Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or its characters.
A haunting song drifted through the partially open windows. A long tan body, bare skin and muscles bathed in moonlight, stretched languidly across dark blue covers. The man's flaccid and hefty length leaned against the inside of his inner left thigh. Fingers twitched as the song started up again, causing the sapphire in the shape of a sleeping panther to flicker on the middle finger of the left hand. The glowing silver of a Desert Eagle stood out on the surface of the black bedside table.
Pink lips twitched into a frown. Sky blue hair fell across a smooth, unlined forehead. The song outside suddenly rose in crescendo, causing eyelids to twitch and spring backwards to reveal angry cobalt blue eyes.
"Fucking Starrk and his wolves." He grumbled.
He leaned over and grabbed his white dress shirt off of the dark blue steel plank floor, sitting up as he slipped it on. He didn't bother to button it as he snatched the black slacks he'd worn earlier and pulled them over his legs to rest a bit low on his hips. Fingers pulled up the zipper, but didn't bother with the two hidden hooks. He took his machete off of the wall on his way out of the door.
A short walk halfway across the second landing, down a flight of spiral stairs to the first and out of the back door into what the blue haired man liked to call Heaven's Garden. And every Heaven has it's Hell, so he kept the more poisonous and carnivorous plants in the other half of the garden. Everything had a look of silver about it, the moon sat low and heavy, bathing the world in an unnatural amount of her light.
The man had to walk through Heaven and Hell before he finally found Starrk. He was lying on the grass at the very edge of the forest they'd decided to build their mini mansion near. Two men dressed entirely in black also lay on the grass. One had a broken neck, blood staining his lips. The other had four bullet holes in his torso, black eyes open and staring. The grip on the handle of his machete made his hand turn white.
Starrk's left leg was twisted. Blood stained the man's bare feet and slacks as he walked across the wet, acrid smelling grass to his friend. Two stab wounds in the upper chest, a bullet in the stomach. Blood coated his black hair, his cheeks and lips. Both of his light brown hands were empty. The bastards stole his custom pistols. The blue haired man almost startled at the gurgling wind that suddenly made Starrk's chest rise and fall minutely. Blue eyes met dulling brown.
"Grimmjow." Starrk whispered brokenly. Blood and pain coated every syllable. "Go back…End it…For good."
Grimmjow nodded, body shaking in fury and blue eyes glittering with unshed tears. When Starrk finally breathed his last, Grimmjow stood stiffly, glaring at he two dead fuckers in black. Then he screamed in pain and fury like a cougar, roared like a lion, and growled like his favorite, the panther. All the while his right arm rose and fell in a bloody, squelching pace, cutting the dead assassins into pieces. Not much blood should have gotten on him, since they were dead and the blood had already settled in the body. But Grimmjow was blind with rage and revenge.
He cut them up, stomped the remains, punched them, and even tore and ripped with his own two bare hands. By the time he was done, he was drenched in meat and blood. The sight of those scythes tattooed into their skin had only made him angrier. He stood calmly, machete once again in hand, and walked into the forest. Grimmjow found two or three dead wolves on the way and the rest of the pack tearing into two dead bodies in black. They weren't eating them, just tearing the bodies apart. Grimmjow felt a thin kinship, maybe that was what had kept him with Starrk. The Alpha caught sight of him and Grimmjow could see his soul when he looked into those eyes. His large white head tilted backwards towards the moon and his ears were pinned back against his skull, but he kept his silvery-gray eyes open while he howled, as if he couldn't bear to close his eyes to his grief.
The rest of the pack took up howling, making Grimmjow's heart burn at the sound of that haunting symphony. He watched and listened for a few minutes more before turning and heading back to the house.
He showered thoroughly, but shortly, dressing in worn black leather pants and black combat boots. He rubbed some hair gel on his palms, then ran them over his hair, spiking his blue hair as it hadn't been spike in four years. He glared at his reflection before turning away. The short, leather jacket he wore open over his bare torso let anyone who cared to look see the bold gothic six inked on the skin of his lower back. Grimmjow grabbed four duffels. Two he filled with weapons, the other two with money he had stashed there. He loaded his bags into the trunk of his black mirror finished Bugatti and pushed the starter button while he searched his pockets for a cigarette. He found one, a bit crumpled, in an inner pocket and wasted no time in lighting it. After his first exhale of smoke, he put the car in first gear and drove off. He rolled the windows down and turned the stereo on. Eminem blasted his ears as wind buffeted his face. The road was dark and silent and he made good time pushing two hundred when he slowed to a gradual stop.
The blue haired man reached over with his right hand and opened the glove compartment. He pulled out a small square controller and turned it on. With a heavy sigh, he pushed the button that marred the smooth surface. Even so far away, he could feel the aftershock of the explosion.
'Fucking Reapers.' He thought. 'I thought I was done being Sexta.'
A/N: Well, here's chapter one. I have the second one done already, but I'm going to rewrite it and do some more research once my internet gets back up. So how do you like it J