We are human Chapter 1: That's life I suppose, a bleach fanfic

Well, I'm writing my first fic, and an OC one at that, so I suppose I should ask you all to be kind but I'd rather you be honest, besides I have a sever distrust of OCs so I'll probably judge him much harsher than any of you. I actually came up with this character while reading AbstractError's work so there will be some discrepancies from Kubo's original story, you don't have to read her or his (not sure the gender of the writer) work but it can't hurt. Okay enough of the dull crap on with the show.

That's life I suppose

July 15, 1327 London

The crowd seemed to sway back and forth as the sun beat mercilessly down upon them as though that tiny movement would alleviate their discomfort yet none would think of missing the execution of such a notorious criminal. Eventually a mule drawn wagon began to make its way through the crowd. There were four guards surrounding the wagon each periodically glancing to the man standing in the wagon above them, the man about to die.

He was a tall man, though all Danes were taller than the average Londoner, with hair that at one time may have been blonde but due to his lengthy incarceration had left it brown and filthy, sticking to his scalp and hanging limply between his shoulder blades. Though many would think him to be in his early forties with his scraggily beard and gaunt features he was actually only in his late twenties or early thirties. He wore what very well could have been a few potato sacks tied together with nothing to cover his blistered feet. His dark green eyes swept the crowd back and forth as though looking for something yet never finding it for every face he saw either turned away in fear or looked upon him with nothing but hate.

"Odd," he mused "I don't even know who any of these people are".

Soon enough they reached the steps to the gallows. The guard at the back took the rope that bound the man's hands and guided him to the noose all the while the man continued to gaze at the crowd; this did not go unnoticed by the guard.

"What are ya looking for," the guard laughed "you've stolen more than any o these people ave made in their lives, ya think any one o them'll shed a tear fer the likes o you."

The man turned to the guard and plastered a smile on his filthy face, "Nah, jes lookin ta see if any o da ones Ah actually stole from made it ta dis man's last stand, so fer jes a crowd o nobodies guess sa long as dey got der stuff back dey don care what appens to da one what took it".

The guard let out a laugh to that and quickly stepped back down in order to get a good view of the execution. As he left a vicar ascended the steps followed closely by a heavyset man with a grey beard wearing a black hood. The executioner walked up to the prisoner and deftly fit the noose around his neck as the vicar began to speak.

"Christ do Ah rally hav ta listen ta dis at mah own execution," the prisoner muttered turning to the heavyset executioner standing with his hand on the lever that would see him to the grave "Ah'm about ta die ain't dat punishment a nough."

"… impersonation of a member of the clergy, impersonation of a member of the military, arson…," continued the vicar.

"Arson?" said the prisoner all the while keeping his eyes on the heavyset man with the hood and smiling as though he didn't have a care in the world, "Ah lite one pair o drapes wit a candle an suddenly dey act as tough Ah burn daun St. Paul's." The executioner continued to ignore him, "Ah suppose burnin a baron's drapes jes ta caws a bit o chaos be a high crime in dese pats."

"Be silent," whispered the executioner as though to speak during the vicars readings of the accused crimes were akin to burning the cross, "have some decency for once in your wretched life."

The prisoner finally turned his face to look the heavyset man dead in the eyes, "No," he was no longer smiling, "if Ah was ta stop talkin den dis would jes be another day des people would ferget but dat ain't wot dis be about," his eyes were no longer shining with mirth, " ya caught meh fine, ya gonna kill meh truth is Ah deserve it, but ya put meh on display in front o da palace where dat great t'ief of a man we call King dat Ah do not laik." The older man stared at this gaunt sickly man dressed in rags that suddenly seemed less sickly and worse less like a prisoner. "Dis whole ting is jes ta make de people member who be de top dog, hell Ah bet oh he be done."

The vicar made his way over to the prisoner, "Have you any last words?"

"In all honesty Ah do," the man to a breath to collect his thoughts then he stamped his foot on the boards he was standing on, "Ah hope mah neck breaks when dis door be opened." At the questioning look the holy man gave him he elaborated. "When Ah was a kid Ah fell inta da Themes, nearly drowned, is de only experience Ah pray ta God Ah neva gotta go trough again."

The executioner scoffed and gripped the lever more firmly but the vicar continued to look into the prisoner's eyes, for the first time that day he saw uncertainty, "You're afraid."

"Nah, Ah was afraid last naght now Ah'm jes ready ta git dis over wit," but the trembling of his bound hands gave him away.

"Do you believe in God?" asked the holy man "well of course you do, else you would not pray to him." The prisoner remained silent. "Perhaps if you were to repent your sins to me he would let you into heaven."

The other man's hands suddenly stopped trembling, "Ah've seen a lot in mah life an dere be one ting Ah know without a doubt," he leaned closer to the vicar so the executioner wouldn't hear, "dere is a God but he don't care a wit bout any o us least of all me."

The vicar looked at him as though he were a child that had disappointed his teacher before the final test and he may very well have. With a nod of his head a burlap bag was placed over the prisoners head. The lever was polled and the last coherent thought the prisoner had in this life was, "Well, shit" then he was overcome with indescribable terror and panic as his leg began to kick furiously looking for ground that was not there.

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September 19 1601 Hueco Mundo

It was like any other place you might find on this plane of existence, white sand as far as the eye can see periodically broken up by what at first glance appear to be dead trees but which were an impossibility for in order for there to be dead trees there must first be living trees and this place only housed the dead; perhaps a cruel joke to force those to remember what they had lost. The only thing that set this little patch of hell apart from any other were the dozens of hollows milling about, for as long as they could remember this area had been free of any of the tyrants, any of those horrible creatures known as Vaste Lorde.

Suddenly, as one of the larger hollow was lumbering from one cluster of the dead to another a tear in reality came into being situated in the middle of where the collective of groups the hollows had gathered. At first it was no bigger than the height of a coin but it grew at an alarming rate until three full grown men could walk side by side without any discomfort. This did not go unnoticed by the different groups of hollows most of which retreated to what they perceived to be a safe distance though a few including the larger one held their ground and waited for whatever had created this doorway to come through. They didn't have to wait long.

When the Garganta had finished forming its creator shambled out, at first he looked like a man but when the shadows fell away from him it was made clear he was anything but. From the waist up he was a Caucasian man with longer brown hair, the fringes kept out of his eyes by a band of what appears to be white bone, sticking up as though he has just stood in a wind tunnel for about an hour, his dark green eyes were flashing with barely controlled rage, while his lean yet corded torso and arms constantly tensed and relaxed, the only part forever still is a small hole just above his navel. From the waist down his body seemed to become a shapeless blob for about two feet at which point it split apart into eight separate tentacles complete with hundreds perhaps thousands of suction cups on the bottoms.

Seven of the tentacles were flailing about as though looking for some small or not so small animal to latch onto and crush; the eighth, unfortunately, was three feet shorter than the others and burnt black at the end. The man, upon closer inspection, had several burns along his right arm and abdomen as well as seemed to be missing a few clumps of hair.

"GODFUCKINGDAMN IT!" He screamed as he finally got himself under control, or at least enough to talk. "I spend five shitty years doing nothing but dampening my reitsu in this place and what do I get," those hollows that had the audacity to stand close to him die on the spot, "A month, A BLEEDING month in the real world."

As he continued to rant more and more hollows died simply from the force of his reitsu.

"Am I eating any human souls, no, am I eating any Quincy, no, am I eating any thrice damned shinigame, NO so how is it that that old decrepit fart is still able to find me. I used to be able to stay there for years and now I get a month, yeah that's fair, all of eternity in this pit and a month under the sun." by this time those on the outskirts of the group started to fall, "I'm going to kill him, I don't care how long it takes but I'm going to cut off Yamamoto's big fat beard tear out his heart wrap it in that disgusting bundle of hair and jam it down his throat!"

By now every single hollow in the immediate area lay dead, there was no blood no sign of a struggle of any kind, their hearts and minds simply could not withstand his unbridled presence. Finally calming himself the man looked around to see the circle of death he stood in the middle of.

"Well first things first," he mused as he pick up the closest body, "bon apatite." As he sunk his teeth into the creatures flank the burns along his shoulder began to turn from dark red to a light pink.

A/N Whew, too much description not enough action thank all the gods that ever were and ever will be that I only came up with one OC. Yes he has a name I just didn't want to say This is the story of blah blah I suppose I could've had the vicar say it but I didn't want to so whatever. If you take the tip of your index finger and touch it to the tip of your thumb that's the size of his hole. That's enough outta me.

Oh if you can't understand what he's saying before his execution try saying it aloud, that's how I did his dialogue.