This is my first story published here, and it's a pleasure to meet you. Truly an honor to meet the infamous Reader.

Fair warning though, my story is rated M. As in if you're under the appropriate age you'll probably enjoy it. I'm not condoning you do so however, just stating the fact you'll probably think it's awesome.

If you don't like the certain breed of violence that is both graphic and in many cases completely unnecessary, back at now. This story also incorporates perverse humor and coarse language to describe it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Tite Kubo's Bleach. But I do own my bleach. How else am I supposed to get my shirts white? The whiteness of a man's shirt signifies how well a lover he is! 'Least that's what Isshin keeps telling me...

Another small note, my chapters are how long it takes to progress through a certain point in my narrative, so the length of em' might be erratic. But other than that, the odds are they'll be significantly longer than this prologue.

Here we go.

You Probably Won't Enjoy This

Prologue

The man quirked an eyebrow in irritation, and he let his spiritual pressure explode. It rivaling the feeling of a supernova; he was daring the darkened sky to challenge him.

The heavens that transcend the sky roared in fury. The storm he'd provoked had consumed the town, tearing at the cultivated civilization. The world's rejection of the man echoed in the boom of natural forces; of wind, rain, hail, and the searing lightning protested against the man's existence. A man who left the calamity and disaster he'd created only to produce it elsewhere. A man ready to claim another life.

The woman momentarily lost thought at the crushing pressure he was releasing so effortlessly, but the deep crimson flow leaking from her acted to steady her mind against it. Her weak hand held pressure to the injured abdomen, but the blood was still pumping through. Her body was colored and soaked as if dipped in fresh death. She lay exposed and collapsed on the luxuriously soft carpet, slumped against the cold concrete wall that had recently been painted with her insides. The arm not stemming the flow of blood rose a tattered piece of her shihakusho to hide the immodesty of her chest, while the rest was laid round her waist, sheared at mid thigh. The rest of her was bare and dyed a tint of red.

Her vision flickered due to the immense spiritual pressure and her injuries. She was losing consciousness fast. Not yet, she reprimanded herself, blinking her satin lashes. I have to stay awake.

Contrary to her current situation, her amethyst eyes were not diluted with tears, or fear. Her entire body was rigid with defiance, and cold acceptance. She would never die screaming and pleading. That just wasn't who she was.

Outside, the sky erupted in furious, chaotic light. The lightning fought with the man's immense spiritual influence and illuminated the room. The woman saw him stalking forward, the same calm grin folded across his face. There was something disturbing about the way he smiled. It wasn't a smirk or even something cocky like a victor is expected to wear. It was just relaxed. The woman turned away from that grin, instead she looked down at her crumpled and broken body. Which only served to make her feel worse.

The room darkened as the light was subdued, but the faint sounds of footsteps could be heard. He was moving closer, an amusingly slow trot to his kill. He was almost surprised at the woman's strength, still being alive after so many direct hits. It was either strength or pure determination to live. And no matter how much he told himself she was just another kill, he couldn't accept it. There was something different about her. He compromised with himself, deciding he liked the way she looked. Even in the state she was in, nobody could refute the fact she was undeniably enticing. Her long raven hair was almost purple in the way it shined in the casted moonlight of the broken window. The way that one lock of hair artistically loitered on her face was exotic and maddening. His feet stopped, and his eyes just took her form in for a moment.

"You know," the women gave pause to his voice. It was easily more frightening then the reckless crash of thunder or hail. "I think you're cute. No need to be so gloomy!" he raised his hands, palms forward in a non threatening gesture as another bolt of lightning crashed trying to rid the earth of the man. "In fact, I may have a crush on you."

"...Bastard." The woman could barely breathe out the word. Everything hurts...

The man laughed, amused by wasting time with such pleasantries. He stepped closer, allowing himself to inspect her. Her face was that of a petite girl. A slim nose with very attractive pink lips weren't even the most distracting part of her facial beauty. It was her eyes. Her large, shifting purple-blue eyes were mesmerizing. The irises were both azure and deep amethyst, centered around the black of her pupil. In a word they were breathtaking, and completely entrancing for the incautious. He admired them for a moment, but then he exhaled a deep breath.

I've already wasted enough time looking at her. He thought, allowing his eyes to form an exasperated look while a care free smile graced his lips. He came to the absurd realization he really didn't want to kill her. Wants are all but meaningless in his line of profession, though. He'd still kill her. Doesn't mean he had to like it.

The woman sighed as the man stalked even closer. His perfect teeth were shown in a simple smile as he examined the white and blue katana three feet away from the dying girl. He had made sure she was incapable of further resistance, although he wouldn't mind watching her dance around again with it. He chuckled at his growing perversion, it was getting out of hand. He stopped then and slowly tore his eyes away from her cold face to explore her body as he ran a hand through his dark hair somehow mingled with the color of ash gray.

The skin that wasn't blood-stained was supple and fresh. It was creamy and white like porcelain, and he imagined feeling her smoothness. He took a sharp breath, and his eyes meandered to the slim shoulders. Then her arms. First the one keeping pressure to her stomach. He loved the strain she was going through to stay alive, and the blood just excited him. His eyes caught the other arm, cradling the flesh of her breasts covered by the veil of black. Even so he could tell they were quite attractive for such a petite girl. He liked the shape of them. If anything, they'd be firm. His lips curved into an animalistic smirk.

He took another step forward and the woman twitched. Sultry skin convulsing, she folded her legs together, trapping the black garment between them. The movement was hardly unnoticed by the hunter. He delighted in the way she moved. Such elegance and beauty... She was like a feline. An exhaled breath was let loose as he watched her lower body. The curve of her hips was desired; to kiss, touch, and possess.

He shrugged and his questionable curiosity of the dying girl, and continued his unhealthy examination.

Her thighs were firm, and her legs were slight all the way leading down to her little feet. Her crossed legs gave him now a new advantage. Their rise offered view to the bottom of her ass. And it drove him to a frenzy of lust he didn't have time for. Nor was he even supposed to have. A real bother. He knew he couldn't waste any time for himself, but a minute... Maybe two. He'd only touch.

The man gave in and smiled in wonderment. Never before had he been so forcefully attracted to a woman. The red that tinged her raven locks was exciting, wasn't it? The eyes like translucent pools of color stared unflinchingly at him. But not for long. The pain in her gut spiked for a second, making her wince in shock. He'd decided red was his new favorite color, and it looked best on her. He loved her perfect, crimson body.

A dark part roared inside of him at such sentimentality. Other of his Order didn't have such dark places, but he assumed when they got the eventual assignment he was sent to do, it wouldn't matter. They'd be forced to kill and destroy same as him

The man merely appeared indifferent to the girl as he thought, and she bit her bottom lip. It was cute.

Another bolt illuminated the room. The lightning revealed furniture, drapes, a carpet. All were ruined with with both blood and destruction. It was a savage reminder of the failure of the raven haired girl's mission. A kitchen and a bar were seen next. It was an apartment building, not a bad one at that. White collar, someone with money lived here. Or did.

The man stalked on, even closer, his chest rising and falling with excited breath.

The woman slowly looked in the hungry gray eyes of her attacker, and wondered why she thought she could do this alone. Pride, she thought wryly. She had faced this man confidently and uninjured not fifteen minutes ago. She closed her eyes and sighed. She could end it all now. Dig her hand into the wound on her gut, and kill herself instantly. It would only take a second, and it would save herself the inevitable time of toying he so seemed to be adept at.

But she couldn't.

No, she wouldn't. She still held on to something worth risking a prolonged death for. Her pride and, as she lay bare in a pool of her own blood, she entertained an impossible thought. And impossible hope. Maybe, just maybe, he'd come. She felt sickened by the very thought of wanting him to save her life. Well, maybe not exactly wanting. She'd like him to come, but not make it in time so he wouldn't have to die. Because that's what he'd do, he'd yell and talk about friendship which would inevitably lead to him having no other choice to either kill the guy or get killed himself.

The man peered down at her suddenly humored face, wondering what she was thinking, his body not two inches from her. He liked her, he really did. His lips curled into a genuine smile, revealing humanity and reason. But his reason had long gone ignored. He crouched down to her, knees bent. His face was so close to hers he could hear her exhale. The breath tickled and swayed the fabric of his shirt. He slowly extended his hand forward, reaching the soft skin of her shoulder. The woman's skin crawled and rebelled against his touch, and she gasped coming out of her reverie. He felt the smooth contours of her shoulder. His other hand felt her petite face. His heart quickened, and he traced her perfect, pink lips untainted with lipstick or gloss or whatever with his thumb, and explored her facial beauty with his fingers. Her nose, her brow, the cleft of her ears. It was all so delicate but strangely powerful. He knew she could probably judo-toss a six-hundred pound man.

The woman was momentarily confused by the man's tenderness, but she saw nothing but indifference in his eyes. "Stop touching me," she hissed at him through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I apologize. It seems you're not the type of woman to enjoy the soft stuff. Honestly I don't care for it either. Let's see if you like it rough." The man's face burned with his intent.

She felt an overwhelming sense of dread as the man's fingers traced down to her open wound and proved her suspicions correct. In one fluid movement he punctured her deeper, laughing as he did so. The wound was now gaping and uncontrollable, a debilitating blow had become a lethal one. Kidou wouldn't save her, not for any meaningful measure of time. The man's face lit up in happiness and euphoria. A shiver of ecstasy running up his spine. He liked teasing her insides. On his way out he made sure wiggle his fingers eliciting screams from the woman.

His smile faltered as he took complete control over himself, ushering his emotion in the recesses. Before she passed, he wanted to do something. Not for himself, or that's what he told himself. He'd have to do it now, though; he felt another pressure quite powerful. Not nearly as intense as his, but there could be doubt who the man approaching was. He needed to do it perfectly. And it had to be done while she was alive, and without the protests of his troublesome counterpart that resided in the depths of his dark.

Might as well add more to the game? The self-same tingle of ecstasy passed through him as his hands glided across her smooth legs. They danced upon the supple skin of her thigh. Tickling it, getting ever closer to the ripped shirt. He suddenly stopped and raised his desire driven face to hers, wanting more than anything to kiss her at the exact right time. Oh, this would be fun. The dark side of him seemed complacent with his intentions, but it still offered protests to the waste of time.

He leaned closer, his lips touching her soft ones. He actually wondered what she'd taste like. His mouth parted and his voice choked with lust and pent up emotion. And that's when he realized it. He wasn't going to kiss her because that other pressure could probably witness his assault via intimacy, no. He was doing this in a remembrance of a life lost.

"Well, you probably won't enjoy this. But try, ay' Rukia?" He crushed his lips to hers.

But it didn't matter. The normal life he had once before would always remain a memory. Or maybe none of it was even real. Maybe it was merely a fantasy. A fantasy full of soft kisses and grocery shopping. The side full of hate and strength laughed at what he knew was his weaker self.

Just noticed that this seems like a cliff. Sorry about that, but I really wanted to set up the story in a capacity that wasn't too long or busy. All the same I really tried to make this scene imaginable and the characters realistic. And that's all I ever do. I do, however, take no joy in informing The Reader that this story doesn't have much of a shot to go on. I'm trying to accomplish two goals: Get better at this craft in which I feel enslaved and bring inspiration, passion, and entertainment to those that read my work. If I get enough reviews with this story I'll be forced to reconsider my words seeing as that will fulfill my range of achievement. If it doesn't I'll move on to something that's worth both mine and your time.

Til' the next.

~CS