Only a few seconds managed to race by, those lifeless, black markings never stood a chance under that chilling beam of his. Hardly any grain of time slipped away from his grasp into nothingness as an unbendable tactic was already being executed. Utterly annihilate eight defense points of the enemy, while failing miserably at two more. Nothing else was needed to achieve supreme domination.

Never allow yourself to be found in close attention circle of the enemy lines, but keep yourself respected among your own ranks. Easy as that.

That's the outline Ichigo has been keeping himself to for the second half of the second high school year. Always a guaranteed 25th place among the best of his section. Considered to be very good, but not good enough for teachers to close their eyes on his reputation and chilling demeanor to even dare and approach the teen in hopes of him attending any contests or competitions.

Leaders of sports clubs kept surrounding him similar to mosquitoes in summer, they had no reason not to. He always meant business, not much effort was being put in, though even that always kept them at the top. Not even a single time his name got smeared with any trouble while on the job, just like a professional mercenary.

His street reputation had provided him with nicknames among those lines of 'Sinful Strawberry' to 'Orange Faggot', he had no sobriquet prior to this winter, but since among thugs he had gained some kind bounty on his head due to the status 'yet to be beaten'. For that to happen he had to be found beforehand. Numerous stake-outs had been commenced at the entrance to the grounds of his school, sadly their efforts were of no avail.

That's how those pathetic nametags came along, miserable attempts of antagonizing him. It all fell deaf on his ears, whereas the major population of the school was fed with juicy gossip material.

His friends and family were always met with full answers to their inquiries, the ever being cherry-on-top that thin, yet warm smile of his. Nevertheless, he never initiated any conversations with any of them, managed to greet everyone he knew before the other party could, not once exceeding the limit of four words.

The very few propositions of hanging out after school, or any other free timeframe, were always met with a denial. Why very few? His lack of power is to blame. Possibly the mental state of his after the huge loss. There were several assumptions levitating around, although no one ever bothered themselves to ask. They were too sure about their speculations.

The outcome? Distant-treatment for the fiery haired teen. Exactly what the doctor had prescripted!

He was a hero. A true protégé for all those sorry excuses of men, brothers and fathers out there who lacked the guts to keep their façade up for their family after some minor emotional trauma. Ichigo stood like an oak for his family, especially his sisters – tall, unshakable and full of pride.

All things considered make him to be exceedingly good but dreadful student, most sought person on the streets and a loving big brother at home, all of that tightly wrapped in dense atmosphere of mystery.

Rash muscle contraptions.

Dimension tearing cramp in left calf.

Thousands of alveolus in the lungs hyperventilating. Not enough.

Brain starving for oxygen.

Skin rapidly emits sweat.

A shrill gasp burns its way through Ichigo's throat. Muscles, full of piled up potential energy, finally let go launching Ichigo out of his bed.

He now sat on his carpet by the bed, eyes wide open, staring in bewilderment. Head entwined by his tanned hands, fingers clutching into the skull, threatening to never let go, leveling his wild, orange hair with his scalp. However his reaction is less … intense that it should have been. Eyeballs wide open for the outside world to observe in combination with all the grimaces of his features wailed of fear and yet despite that, the soul-sucking blankness of his pupils threatened to tell a different tale.

"Ahh…" No screams of 'What?!' or wild mind goose chases for answers of what had just happened, current concern being the sweaty, now flytrap-sticky, skin of his bare legs that had attained noticeable amount of dust and rubbish on them, menacing to cause terrible discomfort very soon. Just a flat, low growl.

This being only the first week after he completely regained consciousness of his being, nights such as these were already a routine for him and there was no occasion where Ichigo would find himself shelled by fear or drowning in inner turmoil when awoken by the unknown. The aftereffect being that everlasting feeling of warmth and closure in answers he sought, being balanced out by bitter threats of never leaving the eternal darkness of the unknown.

He felt nothing.

Only the searing flames of desire.

Carmine red eyes, veiled by delicate dance of cunning darkness, lazily traced the movements of struggle of two Shinigami souls against a pack of hollows. The nightfall held figure high and still as it withheld from partaking in any action, his eyebrows furrow in passing of judgment onto them, yet the movement remains unseen due to his eyebrows being as black as if someone had drawn them with a piece of coal.

'Poor balance center'

'White knuckles. The grip on the handle way too forceful'

For the last year Ichigo restlessly watched over the area he was residing in, things were swiftly going downhill.

It was not the matter of the quality of accomplished feats, but the attitude they were done with. With each passing Shinigami, the harsh blizzard in their eyes intensified. Today consoling of a plus soul before sending it to the afterlife took the rarity of a miracle, it was none of his concern.

The reasons were.

There were select few who reeked of academy graduates, the current pair clashing at his feet being the case, and they had too little experience to be sent on patrols in the living world, but they had the stance.

The stance of armies for countries with heavy totalitarianism. Their mentality prepared to slit a throat of any comrade on a mere whim of commanding staff. As his first practice with Gotei 13 had shown, they were blindly abiding orders even then, this is an enormous leap in the wrong direction of the pages of Ichigo's book.

The two on the ground barely made it, now crawling somewhere off to lick their wounds. The head of long black mane shifted its attention onto the warm glow of stars.

'I wonder, what does this mean for me?' At long last the tall figure allowed the gears of mind to stir the gray substance of his skull to produce an idea, apparently the wrong gears shifted.

'IT MEANS FUN!' A shrill, disrupted voice exclaimed from within the depths of mind.

'Just think of it! For once take that pole out of your ass and imagine!' The white replica of his human body kept screaming excitedly in his mindscape, flailing its arms theatrically in the air. 'Field action!' As if drawing a scenery, he extended his right arm, flashing black fingernails, and drew a horizontal line in the air. 'And best but surely not least' Keeping silence for a tense moment with eyes bulging out unnaturally. 'Damsels in distress! Just think of the act of making them into queens!' Tears of immense happiness hastily found their way down to his chin.

A minute of grave silence slid by both, in the city on the inside and on the outside, enough time for the glimmer of astronomical bodies to find their way into his thoughtful eyes.

'Can't help you with damsels …' His vision slid down and settled onto the shimmering Karakura, reminiscing nostalgic moments, continued the thought absentmindedly.

'… But I can assure you of field action.'

Notes, faster that expected, huh?

Nothing much to add, a short prologue to present the main vibe in which the story shall move on.

If the language feels dull, melancholic and just plain gray on anything else of sorts, let me know. Questions on why Ichigo is the way he is will be answered in the future chapters, but feel free to ask if there are any uncertainties.

Please, share your thoughts in reviews or maybe even PM - your choice!

~Mistikov