Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, but all OC's belong to me. That includes Saiu.

!SPOILER ALERT!
Manga spoilers ahead.

The Devil Series:
Devil's Smile
Devil's Wake
Devil's Sway

DEVIL'S SWAY

Chapter 1

Tōshirō stretched both arms forward. The gleaming blade of his Zanpakutō rose before him, shimmering under the low hanging moon. In the quiet hours before dawn, he let his body flow through the slow, precise movements of his warm up. Each careful form carried into the next, grace, balance, and power combining into an art of movement that soothed him.

He turned, sliding Hyōrinmaru horizontally across his body before pivoting sharply, the sword sweeping outward. As the edge cut through the air, red light flashed down the length of the blade, and the air rippled like disturbed water. Cold cunning whispered across his senses, a wordless bloodlust that bit into his mind. He pulled up short, a jolt of pain cutting into his bicep as he cut off the movement. The air shivered and undulated unnaturally around the edge of his sword.

Breathing deeply, he turned his concentration inward and, for what seemed the hundredth time, he found the hidden corner of his soul where an unfamiliar power normally slept.

Cut, came the caressing female voice, forming no words but communicating her desire perfectly. Let us cut.

There are no enemies to cut now, he said firmly. Go back to sleep.

With determined focus, he forced the power down, bundling it back underneath Hyōrinmaru's icy presence where there was at least a small buffer between him and the vicious yearnings of Hiren. With growing frequency, she would escape his control and flood his blade with her deadly power. He could no longer spar with his squad members unless he used a bokken.

He understood she was restless. Hiren was formerly a Yokujin Captain's weapon, used almost daily to destroy demonic beasts escaped from Hell. For over two years now, she had belonged to him, and lately she had done no more than help him slay the occasional Hollow—and even then he hadn't actually needed her power. She was of no use to him outside a life-or-death battle. Her power was too lethal for anything else.

With every month that passed without an enemy's blood to feed her, the weapon grew more unruly. Her presence was no longer a quiet whisper at the very edge of his mind but a distracting purr cutting through his thoughts. No matter how strictly he contained her, he couldn't be on his guard every minute of every day. If he couldn't find a way to control her . . . he feared what might happen.

Another deep breath, and he reluctantly sheathed Hyōrinmaru without completing his forms. He wasn't in the mood for any risks tonight. His eyes rose to the dark, clear night sky. Dawn was a few hours away yet. On this longest night of winter, the sun wouldn't breach the horizon until late morning.

He turned toward the open door leading from his private courtyard into his suite, carefully corralling his thoughts away from subjects he didn't allow himself to linger on. With each flare of Hiren's presence, he couldn't help but think of Hiren's former master and wonder things he was better off not wondering. There were no answers down that path, only more questions.

Snow crunched under his foot as he took a step forward—and fiery pain erupted in his arm. He gasped, staggering in the snow and dropping to one knee. He tore at the sleeve, shoving it upward to expose his forearm as the fire—no, the burning ice—cut deep into him. A black design flashed into being on his skin, writhing like a spirally, spiky black snake in the grip of agony.

The design seized, swelled, then burst apart and dissolved.

Panting from the fading pain, he stared at his arm, searching for some sign that the mark still existed. Had it returned to its former state of invisibility? Or was it well and truly gone?

He rose stiffly to his feet, studied his arm for a moment more, then shook his sleeve down over the raw, frostbitten skin. He couldn't be certain, but he suspected his demon mark had just broken—or been broken.

Whatever the reason, whatever the cause . . . he didn't know, but he was afraid that Hiren might get her chance for battle and blood a lot sooner than he would have preferred.

. o : O : o .

Ichigo wasn't quite sure if he was dreaming.

As far as he could see, utterly still water stretched beyond the horizon. Blue-black with depth, it met the sky in a dark haze where the beginnings and endings merged. The sky itself was a bizarre spiral of cloud: fluffy white and heavy black spinning around one another like a massive, duotone hurricane.

Ichigo stood directly under the center of the strange storm, his feet planted on a perfectly flat, glossy surface like seamless porcelain. The lone island in the endless ocean was a perfect circle, even more pristinely white and black than the sky. He stood in the center of a giant yin-yang.

The light in this strange world was the grey dimness that preceded a storm, and it was far too still and quiet. He waited in the center of the yin-yang island, analyzing the dreamlike sense of déjà-vu whispering in the back of his mind. He'd been here before. Many times before. Was this one of those repeating dreams produced by a restless subconscious—or was it something else?

He squinted at the horizon, struggling to bring up a memory of this place to go with the sense of repetition. It reminded him of his own inner world—all the water—and a bit of Saiu's inner world, what with the misty horizon far in the distance. But if this was an inner world, Ichigo had no idea whose it was. It definitely wasn't his, and even more definitely not Saiu's.

Ichigo had only seen Saiu's inner world once, in an accidental visit almost exactly two years ago. Four months after that, he'd lost his Shinigami powers entirely. He'd no longer had an inner world to visit. Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night when no one was around to see it, he'd lie in bed thinking about his months as a Shinigami and wonder if Saiu ever found out what became of him. If the demon prince had ever come looking for him, ever tried to discover the fate of the human with whom he'd once, very briefly, shared a body and mind.

Shaking off his thoughts, Ichigo turned in a slow circle, bored of this dream or whatever it was and wanting to get back to sleep. Which, he was pretty sure, is what he'd been doing before this weird mental detour.

As he turned, a shimmer of light a few feet away made him freeze. Holding perfectly still, he squinted.

A shiver in the air. A shifting blur. The air bubbled outward, and suddenly there was a shape within the shifting atmosphere. Red eyes glowed in a white mask, two huge, blade-like horns protruding from it, a long mane of auburn hair—

Ichigo jerked back so fast his heel slipped on the smooth surface of the island. He flung his arms out to brace for the fall—

And slammed his hand into his beside lamp, sending it crashing to the floor. His eyes shot open, staring blankly at his bedroom ceiling as he gasped for air. Prickling fear warred with relief. So he hadn't been in an unfamiliar inner world after all. He'd been having a regular old nightmare. A nasty one. His Hollow had been haunting him for weeks now, making up for its lack of presence in his life with a relentless invasion of his dreams.

Shoving off the tangle of bed covers, he rolled over and sat up, bracing his face in his hands as he caught his breath.

If there'd been any silver lining at all to losing his Shinigami powers—aside from no more pestering ghosts—it had been freedom from his Inner Hollow. That nightmarish version of himself had tormented him with worries since it had first come to life. The loss of his spiritual powers had erased the Hollow from his list of concerns, and he'd been grateful for that.

Then, three months ago, everything had changed again. He'd been given his Shinigami powers back. Rukia, Renji, Urahara, and so many others had come together to give him back what he'd lost to stop Aizen. He'd almost convinced himself that he was just fine being a normal, reiatsu-free human. He'd almost accepted his mundane future, almost let go of the weapon he'd forged himself into in order to protect his loved ones. Then, at the first threat to his friends, he'd realized the lie he'd been living.

He hadn't been accepting his future. He'd been resigning himself to it because he'd thought he had no other options. The last two years were a grey blur in his memory—not because he didn't remember them, but because there'd been nothing memorable about them.

He'd lied to himself, but his friends hadn't been fooled. Now, he felt like he'd been born again. There was colour in his life, vibrancy and potency and intoxicating purpose. Every morning, he woke up and marveled at the wonder of it.

There was just one thing that had been bothering him. His Hollow.

It had vanished along with his spiritual powers. But when his powers returned, his Hollow hadn't. He couldn't summon his mask anymore. He couldn't even sense that dark presence lurking in the back of his mind. He'd visited his inner world only to find it empty. No Hollowed version of himself had come out to taunt him. No monstrous Hollow beast had challenged him. Not even Zangetsu had revealed himself. Ichigo hadn't spoken to Zangetsu—or Tensa Zangetsu—since he'd learned of the Final Getsuga Tenshō.

His missing Hollow—and missing Zanpakutō spirit—was a constant gnawing worry. And apparently, it was manifesting in his dreams for lack of a better outlet.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he glanced at his radio clock. It was just past four in the morning. He might be able to catch a few more hours of sleep before—

Icy pain lanced through his wrist. He flung his arm away from his body, clutching his elbow as a twisting black symbol flared over the underside of his wrist. It drove burning agony deep into his flesh, writhing like a living thing. Then it buckled, swelled, and exploded into nothing.

Squeezing his elbow as though that would make the pain stop faster, he clenched his jaw and stared at the patch of ice-burnt skin. That had been Saiu's demon mark. A tangible symbol of Saiu's friendship—if a person could actually be friends with a demon prince; maybe 'association' was more accurate—and a means of protection for Ichigo against demonic attack. It had also been Saiu's method of locating Ichigo should he ever need to.

And now it was gone.

What could have caused such a thing? As far as Ichigo knew, Saiu needed to be in physical contact with a person to add, alter, or remove a demon mark. What could have caused it to . . . shatter? To break apart as though the power that created it was no more?

For just an instant, fear compressed Ichigo's chest. Could Saiu have—? No. The demon prince was practically invincible. He was the third most powerful demon in Hell, and among the absolute most powerful beings in any world. There were only two other demons who had any chance of killing him: his brothers—at least one of whom had an active vendetta against his younger sibling. The eldest brother, Ichigo wasn't sure on.

Saiu was nearly invincible, but Ichigo had already seen him once on the verge of death. He, Ichigo, had brought Saiu back from that precipice with a donation of his own reiastu. Saiu wasn't infallible. And something had caused Saiu's magic to break. Since nothing strange had happened to Ichigo, that meant something had happened to Saiu.

He pushed up from the bed and reached for his Shinigami badge. Something had happened to Saiu—and Ichigo intended to find out what.

Somehow.

. o : O : o .

Under Hell's twilight magenta sky, the demon known as the Warlord tapped one claw against the stone wall behind his back. Ten paces out, the edge of the balcony dropped away, plummeting countless stories before meeting the valley floor at the base of the mountain upon which the demon palace perched. His view of the distant mountain peaks was unbroken, their jagged silhouettes forever clawing at the distant sky.

The moon hung low, bathing their world in a soft, pale light. Its full face glowed white but was edged in a subtle red glow that matched the eyes of the demons that looked back at it. On this night, the longest of the year, all demons would pause, if only for a single heartbeat, to observe their lady moon.

The suite of rooms behind him did not belong to him. The elegant apartments, composed of several groups of richly appointed rooms for many different functions, were too elegant even for a demon lord and royal cousin. Even for the Captain-Commander of the Demon Hunters. No, those rooms belonged to his cousin, his leader, his prince.

Many of the demon lords thought it odd, even foolish, that the Warlord had chosen as his premier leader the youngest of the three demon princes. They didn't understand why he would choose Saiu as the owner of his loyalty. Shiose was wise, experienced, the undisputed ruler of Hell, and the most powerful being to walk any of the worlds. Aranami was ambitious, ruthless, enforced their laws, and commanded Hell's armies.

Saiu was none of those things. He ruled no lands. He commanded no forces. In the opinion of most, he did nothing of any consequence, the superfluous, useless younger brother who couldn't be bothered to take on any responsibilities. He held their respect because of his power—less than his brothers, but far greater than any individual demon lord—and his political cunning, but few would consider allying with the weakest of the three princes if they had any chance of wooing favour with the other two.

The Warlord knew better than those close-minded fools.

For that very reason, he waited in Saiu's rooms, the prince's chosen ally for this most dangerous of nights. The prince's chosen protector.

There was only one night a year when a demon prince would need the protection of any other. On just one night a year, all three princes descended into the deepest bowels of Hell, miles and miles below the mountain upon which their palace stood guard. On just this one night a year, together they would work the magic that kept their realm whole and healthy. In payment for their great power, they would sacrifice it for the greater good of their realm.

Very few demons knew of the significance of this night. All would feel the change in the dark heart of the land, feel the heartbeat of their home rejuvenate. Some knew the princes were involved in the tending of the magic. But only the princes' most loyal, their chosen allies, knew what the night would cost the princes. Only a handful knew that the princes would return at dawn with but a fraction of their power remaining, dangerously vulnerable and wholly dependent on the protection of a single trustworthy ally.

It was always a great risk. Every year, the princes had to choose a fellow demon and endure the necessity of trust. Demons did not trust easily, if ever. It was their nature to seek weakness and exploit it whenever possible. It was an urge built deep and irresistible into their psyches to strike at a more powerful demon at the first sign of vulnerability. Even the most loyal supporter would have to fight the temptation to eliminate a powerful rival like a prince.

Saiu had chosen the Warlord for the honor, and the challenge, of protecting him on this night for many years. The Warlord also knew that if, for whatever reason, Saiu were to choose another as his protector, the prince would kill the Warlord to protect the secret of his only period of true weakness. The Warlord wasn't concerned; Saiu had no reason to choose another. The Warlord had never wavered under the pressure of his instincts to kill the weakened prince; after all, the prince was hardly on his deathbed from the night's exertions. Merely exhausted and severely depleted in reiatsu.

He shifted uncomfortably away from the wall. There was only one occasion where he'd found himself struggling with his instincts. Over two years ago, when Saiu and Aranami had clashed face-to-face for the first time in memory. Having suffered a horrendous loss of power on top of a reckless possession without the proper protection rituals, the young prince had been dangerously helpless. Dazed and in shock from the cessation of the possession, he had been caught in Aranami's killing grip, nearing death from strangulation.

But the Warlord had controlled his instincts and delayed Aranami until Shiose arrived. No one had died, and the Warlord hadn't attacked his weakened prince. He had, however, been relieved when Saiu sent him back to Hell alone. He would have struggled if left alone with the weakened prince. He was certain he would have kept control, but still . . .

With a last glance at the moon, he turned toward the sliding balcony doors, large panels of flawless glass. An expensive luxury in their world. He slid them open and stepped across the threshold.

His nerves sizzled. Power arched across his senses, followed by a rising thickness in the air, a cloaking, coating darkness. His ears buzzed with the sudden pressure.

A heartbeat of silence.

The explosion hit like a thousand earthquakes compressed into a single instant. The glass doors shattered. Every piece of furniture in the room broke apart. Cracks fissured up the thick stone walls as the entire palace—the entire mountain—shook like a tree in a gale force wind.

He hit the ground on his hands and knees. Behind the explosive concussion came the roaring surge of dark energy. It ripped up through the floors of the palace, bursting toward the open sky. Crushing pressure and tearing forces slammed into his body, splitting his skin like squeezed fruit. The power was demonic and more—the essence of Hell, the pure suffocating Darkness at the heart of their realm that not even demons could bear for long.

It blasted through his body, clinging to his wounds like sticky sap, leaking into his body and poisoning him with its deadly potency.

Curled on his side just inside the broken balcony doors, the Warlord wrapped both arms around his split chest and fought to remain conscious. The infectious Darkness concerned him far more than his physical wounds. With a deep breath, he focused his attention inward and prepared to expunge the taint from his body so he could begin to heal.

Something had gone terribly wrong in the deep bowels of Hell. The ritual of magic had somehow backfired, releasing power outward instead of channeling it into the land. As aftershocks shook the mountain and rippling tremors of Darkness leaked from miles below palace, the Warlord lay helplessly on the floor and knew he would be of no use to his prince tonight.

But that didn't really matter, because he didn't see how it was at possible for anyone, even a demon prince, to have survived the crushing power and lethal Darkness of the explosion.

. o : O : o .

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

And the sequel finally arrives! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is THE sequel: the full-length, multi-chapter masterpiece!

Well, okay, not masterpiece. I just liked the alliteration there. But it will hopefully be good!

A few points to make: Firstly, you may have already realized that I changed my mind about scrapping canon for this story. The manga finally got interesting again, so I decided to go with it. However, I, like you, am majorly in the dark about the nuances of Ichigo's return to Shinigami-hood, so I'm going to be making lots of stuff up. In a good way.

Secondly, I am working on multiple writing projects along with this one. I cannot guarantee regular updates, but I will try my best. I have yet to get a definitive answer on whether people prefer longer chapters over more frequent updates, or vice-versa. I will try for a happy medium.

Thirdly, I know there is some concern (and/or anticipation) over whether the sequel will be yaoi. I don't feel like I can say yes or no either way. 'Yaoi' as a label suggests all kinds of things that I don't think apply to this story. I'm not even sure what counts as yaoi and what doesn't because I don't read yaoi fanfics. Believe it or not, but I don't like them; I find them tasteless and/or ridiculously farfetched. (Generalizing here, sorry. I know there are good ones out there I never found.) I had no intentions, when I began Devil's Smile, of taking it in any direction that could be considered yaoi. It just . . . went that way.

To get to my point, I think Saiu and Ichigo have a wonderfully complex relationship. And with Saiu being the sensual and alluring demon he is, I believe some yaoi elements are inevitable. But when it comes to the question of yes-yaoi or no-yaoi, my only answer is this: I will write what I think is fun to write, entertaining to read, and true to the characters and the story both.