Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
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A/N: During the Thousand Year Blood War.
Solemnly, he sits alone in the small room, confined by its white walls and open windows. Curtains are parted as the wind blows, the sunrise slowly coming up with the smell of salty waves out in the harbor. From here, he can smell it.
Still wide awake, he turns page after page of a ratty old book, the cover tattered and a bit sticky, perhaps from a spill. He doesn't wipe his hands off anymore, too engrossed in the old histories of a great legacy. A legacy that should have been passed on with his death.
As he reads, he harbors those feelings of hatred for those who have ended half of what he is, what he should have always been. It's not just one of them, he realizes, one with hands of blood, but all of them. Their collective. They are all responsible for so much death. They should all pay the same price.
He's a bit glad that he didn't follow them into the fray, to save the lives of the people who destroyed his own. He owes them nothing, even if few of them are considered friends and allies. Once was enough for him. Twice is asking too much, even when coming from his schoolmates.
Yet, at the same time, he wishes that he had followed them, if only to watch those great white walls come crumbling down. They should, after all that their people have done to his.
In his hand, he holds the cross, the book falling shut.
They brought him genocide. Why should he stop them from receiving the same?