Title: Have some Fun
Word Count: 1,464
Warning: Slightly dark and disturbing; I'm travelling through Aizen's mind here, and it's not a pretty place
AN: This is my 2nd fanfic to date, also another Bleach fic. This one just popped into my head one day and took me about two weeks to finish, from the megaload of tests and homework I had during that time. Also, about halfway through and towards the end, I hit into some writer's block and couldn't really think of what to write. It's sort of a timeline of events and random bits and pieces from Aizen's mind, sort of a character study. In the end, I think it turned out okay, better than my first story, but that's really up for you (readers) to decide.
I also sincerely apologize for any OOC for Aizen here, he's such a tough character to write!
He doesn't like to kill.
But once upon a time, he enjoyed sinking his katana into the soft, warm flesh of both shinigami and hollows, seeing the blood pour and pool out of them in sticky, red rivers as he pulled a crimson coated sword out slowly, savoring the pain it caused.
No, he wasn't a barbarian like Zaraki Kenpachi at all; it wasn't about the adrenaline of fighting or the feel of giving that very last wound that satisfied him; it was the look they would give him as he drew down his sword that made it all worthwhile.
It was fascinating, when faced with the last moments of life, how people would shed their lies and skin , and reveal who they truly were. He saw cocky bullies transform into whimpering cowards, cocky fighters who would turn and make a futile, mad dash to safety, mothers sacrificing their children while begging to spare themselves, nobles quivering like frightened street rats, shinigami protecters abandoning all duty and running, and the old or weak standing strong against the tempered steel.
They called him, cursed him, "traitor, liar, deceiver," and he laughed every time they said so.
Because, honestly, were they really so different?
Like with a child getting a new toy, those faces fascinated, haunted him for a while, but as with most things, he quickly lost interest. After a while, all those faces blended into one, and there was nothing new or exciting about it anymore; people would convey one form of shock, terror, anger, fear, etc. and then there would be no satisfaction, decent resistance, no challenge to be issued.
So, really, it was almost fortunate that the Hollowfication process was a failure. The shock, pain, and pure, crazed fire that burst and smoldered in his Captain's ash gray eyes when he realized his lieutenant was never behind him for the past month, or ever, really, were mesmerizing. It was intriguing, to see how far he could taunt him with his failure, the failure that transformed his friends into the very monsters they destroyed, how many little nudges it would take to push him off the edge, before he would break, how long he would be able to enjoy the Captain's breakdown. True to his expectations, his captain did not disappoint, putting on quite a show, so really, he did the only polite thing to do.
He thanked him for being so easily provoked and for providing him with valuable information on the process of Hollowfication and flighty emotions.
Unfortunately, he never experienced the gratifying sensation of seeing their bodies prostrate on the floor, motionless and dead, due to the untimely intervention of Urahara Kisuke, but it is no matter. He did not spill one drop of their blood, but as far as he is concerned,
They all died the most curious of deaths on that warm, summer night.
Sosuke Aizen never believed in heroes.
He never had one, because he knew, early on, that there were none. Heroes or villains, heaven or hell, good or evil, - there were only winners and losers, and the winners were the ones who were the strongest, had control, held the most power.
Heroes were only titles given to distinguished individuals, it didn't matter who, cheaters, liars, scoundrels, children, leaders, on the winning side, anybody except losers, because no matter how heroic they were, losers were never heroes.
He is not a hero, but he will be a winner.
He doesn't believe in good or evil, but still, there are some who are so lost in their world, so full of innocence and naiveté, that it is hard to imagine those same creatures full of darkness and pettiness so common in human nature, as well.
His vice-captain comes to mind.
Ah, Hinamori. She was a most curious thing, and he can't help think how lucky he was to save her on that day, the perfect vice-captain and the perfect pawn. He was her master, and she was the ever faithful, loving pet, so to speak.
So he took her on extra missions, gave her little treats and gifts, spent time with her, praised her, comforted her, consoled her, listened to her, gave her a purpose,
And he controlled her.
Still, he cannot help but be impressed with the depth of her loyalty, of her raw passion, her willingness to forgo everything and everyone for a man she never knew. With her dark shining eyes and quick smile, he knows that she would follow him to the ends of the world, and if she could, he would not object to the taking of such a blindly loyal, talented shinigami as herself.
But she cannot, he knows this.
She is pure and good, and he knows that one way or another, she will not survive the war, either from an attack to her physical body or the breaking of her mental one once she realizes she will have to face him or face her friends. She would wilt and die slowly, like a rope being pulled in opposite directions, slowly unraveling until there would be nothing left. However, as a reward for her services, he will show her one last, great act of mercy.
He will kill her with his own hands.
It was quick and relatively painless, Hinamori's death.
He did not taunt her, prolong the meeting, cause her any unnecessary pain- no, he had said goodbye, plunged his zanpakuto into her, promptly took it out, and simply watched, as her eyes, mixed with confusion, shock, but still joyful, flared bright for a second, and then turned dark.
He moved away from her, taking care not to step into pools of blood already forming on the white floor. Such a pity that he could not do better; it would have been very interesting to see her degeneration with his "betrayal" if she was alive, but as they say, you cannot have everything. His job was finished, and it was time for the next part in his plans to be carried out.
He barely took more than a couple of steps, when right on schedule, Hitsugaya Toshiro, his entertainment, arrived.
He had never liked the young prodigy with the jaded green eyes; he was too sharp, questioning, thoughtful, dangerous to his plans. Another benefit of having Hinamori, it always satisfied him when he would be particularly kind to the boy and see the twinge of discomfort or jealousy, when his vice-captain would gush about him in his presence.
Yes, he never liked Hitsugaya, so he particularly enjoyed the shock and rage rolling off of him in waves after seeing a dead Hinamori. It was quite pitiful, actually, to see him standing there, shaking with anger, yelling death threats at him- looking so weak. Pitiful but entertaining to see how the death of one little girl could cause the greatest show of emotions he had ever seen in the stoic captain, as if he had been the one to take a sword to the heart, not her.
Love and people who love, he muses, are such fragile things. It is much like a drug, the way it softens people, getting them hooked, so when it is taken away they are vulnerable, starved and furious over their loss. He should be thankful for that though; one of the tenets of strategy is to exploit the enemy's weak spot, and nothing makes exploitation easier, or more enjoyable than love.
He can think more later, though. Right now his plan is of most importance, so he will leave the two childhood friends here with Unohana-taicho. He is quite sorry for poor Hinamori, though. With medical attention from Unohana-taicho, she will most likely survive to live another day, and he could not have picked a better and greater cause of suffering. He could not give her a gift, but as her captain and as a reward for her services, he will teach her one last, great lesson.
She will learn that life is more painful than death.
He sees all of them standing, in front of him.
The black robes of the Gotei 13, the soutaicho, Captain Hirako, the masks of those shoddy arrancar wannabes, blurred and amalgamated, until he only sees a delicious mix of fear, caution, exhaustion, determination, and barely concealed rage that fuels him, exhilarates him. They are of all different sizes and shapes, but all with the same purpose and goal. He can practically taste their bitterness with the tip of his tongue and feel the fire in all their eyes. So many talented, strong shinigami, from the past and present, in front of him now...
He smiles because he knows two things.
One, they will all fall before him, and Two,
He will finally have some fun.