Hello there! This first chapter is really start, but it's just a taste! I don't have much to add, but I look forward to your opinions. I'll continue it regardless, so don't worry, I won't metaphorically 'hold you hostage'. ;)

Ofcourse ^that^ only applies to people that actually like it.

Name is based on the song from Bad Religion, which is stated to be Ichigo's original 'theme song'.

Disclaimer: Bleach is owned by Kubo Tite

I take no credit for the original characters and likewise for any other elements, except for that which I have written myself. Yadda yadda yadda~ :)

Rays of light and energy cast by Ivan started feeding on Ichigo's bankai whilst he called out in agony.

In attempt to stop the assault, Ichigo swings his blade and breaks the attack while unleashing a powerful getsuga tenshou towards his opponent, whose visage gets engulfed in the wrecking, unstable dark energy, devoured by the blackness as well as bubbles of smoke generated by the attack

Smoke, mixed with the torrents of violent dark energies unleashed by a Getsuga Tenshou that filled the air and caused nearby miniscule shockwaves to roll in waves over the curb covered at least the entirety of the street.

The effect of the explosive attack left an impression on the orange-haired substitute shinigami's face, as well as inside his mind, observing the streets below him with the careful, yet slow cast of his vigilant gaze.

Taking a deep, labored intake of breath, his body dissolved from its spot, leaving only the faint sound of a buzz to fill the emptiness his shunpo left for but a split second.

He stepped skillfully over the distorted air that seemed to heave and creak underneath his covered feet. He was right in front of the smokescreen and he seemed particularly unimpressed when he narrowed his eyes in seriousness and swiped his left, bare hand from right to left in a horizontal motion while proclaiming in a soft but yet careless seeming tone: "I know that didn't kill you..", right before the smoke and sparking remains of his pitch black reiatsu subsided, the smoke itself seeming to split in two and force free a path of vision for Ichigo, in the same shape of the arm he had not long ago swept away dismissively.

"But whether or not you are is superficial. Leave."

The peculiar figure – known as Ivan Azgiaro – seemed genuinely shocked, his eyes widened for a moment before a wicked smirk cracked itself on his face.

"'Get off that bed', 'I don't know who you are, but get off that bed', 'Leave'. Hah! How can you be so confident?", the figure - that appeared to be the vile mixture of quincy and arrancar powers – spat venomously, realizing that he was displaying a fair deal of frustration at the substitute shinigami's nonchalance.

"Stop citing me already..", Ichigo groaned in response while scratching the back of his head and ruffling his thick, disheveled hair and part of his neck in a failed attempt to hide his minor annoyance.

Ivan started to snicker as he placed the palm of his hand to the left half side of his face, almost touching the hollow-like bony mask fragments when a crazed grin locked upon his face, "I just can't take it..", he remarked lowly throughout a low sniggering sound before a burst of madness compelled a loud rise of his voice, "I can't take it. Make me, Kurosaki! Make me stop! I'll show you that I'll rip you to shreds before you come close! So what, you managed to break my spell and save your bankai?"

Looking back at his damaged left arm, he noticed that the twin, bony fullbring-created lines that shaped a cross over that arm were broken and that the attire was shredded partially, he then looked back at the questionable man, still not having ascertained that it is an arrancar, or if it might actually be a quincy.

"You're too lax, Kurosaki, shouldn't you 'finish this within an instant', wisenheimer?', the seeming arrancar-quincy hybrid person remarked with a smirk as he arched his back and bowed over. Pleased by using Ichigo's own quotes against him.

The referred shinigami-substitute tightened the grip on his pitch black blade's handle as he straightened his back, analyzing the Azgiaro-person for a moment longer.

"Shut up."

The orange-haired ex-punk clenched the fingers of his unused left hand outward, giving it a somewhat clawed appearance. He raised it so that the palm faced his chin.

He closed his eyes and quirked his brows.. and..

"I really don't understand people like you that ramble off like that like it's a sport! Can't you be silent for a moment and not mock the opponent whose house you rudely invaded?", he preached, "- your kind really pisses me off! I don't care if you're stronger or weaker, I don't care about anything trivial like that, but at least shut your damned mouth when you face an opponent."

Ivan Azgiaro's smirk grew more than humanely possible as he responded rather calmly, in contrast to before, "Hah.. I wasn't talking about that. You really don't think that if I am to oppose a shinigami, I will do that alone? You really must be dense to assume that. No.. the end is nearing, Kurosaki. 'The Grand Termination' has already started in Soul Society. Starting with the Vice-Captains.."

A wave of coldness crept over Ichigo's entire spiritual body, freezing him to the core with just those words. His eyes widened and it felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut at least twenty times and he was gasping for breath.

A globule of sweat trickled down from his temple to his chin. Within an instant, he felt as cold as if waves of Hyourinmaru's ice had encased him, and as warm as if he was being burnt to a crisp by old gramp's Ryuujin Jakka at the very same time.

"More importantly.. shouldn't you make sure that Kuchiki Rukia is safe?"

It did not go unnoticed to Ivan – the way Ichigo's tight, vice-like grip on his bankai devolved into a shaky, soft bold excuse for an actual grasp.

'I took the liberty of making sure they prioritize her.', Ivan grinned again, but lost his confident, sadistic smirk when his orange-haired opponent disappeared from sight.

He looked around.

Up.

Down.

For some reason I cannot trace his reiatsu anymore.

Left.

Right.

It was then that Ivan Azgiaro looked over his shoulder, and noticed the shinigami substitute in a kneeling position, with his blade as low as he could with his back towards him. As if he had swung it. For some reason, the blade leaked its familiar pitch black reiatsu, but only in miniscule, almost unrecognizable chunks.

What is this pain that is suddenly welling up inside of my body?..

Before he was able to comment on it, a diagonal gap separated his body, leading from the utmost upper right part of his head, to his left toe.

Blood clouded his vision and covered his gloves and his prestigious white clothes. It was then that he had realized that he had been taken advantage of and cut into two without being able to even sense – let alone see – the blade's swing.

'What.. is..'

The gap grew as flesh and bones separated in a late reaction to the fatal attack. The blood only helped to separate the two, previously attached parts of his body as he fell on the ground, split in two.

For some reason, his vision cleared up, and he was able to remain stable for a few more moments, enough for him to catch the shinigami substitute glancing over his own shoulder, with a grotesque, skull-like hollow mask covering his face and two dark, unnatural yellow eyes peeking from in between two sockets, they were bathing in the oceans of pitch black darkness that were his sclera.

"Don't even joke about that.", the hybrid shinigami stated in a concluding manner. His voice distorted by a buzz and maddening echo.