Chapter 1: Arrancar Sincuenta y Ocho
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Silence.
.
For a very long time...
That was all there is.
Laying...
Floating on this endless black void.
Sensing nothing.
As if my bare skin were paralyzed.
Is it not time yet?
Is this not a prison?
Won't I be let out soon?
...How long have I stayed ... trapped inside my own body...
No... it must be time... IT MUST BE!
.
A thin spear of light shot out from one end of the abyss. It seemed alien among the dark masses of shadows, smoke and nothingness. But a comforting herald it was then to the woman drifting beneath it. Her mercury eyes glinted with its blinding whiteness. She held out an arm, long been hanging on her side pointlessly. She touched the wandering ray.
'...finally...'
Light and flesh connected.
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"Okaeri... our new sister..."
The voice, a glaciating cold, laced, however, with convincing kindness, echoed off the dim walls of the room. The bored audience hidden around in dark corners turned slowly to an indistinguishable figure in the centre. It was shadowed by the looming frame of Aizen Sousuke. His eyes, completely erased of all emotions, glistened momentarily at the combined shimmer from the Hougyouku in its glass cube and the suppressed excitement of yet creating another augmentation to his perfect army. His lips furthered across his face.
Crack.
That object was wrapped in white bandages, solidified by months of entrapment. It was crumbling softly, cocoon-like; pieces falling on the black marble floor. This was an excessively usual happening, though, to the Espadas, who now resumed their own conversations.
"That Grimmjow... either he's waitin' for another grand entrance, or he's really not bringin' his ass up here again. ..."
"And you're to talk? May I remind you that it took quite an amount of my precious time convincing you to attend today."
"Ha. And since when has your time ever been precious? All I've seen you do is stick your ugly face on those glass jars of yours and stare at 'em like a sick creep for hours..."
"Do not piss me off today, Nnoitra. My very, very important project is a success, as you can see. You lot should be adoring me."
"Oh, well, adore this."
"You put that finger down, or I'll cut it off for you."
"...ahhhh... Szayel, Nnoitra, you're annoying Halibel-san already. "
"..."
"Nobody asked you to butt in, scruffy!"
"Scruffy? Well that's inventive. Bites real hard, too."
"Now, now, highly esteemed Espada..." Zommari Leroux smiled. "...once you have stopped your sweet exchanges, you can see who has arrived."
The great high black doors parted a gap, and in strode, without much perturbation from the glaring eyes following him, a lone arrancar. His footsteps reverberated in hollow tones in the now silence-struck room. He was a tall young man with a perfectly built body, as displayed by the unzipped upper suit of his white hakama. His hands were buried deep in their usual places: his pockets, and as was his face fastened in the accustomed mixture of disinterest and irritability. The latter was amplified by the stiff creases about his contracted eyebrows. His bright cobalt hair was fixed messily upwards; some strands hanging down his forehead. It impeccably matches his set of shocking, electric blue eyes, their lids half-closed in an air of bored detachment. A remnant of his hollow mask, half of a canine-like jaw, is displayed on his right cheek. It expanded as he allowed a great yawn to issue from his mouth. Needless to say, he wasn't quite excited to be here.
"Grimmjow..." The cold and commanding, yet cordial tones of Aizen were directed to him. He stopped immediately in his tracks, only a few steps away from his fellow Espadas. As he turned around, his overbearing demeanour was ebbing away slowly. The former Fifth Division Captain and banished traitor of Seiretei was only ever that one that had given him unease. His sapphire eyes glinted for a moment before he answered, "Naze-ka, Aizen-sama?"
"I have heard recently that you have just again...er... disposed...of one of your fraccións, is that right...?"
"Keh. That bit of filth annoyed the hell outta me... Don't think he'd ever be of some use to you, anyway..."
"..."
Grimmjow's face contorted. Taut silence from that former shinigami meant anything save good.
"...Grimmjow..." Aizen repeated. This time, emphasized with his most frigid tone.
"I am sure that everyone here is all aware of the complications and work to be done in developing a new ally, a new addition to our family each time. I have yet even to master the use of the Hougyoku and uncover ways of speeding up and advancing the transformation of Menos. So, I deem it logical to give out punishments to any of you who think that it is of their power to see to the deaths of their fellow arrancars. However..."
Aizen paused for several seconds, during which Grimmjow stared intently at him. His whole attention was caught at the word 'however'.
"...I understand, Grimmjow. All your actions were but exaggerated attempts meant to please me... at least... I believe so."
He took some steps closer to the frozen Espada.
"You are quite fortunate, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques. I have acquired another able subject within a mere week, thanks to a little gamble. I do hope this one will now, at least, last under you for a month. A record, I am sure."
On that mocking note, he turned towards the door, and, with a listless wave of hand, dismissed everyone in the room.
Pride has always been his weakness. Second only to that of resulting impulsiveness and a smug disregard for rules. Which, practically, are certain acts of pride. Thereupon, the Sixth Espada would have no hesitations when it comes to eliminating anything, just anything, that dare leave a filthy trace on his otherwise daunting status. But as circumstance demands it, Grimmjow, at the moment, is driven into self-containment. An extremely impossible feat.
He was, after all, given a female fracción.
He detested weaklings the most. So, naturally, women were given a special level of loathing. He had seen enough of their sick, emotion-based ideals, too much of their fixation to the past and other disgusting sentimentalities, the tiresome sight of Loly and Menoly clinging to their master Aizen like a pair of desperate lapdogs, and their obvious lack of pleasure in carnage-filled combats. That was women to him, in general.
Grimmjow spared her a glance. The small figure that had followed him in his shadow along the white-washed corridors remained dead silent all the way. She donned a temporary robe, having been just retrieved from her shell of bandages. Her inanimate eyes, a scintillating mercury hue, were still boring on the floor with a gaze which does not seem to be in this dimension. It was endless, empty, and cold. That deadened look reminded Grimmjow forcibly, with a sudden wave of dislike, of Ulquiorra Schiffer. A person of unrelenting impassiveness, that other Espada's mere mention was enough to start a flicker of light in those vivid blue eyes. Even now, as he inspected the new arrancar more, her limp, flowing charcoal-black tresses also looked strongly reminiscent of Ulquiorra's shorter locks
'...tch...this new dog and that zombie could be related, for all I know...'
They reached the end of the torch-lit hallway, a steel-granite door bearing ominously upon them. With an effortless push of a hand, it swung apart noiselessly. The pair ambled in.
Suddenly diminishing all signs of probable muteness, she spoke in, perhaps, usual, icy tones.
"Where are we?"
Grimmjow faced her, his surprise mingling with utter amusement. His signature maniacal grin quickly sprode across his features.
"Ah, finally talkin' now, eh? Glad to know you're mouth's still working, 'cos I ain't taking any defective shit to wait on me."
She remained staring at him. Blankly still.
"..."
"Pretty talkative, aren't ya? But that's good. Just keep shutting up and ready your ears... I'll explain all my rules clearly right now, shall I?"
With a force and speed comparable only to the lithest of beasts, he thrusted a hand to the adjacent wall and caught her neck on the way. The wall released a thin cloud of dust as it impacted. Despite the unexpected display of brute and violence, the female arrancar preserved her impassivity and showed an odd numbness to pain. Her haunting eyes were still directed at Grimmjow's.
"Listen carefully, bitch. You should know by now the thing 'bout us, Espadas. We ten were specially handpicked by Aizen among all his creations... 'cos of our power. I'm the Sexta Espada..."
He tightened his clutch.
"Meaning, I'm the sixth strongest of all arrancars. And do you think I'd let someone like you spread shit on my days?
Hell, no."
Grimmjow drew closer, maintaining the vice-like grip on the female fracción. His smirking facet flashed wide on his face.
"So be a good girl, do every single thing I tell you and keep your nose outta my personal business. Drill that into your brain... or, on second thought,"
He smiled viciously, struck with an idea. "...into your skin should be more than enough..."
The blue-haired arrancar roughly pushed upwards, with his free hand, her only garment. The girl's abdomen stood palely against Grimmjow's vast hand. Her ghastly skin seemed to be in perfect blend with her robe's whiteness and only displayed the barest tinge of blood. Her still gaze moved to the scabrous palm of the Espada. He concentrated a tiny amount of his reiatsu at the tip of his forefinger; the neon-blue spark threw off immense heat and emitted strands of smoke, swirling freely in front of Grimmjow's grinning visage. He slowly placed the ignited finger on the exposed skin. It burned instantly on contact. The bright cobalt eyes momentarily shone with anticipation and were looking down at her in overwhelming contempt. A predator upon its powerless prey. Yet this prey was not yielding to that natural hierarchy. The smaller arrancar did not so much as let a blink escape her inexplicable composure as the fetid stench of her own scorched skin reached her nostrils. Nor were there any signs of fear etched on her pallid face. Grimmjow narrowed his eyes as he took notice. He started tracing, with agonizing pressure, on the skin from the now blackened point of contact. It left its trail of scalded flesh and a lingering smell of grey fumes. A brownish-red figure now lay permanently embedded on the contrasting paleness; a rough number '6' on the left side of her stomach. He bent down, still securely clasping her throat, and came face-to-face with the scabbed skin. With a smile of satisfaction, he began licking on the fresh scar. It sent millions of nerves quivering in extreme pain, but did not seemingly still reach her benumbed expressions. Grimmjow's damp, moist tongue continued cooling, and inflicting unbearable soreness, on the girl's skin. She did not, even once, recoil.
Grimmjow straightened up finally and withdrew his hand. The female arrancar immediately slid down the wall then stood rather firmly in place. She looked once more at Grimmjow through those half-closed eyes. She cocked her head to one side.
"I was not told that long-winded 'initiation ceremonies' were given to new fraccións..."
It leaked of contempt.
A nerve emerged visible on Grimmjow's forehead; this woman was really trying his patience. However, he made an effort to compose himself. Bursting into a fit of rage right in front of this pest would only yield to her satisfaction. And he wouldn't want that now, would he?
"...Your name?" he spat.
With mocking formality, the girl bowed her mane of charcoal-black then answered in that chilling voice of hers.
"Ferriesze Quiksilver. Arrancar fifty-eight, as I'm told. Appointed, however not yet accepted, I believe, as new subordinate to Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, sixth of the Espada."
She looked up and met only with Grimmjow's departing back. He ran a careless hand along the back of his head and spoke in a voice intended for her to hear.
"Quiksilver, huh? ...I'll try rememberin' that..."
And he disappeared.
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