I do not own Bleach.
I'm killing Yamamoto! Rejoice my friends, he is dead! Well, in here, at least. I want to display a unique soul society, one that no one has ever seen. Besides, Yamamoto creeps me out.
Something about the human world…appealed to Rukia. It charmed her with it's unique tastes, constantly changing styles, and bold, diverse inhabitants. Rukia had met more people that she both liked and hated in a single week than she had in her entire life in soul society, something different, considering she originally believed she wouldn't have to meet and converse with humans.
Normally, when a soul reaper was on duty in the human world, they stayed as souls, unknown to the humans. But, Rukia's assignment was different, it seemed. She had been given a gigai, something she was expected to use whenever combat was not required. For whatever reason, she was to mingle with the humans, to act and live as one of them. It was an interesting assignment, one she could find herself enjoying with time. She only hoped there was a reason behind it.
The sand was soft, the air was cold, and all was silent. It felt like hell. Ichigo sighed, falling to the ground with a slight thud, cushioning his head with his arms. Hueco Mundo's never changing moon lay above him, yet another bleak reminder of where he was. For a moment Ichigo considered going to one of the numerous and useless sun rooms within Hueco Mundo, if only to see blue sky and sunny weather. But then, it would be spoiled by knowing each moment he spent there would be under eyes of Aizen. No, he was better off outside, where Aizen had a harder time watching him.
Ichigo shifted, once again noting how soft the sand was, something that wouldn't have bothered him had he not known how sand was supposed to was supposed to be coarse and warm. The ground of Hueco Mundo was more like dust. In fact, nothing there was as it should have been. Not the moon, the trees, the sand or the sky. Not even the air, living in an atmosphere where every breath included a new absorption of reiatsu. He hated it there, his inescapable prison.
Ichigo sighed once again, closing his golden eyes, his lashes tickling the tops of his cheeks.
He was dreaming. You could always tell in Hueco Mundo. You were aware, but you could not control the dream. God, Ichigo wished that he could though. It was that same dream.
"Damn it!" The dream Ichigo growled, running as quickly as possible, school bag slapping his side, moving with his momentum. The real Ichigo watched. It was all that you could do. Only the ghastly specters in the dream could speak and move. They were the ones running the show.
"I am so fucking late!" Ichigo groaned, still running. He raced down the street, lucky to be the only one there, not having to avoid pedestrians or throw out an apology each time he bowl someone over. He turned a corner, almost tripping over a stupid cat that simply had to choose that moment to run from the bushes.
Despite his efforts, Ichigo didn't manage to get home before dark. Hell, as soon as the sun went down, he stopped trying. Real Ichigo didn't mind. He wished dream Ichigo would never get home. Things started to blur. Real Ichigo didn't want to be there, he didn't want to see this again.
The house was in view, that dinky little walk in clinic his father would never let go of. All of the lights were on, blazing bright and obnoxious. Ichigo was still unaware, walking up the steps too quickly for real Ichigo's liking. He walked in with his eyes closed. He wouldn't see the beginning of hell, not yet.
Red was always the first thing he saw, so obviously contrasting against the white of the walls. The intentional excess of light glistened mockingly in the wet puddles of blood, it's scent still fresh in the air. The sickening liquid touched every corner of the room, splattered over every surface.
Amongst the blood lay the remnants of a struggle, broken furniture, cracks in the wall, glass on the floor. Ichigo's favorite picture, the only one with the entire family in it, even his mother, lay on the ground, the glass shattered, the photograph ripped in half.
This was always when he made his biggest mistake. He would search the house, desperately hoping that everyone had survived, that his father had managed to fight off whatever sick bastard had tried to ruin their lives. The house was always empty. He would enter his room, the one room he hadn't looked and each time, what he found there would send him into a rage.
The message was always the same, and yet, it always sparked the same burning hatred.
"301 Kakunin St. Warehouse 4. You'll find them there." Simple, but effective. It was a trap, Ichigo had always known this. If he went to this warehouse, he would probably die. But, if sacrificing himself gave him the slightest chance to save his family, he would do so a million times over and a million more after that.
"Ichigo! Oi, Ichigo, get your fat ass up. Who do you think you are, Stark?"
Ichigo was not sure why his dreaming was being interrupted, and he wasn't sure if he should be grateful for the disturbance or ticked off, but, what he did know, was the foot in his side wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world.
"What?" Ichigo half growled, half groaned. He cracked his eyes open to meet glaring blue everywhere above him.
"Our almighty Lord Aizen, wants to see you, strawberry." The blue haired espada snarled viciously.
Ichigo sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, returning Grimmjow's glare. "Don't get pissy with me Grimmjow, you know I don't want to have an intimate, one on one with Lord Aizen." Grimmjow scoffed, but relented. The short tempered Espada had been an ally of sorts from the very moment Aizen had drug Ichigo in to this demented hell. Somehow, as different as they may have been, they had bonded over a common hate of Aizen. Their hate managed to even out their entirely different personalities in a highly improbably way. Yet, Ichigo knew, if they had met on different terms, they would have been enemies.
"Just hurry up, will you? I won't have him blaming me for your insubordinate lack of respect." Grimmjow snarled, sounding frighteningly like Ulquiorra.
"Oh hoh, don't tempt me with such a delicious alternative, Grimmjow. You know I'd get your sadistic ass in trouble any day." Ichigo laughed, brushing the sand from his clothes as he rose to his feet. Grimmjow glared, about to snarl a response, but Ichigo was already walking away, Grimmjow simply wasting oxygen.
"You called for me, Lord Aizen." Ichigo spoke first, coupling his offense with his lack of a bow or inclination of the head, even.
Aizen raised an eyebrow at the young man's disrespect, but did not punish him. Punishments would never work on the insubordinate rebel.
"Please, sit. Have some tea, perhaps." Ichigo raised an eye at the table place, already set, should he accept the offer.
"No, thank you."
Aizen nodded, already expecting the reply. "Straight to the point then." Aizen took a sip of his tea, Ichigo grimacing, thinking of the taste. "I am sending you to the world of the living, Ichigo."
"What?" Ichigo knew his ears weren't functional. He hadn't been allowed out of Hueco Mundo since he had set foot there, that was twenty years ago. Twenty long, stagnant years.
"You will live in the human world as one of the living. You will mingle in their society, learn their ways, and, you still look exactly the same, perhaps you will join one of their schools." Aizen temporarily discarded his tea, looking his subordinate right in the eyes, trying once again to break his will, facing the same sliver of frustration when the brat met his gaze with defiant eyes.
"You will learn all you can about the humans, Ichigo. They have changed in the twenty years we have ignored them. I want to understand these changes."
Ichigo nodded, turning his back to Aizen, taking his leave. It seemed he was to participate in yet another science experiment for the entertainment of Aizen, he just wasn't sure what the point of this one was. In fact, he wasn't quite sure he wanted to find out.
The rest of Ichigo's dream assaulted his reluctant mind later that evening. It didn't start over from the beginning. No, that would be a courtesy to Ichigo.
The warehouse was dark, but well put together. Not at all abandoned, or decaying as Ichigo had expected. It seemed this person liked to make a statement, that they enjoyed drawing attention to their crimes. First, Ichigo tried a side entrance, only find it tightly padlocked from the inside. That left him with windows too high for him to climb and no side entrances for him to sneak through. With weary resignation, Ichigo stalked back to the front.
As expected the front doors swung open with ease, Ichigo not daring to allow more than a sliver of the moons silver glow in, quickly shutting the door behind him.
"That's a smart boy." The voice was poison, cooing and mocking, arrogant, falsely innocent. Every molecule of Ichigo's being wanted to curl inside itself, to shrink into oblivion. That wasn't the voice of a man with mercy. It seemed those words alone condemned his family. It was the same as if that sick bastard had signed their execution warrant.
Ichigo stared in the voices direction, not able to pin an appearance to the sound. Somehow, the windows were unnaturally dark, not a bit of light penetrating the slick glass.
"They aren't alive, are they?" Ichigo's voice felt cold to him, dead. "You called me here to gaze at their lifeless corpses before you slaughtered me as well."
The clack of boots sounded against the pavement, the killer walking towards him. "Not quite, Ichigo Kurosaki."
Ichigo resisted the urge to shiver, feeling the blood in his veins run cold. It was a show of power, using his name.
"Please, enlighten me." Ichigo forced himself to be snide, to banish the fear from his mind. "Are they alive? Is there something you want in exchange for letting them go?"
"I will not be making an exchange, Ichigo Kurosaki. I will get what I want tonight and I do not need to negotiate in order to do so." The man finally came into view, all white attire bright against the dark, the tail of his coat trailing into the black.
"What is that you want?" Ichigo was starting to lose that cold calm. "The sick thrill of destroying a loving family, perhaps?"
The man cocked his head, watching Ichigo, vaguely reminding the young man of a predator stalking his prey.
"I want your power, Ichigo." Ichigo hated the way this man spoke to him, his sick, arrogant voice eating away at the very thread of Ichigo's humanity.
"I don't have any power." Ichigo scoffed. "If I did, you would have already been dead."
The man grinned, an awful, knowing smirk. "It is your potential power I'm interested in. Not your current, weak state."
Ichigo said nothing, feeling that cold chill spread through his body. He was afraid of this man, this man who reeked of power. It was terribly obvious that he was outmatched.
"Why are you involving them? They don't have to be a part of this."
"Are you sure? They're just about to serve their purpose, Ichigo."
"No. Don't, let them go!" Something snapped, and Ichigo launched himself forward. A glint of silver flashed in his vision, too late for him to dodge. Searing pain exploded in his shoulder. His body rebelled, his head reeled, everything feeling shaky, out of reach. Sneaking a glance, Ichigo found a katana resting in his shoulder, sunken in to the hilt.
With a sadistic grin, the bastard grasped the hilt, ripping the sword from Ichigo's flesh with a sickening squelch. Blood fell from the sword and wound, splattering the floor. Gathering a small amount of Ichigo's blood on his finger's, checking the conistancy, the bastard nodded, seemingly satisfied. He leaned closer, only his face in Ichigo's vision.
"I'm going to destroy you, Ichigo, every last bit until there's nothing left but your soul." Ichigo couldn't stand how much the bastard was enjoying this. " Later, once I've done that, I'm going to rebuild you the way you should have been created, Ichigo." He backed away, out of sight. "Now, sit. Relax." An unbearable pressure forced Ichigo to his knees, his bones creaking in protest against the strain. Ichigo clutched his shoulder, the force against it almost unbearable.
"Watch, Ichigo. This is the beginning of your new existence."
The warehouse lit up, the light wavering in the fires constant movement, the crackling pops filling Ichigo's ears. The man Ichigo would later come to know as Lord Aizen stood against the backdrop of an old fashioned stake, the writhing form of Ichigo's little sister, dear, strong, little Karin, crying and struggling against the rising flames. And Ichigo watched. He screamed, and struggled, and later, after her screams, the horrid cries of pain he would carry with him, eternally imbedded in his soul, he died.
I expect some mixed reviews from this one, I must say. But, good or bad, it doesn't matter, because I really truly enjoyed writing this one. So, if you hate it, call me the very best you can come up with, I guarantee, it won't bother me a bit!