into his hakama, not showcasing lots of his body except his sculpted chest. His eyes were almond shaped, housing black eyes. His cold stare matched perfectly with the thin line that shapes his lips and sharp jawline.
The boy flicked his katana towards the ground, cleaning the blade of blood. He slid his sword back into his black scabbard which hung loosely upon his hip. He turned around, meticulously scanning the outcome of the hard fought battle. His eyes laid upon the group of young boys who were originally attacked, staring in awe. The savior slightly nodded towards the boys, acknowledging them. Once the group swallowed air in equal acknowledgement, the savior walked back into the shadows of the broken city.
The boy walked into a worn out hut, fixed with loose wooden boards that lost its vibrant color from weathering. The inside of the hut was consumed in darkness, aside from the few slim cracks within the dying walls, allowing for light to pierce the empty shell of darkness. It was simple and bare, having one door for both entrance and exit, and no windows to take a peek inside. Inside, it matched the same decor as outside. One side contained a neat pile of wool skin and another set of clothing while the other side exposed the poor amount of food the boy had. In the middle of the hut lied a small fire pit, surrounded with stones and dirt. The last few struggling embers burned slightly in the dead silence.
As the boy entered, he sat near the fire pit, releasing the stress from his joints. He groaned from the pops coming from his body, feeling so liberated yet tired. He removed the top half of his clothing, displaying a deep scar which traveled from his right elbow to his shoulder. His chest was hairless, allowing for it to be presented quite nicely. His upper body was styled with a red dragon tattoo on his left shoulder, wrapping around to his back. His arms were littered with small numerous cuts, fresh from his battle not even an hour ago. He folded his top to a nice pile, presenting the name "Hikari". He started a small fire and slowly succumbed to sleep.
Hikari groggily woke up the following morning, his body refusing to move extensively. He fought more people than he had trained for, truly pushing him to his limits.
Hikari re-examined the cuts on his body, reminding him of his much needed training. He quickly washed himself and dressed into his kosode and hakama, riddled with the same dirt and scratches of yesterday's battle. Determined, he exited his hut in the early morning and walked towards an open area that had only five trees. The trees don their own wounds; their age reflecting from both old and new cuts in the wooden skin. Hikari unsheathed his sword, and started his training once more. During his training, his mind wandered back to review his time so far in the Soul Society.
Waking up in this terrible district where many ran and begged to live. Clothes are a rarity. Old, dirty rags are common attire and not many people had the privilege of wearing sandals. Hikari first woke up in the middle of the night, luckily, with no bandits to attack him. With no recollection of his previous life, he sought out to create a new path of his own. Through time, he learned he was in the 70th district of Rukongai, far away from the center and capital of the Soul Society, Seireitei. To make sure he wouldn't die for the second time, he slowly relearned his past fighting experience, able to fight off small groups of bandits. Through many years of training and staying in this hell, Hikari consistently practiced his techniques and fought lowly thugs that attacked the weak, creating a defensive reflex. Upon one of his fights, he fought against a small-time bandit gang, barely scraping by and defeating the group. The person he saved happened to be a weaponsmith from a different district. He was so thankful for his help that he gracefully rewarded Hikari with a sword from his collection. One specific sword seemed to whisper to Hikari, goading him to pick it up. He felt as though the sword was important, feeling the familiarity of warmth and killer intent, the most unusual combination. Hikari's hair stood on his arms, the sword seemed to challenge him, giving him a thrilling feeling. That was when he picked out his sword, the katana with a black handle and red scratches. `
Ever since then, Hikari had been practicing with his sword. He tended to lean towards fighting from the shadows, making it easy to cut down the enemy. He still practiced his hand-to-hand combat once in a while but mainly relied on his sword. Several years later, Hikari found out about the Shinigami Academy, Shin'o Academy. The admission to the academy was decided by a reiatsu test, determining whether or not a soul has enough willpower to go further than regular techniques. After countless hours and days of training, Hikari decided to take the test with the hopes of becoming stronger to protect the weak. Another benefit was getting out of this hellhole and having an actual home. That was 3 months ago. Hikari was still waiting. And hoping.
Hikari was breathing heavily, his muscles pushing through the strain. He looked behind himself, knowing he heard footsteps. His hearing became shallow, focusing on his own being. He could hear his heart speeding up, threatening to burst from his chest. He took a deep breath, creating small steam clouds, calming his heart down and regaining his energy. His hearing slowly came back, his heart returned to normal, beats fading from his hearing. From the still and dark forest, a person in an all black official Shinigami uniform, or a shihakusho, emerged, walking towards Hikari until he stopped a few feet away.
"Hikari, you have been accepted to the Shin'o academy. Please pack as much things you can take with you. We will not make multiple trips."
Hikari is dead silent, no longer practicing. He closed his eyes and breathed in, taking one of his last breaths in the 70th district. He felt his heart racing in anticipation. It's time to go.