Author's Note: Firstly, obviously, Bleach isn't mine, it belongs to Kubo Tite. Secondly, this fic does have OCs in it, so if you'd prefer to avoid that then maybe click away. Thirdly, many thanks to Reecey-Boy for reading over and providing concrit. Fourthly, reviews are always appreciated.
Okay, let's go then.
Bleach: Lato Oscuro/Luminoso.
Prologue.
He thought the temple was a mirage at first. Apart from the ever-looming spires of Las Noches, there were no buildings in Hueco Mundo, just endless sand broken only by the crystal trees and the roaming Hollows.
As he got closer, he realised it was real. It wasn't an impressive building – the size of two or maybe three houses, carved from white stone, with no roof and gaps for doors. But it was a building, and that made it special enough.
As he drew closer, he felt spiritual pressure from within. It wasn't strong, but he could tell from its timbre and texture that it could have been a long time ago. He put his hand on his zanpakuto, stepping inside.
The building's interior was one vast room, almost empty save for a pedestal at the far end. Atop the pedestal sat a white sphere, carved from some crystal similar to that of the trees, glowed faintly. It was small enough that he knew he could fit it into his palm.
"I've been waiting for you," a voice said.
He turned. The being whose spiritual pressure he'd felt – an aged (or old seeming, he supposed) Arrancar with a white beard down to his feet and a mane of white hair streaked with grey, two wing-shaped mask fragments rising from amongst the tangles of hair. He wasn't dressed like a resident of Las Noches – he'd wrapped himself in a simple grey cloak instead.
"Why?" He asked.
The arrancar tilted his head. "Why not, child? Come. Let me show you what you've been looking for, my child."
Chapter I: Deep and Savage Road.
Kuchiki Ginrei had been quite enjoying his retirement.
('Retirement' said in his head like a particularly wry joke, but he did spend a lot more time sitting and drinking tea these days, and you couldn't ask for fairer than that.)
The office of the captain-commander was empty save for the man himself, sat at a desk with his head bowed and his eyes closed, as if he had dozed off. Ginrei eyed him, pressing a hand to his stomach and folding into a deep bow that hurt his back.
With his gaze at the floor, he called, clear and crisp and in the curt, reverent tones of one who knew his place: "Wake up, you daft fool."
Yamamoto opened one eye, his moustache bristling slightly. He lifted an eyebrow. "You've lost your manners in your old age, along with the rest of your mind."
"Someone's grumpy. Did you not get your backrub this morning, Captain-Commander?" Ginrei straightened up, fixing his stare on Yamamoto.
"I have half a mind to throw you in a cell for insubordination," Yamamoto grumbled, "but you're so frail these days that it'd probably kill you."
"Better frail than chubby, Captain-Commander."
Yamamoto opened his other eye, staring at Ginrei. Ginrei stared back. Yamamoto stroked a thumb over his walking stick, narrowing an eye slightly.
Eventually, a slow smile spread across his face, just barely reaching his eyes. "Sit down, Ginrei. We're too old to stand on ceremony with each other."
Ginrei inclined his head slightly, taking a seat opposite Yamamoto as he rapped his staff against the ground. Twenty seconds later, the door opened, and a shaking young man came stumbling in with a metal tray holding two cups and a pot of tea.
"Slow," Yamamoto grumbled, "and sloppy."
The young man panickedly murmured his apologies, making a hasty exit.
Ginrei watched him go, pouring himself some tea. "Still tormenting the teaboys?"
"It'll teach him to keep a cool head. If he can calm down, he'll be a captain one day," Yamamoto replied mildly, holding out his cup. Ginrei poured. He lifted it to his nose, sniffing. "Saffron. He shows initiative. I might see if Jushiro will take him under his wing."
"How are the boys?" Ginrei asked.
"Brats," Yamamoto replied. Ginrei could detect a hint of fondness to his tone. "How are your two?"
Ginrei peered at him over his cup, milling the tea around a little. It was a pleasant greenish-brown colour. The last time he'd been here the tea had been practically lemon yellow, and Yamamoto's disapproval had been so strong that Ginrei could've sworn he'd heard the occasional terrified squeak from outside.
"You know," he murmured, "we never have social visits anymore."
"We went to the hot springs last month. You're losing your memory, Ginrei," Yamamoto replied.
"If I remember correctly, you spent that whole visit running border defence plans by me," Ginrei said, "and occasionally complaining about the temperature." Yamamoto fixed him with a stare. Ginrei allowed himself a small smile and took a sip of his tea. "At this very moment? I suspect one is drunk and the other is egotistical."
"You've done a poor job teaching them," Yamamoto groused.
"I shall not be lectured on students by you," Ginrei replied calmly. "They can serve, if that's what you want. So long as I'm there to keep an eye on them and give them a good smack around the ears if they get out of line."
"You have to do that a lot?"
"My hand," Ginrei replied, "has ear-shaped marks on it."
Yamamoto nodded slowly. For several minutes, he sipped his tea silently, pausing occasionally to roll it around in the cup and stare at it, looking for imperfections. "Bring them here tomorrow morning. I will test them myself."
Ginrei cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. "Alone? That's hardly standard." Yamamoto looked up, giving him a meaningful look. "Well, far be it from me to argue."
"We face a crisis." Yamamoto said. "If I had the luxury of procedure or common sense I would not be drawing you or your students into this."
If it got any colder, it would be snowing, and in a way Ichigo would have found that a relief.
Snow was better than the driving, icy rain that was currently pouring down on him with no hope of shelter. Of course there was no shelter – of course Urahara would ask to meet on a night when it was cold and wet, and of course he would choose somewhere that had no shelter, and of course he would be late.
Urahara Kisuke was, after all, a complete and gleeful sadist.
He had an umbrella when he came into view. Ichigo tried very hard not to yell at him.
"I hate you, Hat-and-Cloggs," he said levelly.
"Oh, I've heard that one before," Urahara replied airily, flapping a hand in front of himself. "Sorry I'm late." He wasn't sorry at all, Ichigo could tell.
"What is this about? People notice if I go sneaking out in the middle of the night," Ichigo said irritably.
Urahara tipped his hat up, smiling benignly. "Just a notice that there are things afoot."
Ichigo cocked his head slightly, irritation and cold temporarily forgotten. "'Things afoot?'"
Urahara shrugged. "I can't be much more detailed than that. My monitoring equipment has been catching unusual patterns of spiritual pressure from Soul Society – on and off again, a few times a week, for the past month."
"And that means?"
"Oh! I couldn't possibly say," Urahara said, flapping his hand again. "I may be as terrifically intelligent as I am handsome, but I'm not omniscient. You'll know when I know. Just – be on your guard. This isn't normal."
Ichigo frowned. "Not normal doesn't mean bad."
"No," Urahara said lamentingly, "but it so rarely means good these days."
Morning light was just peeking over Sokyoku Hill when the walls of Seireitei came crashing down. Swarming from the perimeters came black butterflies, winding into every building, blaring an alarm with each flap of their wings.
One slightly purple butterfly with a crooked wing fluttered haltingly down towards the Thirteenth Division barracks, alighting on the nose of Kuchiki Rukia. With a flick of its antennae, it screamed an alert into her face in the booming tones of the captain-commander.
"The boundary of Seireitei has been breached in sector twelve. We are under attack. Thirteenth Division, Second Division and Ninth Division mobilise to neutralise the threat. Fourth Division, please stand by to deal with casualties. All divisions prepare to back-up if necessary."
Her eyes snapped open. With a groan and a wave of her hand, she batted the butterfly away. She rolled out of bed, plucking her uniform off the wall and shuffling into it. Her hair looked like a particularly monstrous bird had laid a black nest on her head, but she wasn't going to waste time combing it. She ran her hands through it very quickly and ducked out of the barracks, speeding towards sector twelve.
She ground to a halt as she drew alongside the familiar bulk of Omaeda and spiky black hair of Hisagi. The wall was shrouded in smoke and crumbled masonry, forming a heavy white cloud through which a vast shape could be seen, a faint red light burning at its chest.
"What's the situation?" She asked.
"I've ordered all seats to withdraw until we know more about the threat," Hisagi replied, "they're keeping a safe distance until told otherwise. I don't want them put at unnecessary risk."
Omaeda snorted derisively. "Bleeding heart." Hisagi ignored him.
From the smoke, a white porcelain shape emerged. Rukia eased a foot backwards, her hand going to her sword. It was a hollow mask, shaped like the face of a doll, with vast and empty voids for eyes and rows of sharp teeth. Rukia couldn't remember when she'd last seen a Hollow so vast.
Omaeda stumbled back, drawing his sword and waving it frantically. Hisagi crooked an eyebrow down, brushing his fingers along the hilt of his sword and waiting.
Beneath the mask, a ribcage emerged, grey muscle bulging through and stretching out to heavy arms, tipped with metal gauntlets ending in red claws. A pair of stumpy legs crashed forward, trailing behind them a thick tail.
"That's – that's very ... big," Omaeda mumbled, and Rukia suppressed the urge to give him a good smack and tell him to stand his ground.
Hisagi's eyes, she realised, were glued – figuratively speaking – to the hollow's chest. Rukia followed his gaze and took another step back, drawing her sword, her eyes widening.
"No Hollow hole," she murmured.
It wasn't completely true. A hole had been there at some point surely, but it had been blocked with a heavy, glowing red sphere, pipes spreading out across the hollow's chest like luminescent arteries.
"Don't take the risk of holding back," Hisagi said, drawing his sword. "We don't know what this thing is capable of."
"It's huge," Omaeda said.
"Yes, we know," Rukia said wearily, setting a hand on her sword. "Dance, Sode no Shirayuki." With a hiss of cold wind and a sparkle of snow, the sword turned stark white, a ribbon stretching out at the end.
On either side of her, Omaeda and Hisagi set their hands on their blades.
"Smash, Gegetsuburi."
"Reap, Kazeshini."
Hisagi lifted one of Kazeshini's blades, the corner of his lips twitching down as if to silently say 'don't get any ideas, we're still not friends'. "Attack the mask and the red orb. Stay focused." He kicked off the ground, one blade spinning.
Rukia barely saw the hollow move. As Hisagi reached it, the mask snapped around and the eyes opened a little wider, then expanded abruptly, the void consuming the hollow's body and then fizzling into thin air. As Rukia watched, it rematerialised behind Hisagi, batting him into a building with a swing of its claw.
Omaeda seemed rooted to the spot, halfway between standing and walking, babbling something about money and gold, and didn't it know who he was? Rukia reached around, shoving him forward.
"Cover me, Lieutenant Omaeda."
"R-right," Omaeda stammered as the doll's face mask turned towards them, its mouth breaking open into a massive, toothy grin. "I'm going."
Hefting his flail over his shoulder, he sprinted forward, leaping onto a building and rebounding upwards, swinging it above his head. The metal ball collided with the hollow's mask with a deafening crack, a long fissure appearing down the porcelain, tiny shards drifting off.
Rukia flicked her sword downwards, the ribbon curving around her into a circle. She lowered her blade, puncturing the ground, a stream of white light drifting up.
An eye widened. The porcelain started to reform, the crack flickering away. Another eye widened. A claw swept up beneath Omaeda's feet. He vanished with a rush of air, appearing on a nearby building, one hand out.
"Way of Destruction Thirty-One: Red Fire Cannon," he wheezed. A ball of red fire burst out from his palm, exploding harmlessly against the hollow's shoulder.
Rukia punctured the ground again. Another trail of white light rose up.
A claw smashed down into the building Omaeda was on. For a moment, Rukia couldn't see him. Then she spotted something of immense girth and gaudiness stumbling along the hollow's shoulder, smashing his flail against its mask with no effect.
With a flick, the hollow tossed him off, lifting a claw above him as he plummeted to the ground.
Rukia punctured the ground a third time. A trail of white light rose up.
As the claw descended on Omaeda, a spinning blade came out of the darkness, a chain trailing behind it, cutting through the air above the claw and arcing around in a loop, tightening and tensing suddenly, holding the claw still.
Hisagi stepped out of the shadows, the other end of Kazeshini pulled back past his shoulder.
Rukia punctured the ground a fourth time, lifting her sword. "Next Dance: White Ripple." A wave of white burst from the sword, gathering speed and size, its glow refracting off the trail of snowflakes it flung out over its wake.
It engulfed the vast hollow up to its shoulders, slowing and solidifying into a upswept peak of ice, sparkling as it edged its way up across the mask. With a cracking sound, it glowed and shattered, the hollow's body shattering with it, the shards of ice breaking into glittering dust.
Hisagi allowed himself a small smile. Omaeda snorted to himself.
She heard it materialise behind her before she saw it. She felt the claw close around her before she noticed Hisagi's expression turning to horror. She felt herself crash into a building before she felt the claw marks in her arms.
She heard the thump of feet against the ground. Omaeda landed next to her, then Hisagi flopped atop him, bleeding from a gash across his back.
Rukia looked up. Blurrily, she could see the hollow looming over her, its maw open wide as a red ball of light revolved in front of it, gathering size and brightness.
The beam hummed as it shot towards them, a great disk of red that loomed ahead of them. Rukia tried to shut her eyes. They remained peeled open, watching the red light get closer and closer, as if it were moving in slow motion.
A shape blurred into view, blocking it. A man. Tall. A white haori fluttering.
"Brother?" Rukia ventured.
The figure lifted a hand, holding it up in a halting sign. Rukia raised an arm to shield her face from the light. A second later, it dissipated, leaving only motes of red drifting through the air.
The figure in front of her was not her brother, she decided. Her brother was too young for grey hair, and far too young for a moustache that impressive.
"Grandfather?" She said, not quite believing. "I thought you were retired."
"So did I," Ginrei replied.
A pause.
"You'll hurt your back," Rukia supplied.
"Stop fussing, child," Ginrei replied serenely. "I wasn't expecting to have to mount a rescue today." He lifted his head, calling at one of the nearby buildings. "Eiji, Shuki."
Rukia looked up. There were two more figures, both in white haoris.
One, a tall young man with scruffy, shaggy black hair falling over his eyes and a wide smile, was sat with one knee raised and his arm resting on it, fingers wound around a red bowl of sake. The top half of his uniform was torn down the middle, hanging open, one sleeve torn off as a sleeveless captain's haori rested loosely on his shoulders. He had odd, woolly socks – one bright red and one white with purple stripes – and his hands were wrapped in colourfully mismatched bandages. One was decorated with pictures of Chappu the Rabbit.
"Captain Kougami," he replied amusedly.
"Don't get cocky, boy," Ginrei replied.
The other, a young woman with her white-blond hair styled into elaborate spikes and tufts, held up by a bright red headband that stopped just above green-grey eyes, was smarter. Her kosode and haori were sleeveless, but it looked like they had never had sleeves, not just that one kosode sleeve had been lost in an accident. She had a red scarf on, billowing out behind her, and stood barefoot on the building.
"You didn't tell me that two of them were so pretty," she purred.
Omaeda preened from beneath Hisagi. "Well, I do take - ..."
"Not you, dear," Shuki said kindly. "You should stay out of sight."
Rukia blinked, taking all three in. She had seen the two once or twice, in her visits to her grandfather's small house. They were servants – silent, discreet, keeping their heads down. Now they, and her grandfather, were all dressed as captains.
"You and your servants, you're all - ..."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures, child," Ginrei intoned. "You may address me as Captain Kuchiki of the Ninth Division from now on, and my students as Captain Kougami of the Fifth Division and Captain Higa of the Third Division."
"... Yes. Sir."
"Smart girl," Ginrei remarked.
The hollow roared, smashing a hand against the ground. If Rukia didn't know better, she would have thought it was protesting the lack of attention being paid to it. Ginrei turned his gaze towards it, eyes narrowing and eyebrows lowering. Rukia had seen that expression from time to time from Byakuya whenever somebody had done something especially undignified.
"Eiji, Shuki. You may now attend to the guest," Ginrei said dismissively, waving a hand.
Shuki's face broke into a grin. Eiji's lips twitched slightly, his smile growing just a fraction. With a gulp, he finished off his sake, tossing the bowl aside. With a rush of air, both vanished.
Two long lines appeared across the hollow's core, criss-crossing over each other, then two more, then two more. Snaking out from the gashes, cracks began to appear, leaking red light. Eiji and Shuki appeared at the hollow's feet, swords in hand.
"Race you, drunkard," Shuki said.
Eiji chuckled.
They both vanished again. As Rukia watched, the hollow's eyes widened, expanding to cover its body before it dissipated, reappearing high above with a deep laugh as Eiji and Shuki reappeared. Shuki flicked her sword back to rest on her shoulder as Eiji sheathed his, pulling a bottle from his obi and gulping from it.
Above, the hollow's claws fell off. Then its legs. Its head detached from its body and, as it drifted towards the clouds, slid apart in the centre. One by one, its exposed ribs broke, and then one by one, they broke again, and one by one, a third time. As it started to fall, the red orb in its chest disintegrated.
It had faded away before it hit the ground.
Ginrei huffed in a breath, fixing a stony stare onto the two new captains. "Slow," he said, "and sloppy. Maybe next time you'll focus more on the enemy and less on your ridiculous games."
Okay, next chapter up soon.