The Soul King was dying.
His body, with its frigtheningly white skin, his endlessly long and just as white, silky hair splayed around him and his ever closed eyelids, was as cold as ice.
The Soul King was dying and he would take the world with him.
Inoue shouted something at him. She might as well whisper because Ichigos ear reached none of it. His own amber eyes were trained on the gawking, hole in the white bodys chest. Black blood drenched the previously stainless being. His heart had been ripped out. Ichigos mind was running at high speed while everything around him came to a screeching halt. The Soul Kings heart had been torn apart and thrown away like dirty rags.
He needed a heart.
Inoue could mend broken bones, ripped skin, teared flesh and stop the worst bleedings. But she couldnt replace a heart.
He needed a heart.
Time trickled away, like water out of a cupped hand. Ichigo had no time. He had no time and he had no heart to offer. Or had he?
If the Soul King died, so would the world and every being within.
So it didnt matter either way did it?
He acted before the thought had completely formed. Ichigo had full access to all of his powers including his hollow powers. His soul was finally balanced. His powers were a mirror of his mind, calm, collected, even. Ichigo knew that his hollow powers entailed the ability of high speed regeneration. And there had been a time, when he was dying- no. When he had died. But his instinct had kicked in and refused to accept. That day he had done what no other Hollow, not even a Vasto Lorde turned Arrancar had ever achived. He had regrown internal organs.
But Ichigo also knew that that wouldnt happen again. He was well-balanced now. He was calm. He knew he wouldnt be needed after what he intended to do now. So his instincts wouldnt force his body to do that blasphemous act again.
No miracles where to happen this time around.
Black claws grew at the tips of his fingers and his hand found its way to his chest. Agonizing slow he felt his own talons dig into his flesh. A thick red liquid made its way down to his abdomen, soaking his hakama and turning his once white obi a glaring ruby red. The claws dug in deeper and he could feel them stopping right before the steel like nails reached his beating heart. Then he pulled. More blood gushed out of the injury, pooling beneath him.
The others attention was still with the dying Spirit King. They didnt look behind their backs. Didnt see the act commited.
Ichigo felt every single fiber of his flesh slowly tearing apart, not being able to withstand his strenght. It was such a intense sensation that everything else faded into the back of his mind. Like the warm cloth of his hakama sticking to him like a second skin, or his view turning blurry, or the hard, cold marble floor which his knees hit when his legs gave out due to the heavy blood loss.
But none of that mattered. He was too preoccupied savored the feeling of ripping his own chest open. He concentrated on keeping his hand steady after it threw away the lump of flesh it had torn out, so the talons wouldnt hurt the organ in the process of tearing it out.
For the tersest moment, Ichigo relished the feeling of his own beating heart in his hand.
He was awfully calm, the steady rhythm of his still beating heart being proof of that. In less than a second it wouldnt be his anymore, he marveled. A soft sigh escaped his slightly upward curled lips. So this was it, the end, the moment of his death. Ichigo would've chuckled if he werent apprehensive of the organ in his clawed hand. He looked at the blurry backs of his friends hunched over the body of the otherworldly being and drew in one last breath.
Than he yanked it out.