Bleach: Lolita
An authors note: For those who have stumbled here, welcome. This story was heavily inspired by Vladimir Nabokov's "Lolita". I hope you are at least familiar with the subject matter before you read. A Mature rating as of Chapter 2 and due to the nature of the storytelling, the contents of the M will gradually grow in strength. I don't see any reason to pull punches. This story contains a lecherous OC x Various Bleach female counterparts (Mainly the Kurosaki twins.) This story is slightly AU, but adheres to the main Arcs, before the start of the 1000 year Blood war.
Chapter 1 - Haki the Wolf
My scholar waits for me. My limbs are restrained by black bindings that seem to weigh on my soul with all the same hatred. I am on a criminals throne, hosted by the 40 gracious wise men and their 6 judges, our Central 46. These men are leaving now, having already tried me and ordered my execution date. Now they would go back to their families. I gave no protest. The circular room is briefly filled with scuffling and muttering as these men slither out and I can see not one of the accusing faces. The scholar, a ample young woman with round cheeks and dead eyes sits in a wooden chair before me. The judiciaries have left me with her and the dim lights brighten to a sufficient writing level. Her scroll, her pen, and her ink are ready. She wants my story, for records sake. It is her job and I can feel her thirst for my words. I allow her my loving smile, knowing we are alone. She is far too old and meaty for my tastes, but I have been gifted a strong affinity for womankind and I wield that double-edged allure more frequent than the ZanpakutÅ. My gentle smile is simple and welcoming and charming enough to invite her to conversation. She is too young to detect my discrepancies.
"You may start." she insisted in a tiny dinging voice, not allowing herself to melt under a handsome captive. I am sure the maiden felt some empowerment, giving a former vice-captain her blessing to speak. I would punish her for this in time with my words.
For now, I would satiate her thirst.
If we are to journey, let us start from the pits.
My birthing district of the Rukongai was an 80th point of no return, and like everything from them I came bubbling out of the rotting cesspool, coated in motherless blood. Four of these pits in all, and I was brought up through the north-west. The academy reminds Shinigami to bless the souls they procure on earth, but they insist we turn our backs wide to the angry hell we promised them they would be spared from. (I am sounding bitter. I know and I am.)
My earliest memories of existence are of the slums. The cry, the fall, and the silence. The shacks, if you were to title them even that, had no doors. A door meant their would be some vestige of wealth inside worth keeping a thief away from. The smell of these places broke the appetite and defiled the air with the metallic sterility of death. Stiff bodies would be found inside of these rank caves telling of murder. The decay of a soul as it breaks and scatters in ribbons leaves a scent of grief. I do believe every soul that dies in the soul society becomes reincarnated, recycled lovingly back to Earth, never remembering their pain here. But these horrid places are no refuge.
The atmosphere of these districts, let me tell you, left no promises. You would not find stores or anything of that order. The lesser souls do not need much sustenance, so only our spiritual prodigies fed themselves by raiding the kinder districts. Any successful raid brought in the black uniforms, the Shinigami, and like true reapers, they plucked our spiritually engorged elders from us. Imbalances in the realms also gave our dutiful shinigami the privilege to slay any excesses of the soul. They would take the powerless eldest ones who did not steal or murder. That reprieve, doomed any child. Boys were raised by older boys. The girls were taught to take on boyhood in the hopes that the men wouldn't take them and make early women. Sometimes boyhood wasn't enough to save a boy from a mans desire of flesh, their tempt of succulence brimming to a lustful encounter. I am honored to admit I have never been that latter niche of depravity. The interested mind will read and be delighted to know that Haki the Wolf was a deviant hunter of nymphets and a sly murdering devil, but never a true brute. I hope that if my dearest girls were to happen upon this recant, (My Ka-chan and my Yu-chan) that they forgive my disloyal origins. Had I known their tender coupling would be waiting ripe and willing on my arrival, I would have remained whole and unsullied for them.
Yes, I am swinging too fast. Of my lovely childhood, it is important to know that I was one of the starving ones. My spirit contained the glistening essence of a prodigy and I was willing to enrich it further. In the Rukongai the way out is in, through the heavy gates of the Sereitei invisible on my horizon. My aspirations to become a Shinigami were not convoluted or poetic. I was a budding boy, barely graduated from a crawl when I first fixated on the Reapers. The first man I met was a common foot soldier. His personal description was forgettable. To me, he was the man with sandals, and so like an unknowing cherub child I trotted up and asked him where he got them by pointing at my own bare and sandy feet.
"It's a uniform, boy." The man answered to my non-speech, "Trust me, kid. You don't want any shoes way out here. You'll be killed for them."
I didn't understand his words and I didn't need to. I was familiar with the shaking of a head, that rotation of the neck. It meant I wasn't meant for something, that I would be beaten if I tried to obtain it. If you don't understand yet, I was a very simple boy. The man had shoes. I wanted shoes. When you are in the pit, a shaking head is a challenge. My little body did not wait for a thoughtful reprimand. I lifted the hem of his Shuhakusho, found a hairy leg and sampled his flesh. My memory of the fallout comes to me addled. I was struck and dreams took me. When I woke I was nude and wet on the same street, more or less pushed to the side. I thank the thief who stole my clothing and didn't want me to be trampled. It was raining heavy and thick on my already pounding head, so I crawled achingly through more than mud to the nearest shelter. I was shaking and sure to die had I not been of strong spirit. My experience grew. I was beaten by the Shinigami in our first battle, but I knew they would always return to the pit. Always wearing sandals.
That next morning, a new sentry took the bitten mans place, bigger and meaner. Many boys fitting my description were beaten in remembrance of me.
There are no other significant events to record of my early childhood, so let us leap. Time passes. I am older now. Not a boy, not a man. I am lean like a stray but taller than most. I was no lady killer at this time, just a lank body and an odd length of wavy emerald hair.(A rare color, but I have seen the entire spectrum in a spirit,) By this year my hands have known the waxy palette of murder. It is not worth mentioning who or how many. My true age? When you are a fledgling spirit of the farthest district, your age is not a valued equation. I will never know my true age, though in the presence of the young girl, forever optimistic. The memory I am about to speak of now is kept specially preserved in my minds most cherished pantry. I cannot tell you my year, but I was freshly aware of the vessel that held my aching and beating manhood.
The first girl of my passion (Forgive me, my little misses) awakens the visceral love and desire I have for that brittle median of youth and maturity. She was the foundation on which I built my shameful fetish. Rani. That is what I have named her. A dusty violet mane, set short to feign boyhood. Slender legs and matching feet. A doll-framed face of simplicity and perfection. Her eyes carried the expected demons of a killer. (We are all minions of death by now, to have survived here this long) My Rani was one of the wandering nymphets who waded in and out of the slummy districts, mindful to care for themselves only in the night, away from men. She was a quiet mouse, only a nibble in the dark. Our first meeting, the wrath of fate, led me to her bathing at twilight.
I was one of the oldest boys now and I had my territory. There were gangs of us, groups of strong boys and boy-girls who preferred a life of living to kill in packs. My wolves were only just a murmur of a heartbeat. I sat at the top these scavengers as the Alpha-soul, violently defending my nameless comrades against outsiders who'd take from us. I taught the young boys and girls as I was taught. Swift smacks to the crying toddler. Do not cry, there is not enough hope for that. Disobedient boys were subject to a closed fist. When the voices deepened and resonated, they were subject to my special brand of death: My swirling, vile and velvet spiritual energy teamed with a sharp rock. I had learned to throw these things with such spiritual force, enough to pass through the skull without a shattering, like some beam. With that, I became an accurate killer, thoroughly fearless and unchallenged. I assure you again, I am not a brute even in such an environment. My method of murder? Precise and forgiving. You only had to look across a landscape of shredded and ravaged souls to see my methods were sensible. The soul vacated and gone before the body collapses.
But on with Rani. A sleek and hidden shadow by the river, but my view lingered. I took a stone in my hand out of necessity and approached the edge of the water, assessing the view of her backside. All of her age, it showed only in the hips. A teeny curve of puberty. I immediately understood she was a stranger here and instinct wanted to fell her appropriately. I only stood 5 yards or so from her, right beside her little pile of dry possessions and clothing. With a snap, she'd have had a hole in her head. Remains gone with the pull of the water. Lucky and tragic girl! She turned just as the signal left the brain and reached the wrist. Even in waning light she was natural. A beautiful thing. My arm was cocked and frozen but she ducked even still, covering her head and lowering herself into the shallow. Death cowered away from the scene muttering and cursing. He wouldn't get far, though.
"Come out." I hissed, an anger in my voice from my merciful moment of indecision. She gave me a deserved scowl and shook her her. I figured she was reaching down in the water right there in front of me, feeling for a stone to match mine.
"I have your clothes here, what will you do?" I asked, kneeling down with my eyes holding their view of her. I felt and grabbed at the fabric. "If any man see's you naked like that, you'll be cooked."
She hated this, I could see. After such a successful running of evasion and tact, she's caught pants down. It was all for nothing. She shook her head again. Stubborn, lovely pup.
Now that I see you I won't kill you. I found myself thinking. The best looking thing I have ever seen. You should be dead. You should have been made a woman and killed. Your carcass should have been disposed of by now. Death truly loves you, let him take you from this. Poor girl. I am a wolf, and I know you are delicious.
"Come out now, and I can protect you." I huffed, drunken now. I was quickly decided. I was going to take her as my own. I'd feed and nourish her. She could take the nourishment directly from my tongue to hers. She was the first. As the boy becomes man, natural transformation requires a being like Rani to awaken the hunger. Something showing the raw power of femininity. I was half way to her without realizing it. I was coming out to her, forgetting the clothes i had picked up. They soaked in my hand.
"Don't!" She cried out, too loudly for my liking. (A light and fluffy voice. I can taste it again) I would kill the others if they woke. I would have to. They would see her as I see and their tongues would sag from their snouts lustfully, dripping hot acid. There were others within my age, not quite as mature, but I was constantly forced to check them. Young primed souls waiting to be the Alpha, that's what they were. Why did I ever consider them comrades? I'd kill the girls too. They wouldn't allow me to take her exclusively. I had never taken any true liking to the other girls, and when they see me bring in such a fair outsider...
"I like you." I said crudely as she slowly waded backwards, stumbling into the nudging current. It was then that I caught her sweetened scent and I must have dove the rest of the distance. She screamed high and violent into the night as I grabbed for her arm. A blur and a stab. Too intoxicated to counter. My howl was cut brief as I tumbled and she forced me beneath the water. My shoulder throbbed in waves of fierce pain. There was a rush of water above my head as she brought down whatever it was that impaled me for a second strike. The blow missed, and I am here to tell you it did. She was wild and uncoordinated, thrashing about uselessly, yet she had a distinct advantage. Wet and lacking clothing, she was a slippery thing and I couldn't keep hold of her. Another sharp jab at my chest before splashes from behind took my Rani away. I righted myself above the water, weakened and struggling to breathe.
My wolves were on her. Her screams turned to sour moans. She was beaten and impaled with the sharpened stones I taught them to make. The beauty was torn from her grotesquely as my half dozen, rotten boys and girls snuffed her out. I didn't make to stop them. I knew my loss all at once and accepted it without truly accepting. When Rani was still, we filed out of the water and left her body. It was all the same to me.
The cry, the fall, the silence.
The only remnant of her, I still keep in my lieutenants quarters. A glass bottle I found in her small stash. On it's underside it had the letters carved into it:
RANI
I feel fortunate that she was taken from me before I could truly indulge myself. It would have been inevitable, losing her to the violence of the pit. I have to note that any tremor of kindness within me curdled after this ordeal. It was some kind of shock of having a moment excite you and slip by you so suddenly. Like a scoop of ice-cream tumbling from the cone before you can bring it to your lips. That girl and my manic yearning for her seems to be the tip of my unraveling. It is silly when I consider how insignificant the experience was, but rarely do you see such beauty torn apart before your eyes. I forced my passion into dormancy for the time being. I became a wrathful thing and my pack withered away under my harshness soon after. I became a wanderer like Rani, but not as a mouse or a wolf.
Through the years, my soul responded to a charred heart, wriggling inside of me and growing as it breached on my unhinged state of mind. I had an enormous amount of spiritual prowess bottled inside my hull and it fed on Hell to keep me alive and burning. It strengthened me and sharpened my life force with every necessary kill. I no longer had any reservations or second guesses when killing a human soul. My eyes would gradually turn from a cold hazel to vibrant, speckled gold chasms. My hair, for reasons reserved to scholarly judgment, faded away from it's notable green to a featureless black. Whatever this transfiguration was, it made me a beacon. The arrival of something like a spiritual pressure nested around me wherever I went. I became a specter of soiled robes and sickly atmosphere. Steadily I made my way towards the Seireitei, moving in wide arching circles inward. I was the moth to the flame now, there could be nowhere else for me but inside of those walls. My spirit moved me towards the heart of the Shinigami where I would lovingly discover the Devil-captain Yachiru Unohana in all of her terror and glory as Kenpachi.
"Captain Unohana?"
The precious child looked terribly interested now. She had broken protocol and interjected.
"You shouldn't interrupt." I chided, amused. "Don't you know of the woman and her past? Her original name was Yachiru. May I ask your name, child?"
The woman frowned, knowing she was stepping out of her boundaries as a scribe. I knew I would break her with interest sooner than later. It was a daring mistake, letting someone so young and woefully inexperienced record me. Perhaps they thought all of my power and persuasion would be insignificant here in bindings. None of the men who held my trial and sentenced me truly cared to hear my telling of the events. I was cooked the moment my blade stole the life of that meddling Hitsugaya brat. He was always lingering around the dwelling of my girls. Always a pair of extra eyes for me to be mindful of.
"Ichina Fugaku" She muttered hurriedly, shifting her hips. "I am fond of Captain Unohana, so I was wondering what you mean when you call her a Devil and Kenpachi."
She knew nothing. The Ichina girl was blissful ignorance and soft aristocratic heritage. She surely was a daughter of some wealthy name. I wanted to smack her with enough grit to draw blood. Her stupidity would be a blessing and a curse to me.
"I'm sure whoever is to document our beloved captains history will detail her past, but I do not have the temporal luxury of recounting both her life and my own. Does my life not interest you at all?"
A twinge of hurt in my voice to stir her kindness.
"No, you are an interesting person." She allowed herself to admit, timidly. Ichina must have felt the air of admiration was too obvious and added, "But you are also a traitorous murderer and a strange sort of child predator."
"You aren't afraid of me, are you?" I asked, gently. "I would understand if you were. Most fear what I come from."
A drop of daring to challenge her bravery.
"I am not afraid of you." She said simply, straightening her back indignantly. Such a child. "From what I have recorded so far, I would say you are a product of that horrible place, though I think your fetish is unwarranted. Why did you want her so badly? Was it only because she was pretty for her age?"
I tilted my head at Ichina, the golden orbs doing a job on her own dull brown eyes. It was true. I had not been completely honest with the woman. I was going to gradually ease her into the depths of my deviancy. I did not want to intoxicate her all at once. At full strength, a sip would be too potent. I first wanted this little doe to familiarize herself with the flavor of my passion, and when I was sure she had acquired a taste for it, I'd conjure a strong enough mixture to induce an addiction. By the end of my teasing and playing, this woman would come to me in heat, salivating in my lap, begging to drink the words directly from my lips.
"I cannot say why." I admitted to her, putting on a kind of sadness. "I only know that I have attained a strong desire for these types. The young and precocious ones. I will try to explain it out for you before my execution. We have 3 days, and I suppose it can't be all that horrible having a pretty woman to keep me company through the last of them. You will know me intimately enough, Ichina. Shall we continue on?"
She took my tired smile and the casual use of her name with a frowning blush. She nodded down to her paper stiffly, jerking her pen to the bottle of ink.
It was terrible of them to leave a vulnerable child to record me. It was insulting. They always did underestimate my ability. I was going to make this mistake implode on them all. By the end of it, I would devour this girl from within, leaving the guards none the wiser. They will come for me on the morning of our last day, thinking I am finished...
"What sharp teeth you have, Miss Fugaku" They'll say to the Wolf.
