cops and robbers
ulquiorra & karin
( dystopia )
disclaimer: i do not own bleach.
To find Eden
We must build paradise
Buzzing like bees
In a perfect world.
He stood. Tall and proud. Dressed in white. Slick and smooth.
Their king. Their hero. Their saviour.
The one who would lead them to redemption.
He stood alone, on his high pedestal, surrounded by the admiring citizens.
And in the shadows, a motley crew of black capes stayed, leaning on lampposts and poorly constructed walls, covered in smoke fumes.
They knew better. But they can't say a word.
Aizen Sousuke would lead them to madness.
They plotted. They planned. They produced a method to proceed with it.
And they left her behind, kept in the dark.
She had 'other matters' to attend to. Too young. Too pure.
They forgot.
In this world, nobody was born innocent.
There was a monument. Made of stone. A slight smile on his kindly face.
Aizen Sousuke.
King. Hero. Saviour.
She spat at his feet, grubby hands wiping her mouth, anger in her eyes.
He would die, and his reign would end.
Ichi-nii would see to it.
Walk. March. Stride.
Stop. Salute. Wait.
Poison dripped on his tongue, sweet like sugar. He spoke words made of false promises and idealistic schemes, constructed of well-crafted lies.
His hand touched the new recruits chin, angling it so mud brown eyes could see everything. There was no resistance.
Do you promise to serve your king, your country and your people?
Ice cold. Calculating. Manipulative.
The king's advisor only grinned, garnished in half-truth and lies.
And the silence that crumbled was golden.
Do you promise?
A word. A whisper. A wager.
Yes.
Your name, soldier?
Ulquiorra Schiffer.
His army grew, citizens attracted to his charade made of velvet and honey.
In the name of Aizen Sousuke, they would do great things.
The king became a prisoner.
The hero became a villain.
The saviour became a killer.
Nobody told them that great things could be terrible.
And the country that sought salvation fell apart into chaos.
We have to act! The leader said.
The others nodded in agreement.
Don't. The two that were left behind muttered. But their words were unheard.
Later. Their big brother was the last to go. See you soon, Karin, Yuzu.
Didn't they know that promises were made of lies?
Steam. Sweat. Toil. Tears.
Grime in her fingernails. Blood on her clothes. Scars marred her face.
Her eyes were eternal in the wake of dead.
Mud. Dirt. Slime. Lice. They covered her skin, smoked in mirrors and bittersweet betrayal.
The knife in her hand showed no regrets; neither would she.
It's the only way to live, and the only way to die.
She stayed in the dark, counting to ten, dusted in tarnished silk.
She waited.
A shot.
Another shot.
Several shots.
And she knew.
The silence that lingered lasted a century.
Kurosaki Ichigo no longer was able to be the hero in the slums, in darkness, in pursuit for freedom.
Black eyes hardened, staring at the corpse, pale and bloodless.
He was not her brother.
Rebel. Traitor. Terrorist.
Yet he had brought hope to everyone he met.
Her knife flashed as it spilled her blood.
She would end this.
The lice in her thick black tresses flew.
Another part of her past that she let go.
Your hair. Her sister murmured, coughing fits of red death. Your pretty, pretty hair.
Blue stared at brown, finally tearing her gaze from the crimson stained sky, arms folded.
There are worse things to lose.
Don't— The frail girl whispered, reaching for ghosts long gone.
She's far too late.
Karin…
And the door slammed behind her sister's rage.
My subjects are sick. You must help them. You must heal them.
How? Calm and monotonous, Ulquiorra Schiffer asked his king.
The king did not disappoint him. He had the answer, the cure, the healing lotion, tangible like the gleam in his deep eyes.
Kill them.
Green eyes saw every thing in black and white. He could not disobey.
Yes, Aizen-sama.
They marched, the king's soldiers, saviours and killers alike.
Synchronized they moved hands itching to spill blood, and cure the sick.
They slaughtered millions for the greater good.
Those that were left behind talk, seething, spiralling deeper into the web of darkness.
For they were rats, living on crumbs of a scrapped kingdom.
Now, she had no one to live for.
There were no flowers on the graves of their friends or family.
They no longer existed.
And she walked away, ire sparkling in her eyes, flushed on her cheek, hot and heavy in her breath.
All women looked better scorned.
Yet he hadn't said a word.
She aimed her knife at a rat, glinting in the night, barely missing him.
"You should take care." She said, nonchalant as she lifted the dead creature and the knife flecked in blood. "It's getting dark."
"And?" He's a soldier. Everyone knew who he was.
"Well." Jagged black hair wriggled, hiding snakes and spiders fashioned like weapons. "A lot of things can happen in the dark."
Her footsteps echoed on the cracked cobblestone.
Dusk tasted bitter in his mouth that night.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The mad king sat on his throne made of bone and teeth.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
His pedestal was not made of sand or stone.
It's of blood.
And he whispered, his voice ragged, twisting the sword on the snake's head.
The traitor must die.
He was tired of carving a Glaswegian smile on a dead man's skull.
She had a plan.
On the wind. Beneath her fingertips. In her head.
She had a plan.
Avenge her family—
Kill the king and—
And after that, she had nothing to live for.
Blood caked on her hands. Sweat stuck to her clothes. Filth smeared on her face.
It's a hard life, but it's the one she lived.
She slunk into the shadows, the rats chanting once more.
She woke up one day, too early, too soon.
Dawn broke a thousand tragedies too quickly.
They're coming.
And so she ran.
His eyes closed, jade piercing the shades of black and white.
He was quickly tiring of this life.
In the kingdom of bloodshed, all he could do now was kill.
For the king required it.
Secretly, he was relieved that the girl was gone.
The king despaired.
But still, with no effort, he led his country into salvation.
For what salvation was more forgiving than death?
The army shrank. Slowly, one by one, it was cut down.
A demon. Aizen acknowledged. Bring me their head.
A saviour. The citizens murmured. A hero has risen.
A lot can happen in the dark.
Theft. Sex. Murder.
Infiltration.
She was close—
And the lights switched on.
Drop the knife.
—and she was caught.
Damn.
What now, demon? The king asked, tilting his head to the side.
You are surrounded.
She could not run, and only glared.
Take her away.
She did not meet Ulquiorra's face, sultry eyes glowering.
Shackles and chains. Dirt and grime. Bread and water.
"So, what now?" She spoke, hidden in shades of moonlight and darkness.
The hay rustled and the rusted silver shone tales of misery.
"Your execution."
A laugh. A smirk. A mockery of the kingdom that lived on filth.
"Of course."
If she was crying, then the darkness hid it well.
He leaned in the darkness, curious, jade eyes seeking the curve of her neck.
I want a public execution of her.
A salute. A sigh. A sorrow.
Something that he did not understand.
As you wish, Aizen-sama.
The citizens talked once more in faded hushes and whispers.
But there's nothing more to talk about except death.
"What's taking so long?" Her voice rasped, dry and bored.
"Public execution takes a while." He replied, shrugging.
"Ah." A flicker of understanding. "I always wanted to go with a bang."
Sleep finally claimed her while daybreak reared its ugly head.
She looked like an angel tainted by the slithering rats. If the mud was wiped away from her face, she'd probably be pretty.
But that's neither here nor there.
Yet one thought remained.
If she was an angel then she had lost her wings to fly.
"What's your name?"
"Why does it matter, Ulquiorra?"
It's the first time she had used his name. It tasted bitter on her tongue.
"… call it curiosity."
"Flip a coin. Maybe I'll tell you."
In the end, she didn't.
The king waited for something.
A holy day. Another criminal. Somebody?
Or did he wait for death?
"Kurosaki Karin."
He stopped dealing the cards, looking deep in her blue eyes.
"M'name." She arched her eyebrow, pointing at herself with her thumb.
The chains on her wrists stank of blood, chiming a melancholic tune as it rattled on skeletal bone.
"I see."
Eyes flickered back and forth, caught between realms of grey. She wiped away the spittle on her dusty flesh.
"No, you don't."
They stared at each other playing a muted game of cat and mouse.
A look. A smirk. A noise that didn't wasn't emitted from their mouths.
She was dressed in rags; he was dressed in riches.
They should have nothing in common; and yet they were connected.
He didn't think he heard her whisper the words, under moonbeams and the cover of darkness.
She only said it once.
But… it sounded like…
"Get me out of here."
Aizen Sousuke.
A name.
Who is he? Who was he?
The king had forgotten, crazed by lilac flavoured fear.
"Why do you serve him?" She asked, behind bars, swatting flies and crushing worms, greasy hair building a nest for lice.
"To protect my country."
Yet his resolve seemed weak to his ears.
It only took a kiss.
A kiss that tasted of blood and tears and copper-savoured fears.
And the chains came undone, the lock easily fell apart.
She was free.
A lot can happen in the dark.
She crept, she crawled, she slunk in shadows of darkness; her aim to kill.
It's only when she's about to go for the kill that she realized that she was not alone.
… damn it.
They never mentioned the blind man, only the snake.
Kurosaki Karin.
Charged for attempting murder on the king.
Ulquiorra Schiffer.
Charged for aiding and abetting said felon.
The nation, though diminishing, wept.
"So. This is it. Our last day alive."
"Why didn't you run?"
"Why set me free?"
"Why kiss me?"
The skeletons built of flesh and blood shared their disdainful smirk.
They said that blind men were living skeletons.
What a pity that the theory wasn't true.
The king closed his eyes.
He could taste it in his mouth and dirty clothes, acid burning holes into his skin.
Salvation was approaching them.
"I wanted to."
This time there was no escape. Dawn broke across the sky with a thousand tears of bloodstained jewels.
They walked, stumbling forward across the crowd that booed and jeered, side by side.
The noose beckoned them; the bell tolled.
Aizen Sousuke's stone statue crumbled.
"So this is it: a dying nation left with a mad king." Her eyes darkened, dead and dank.
"Do you regret it?" He muttered, voice strained against her ears.
"Nah. Met you, didn't I?"
A lot had happened in the dark.
"So, what was I to you?"
Take your places!
"Death."
Step forward.
"How sweet."
The noose slowly dangled before them.
"To live is to die, and to die is to live."
They had been dead a very long time.
And she whispered, one last time, dark eyes glinting, black hair billowing.
A girl, made of mud and stone, smiled to the man made of china and bone.
One last grin. One last twinkle in her eye. One last promise of adventure.
"Let's run."
Too late.
King. Hero. Saviour.
Prisoner. Villain. Killer.
In the corrupt world of falsity and illusions, the only truth was death.
To play the game of an innocent bystander, an active opposition, whichever hand the person took, the end result was death.
Chaotic, slimy, greasy death, built upon pretty revelations. Everything was clear in the dark.
Load the gun, pull the rope, let the bodies sway, broad daylight spilled crimson black blood in the idyllic field.
A flower would never grow in this stained paradise.
The nation decayed, disintegrating within the poisoned lies of sweet salvation.
And there was silence once more.