It had been a long and trying day for Byakuya Kuchiki.
Outside of the usual workload involved in running a squad of the Gotei 13, and his duties intrinsic with his position as head of one of the four most powerful noble houses of the Soul Society, there was also a strong feeling of wrongness running just under the surface of events. While there had been no reports of anything out of the ordinary going on, the current was still there, and it did nothing but add to the exhaustion weighing so heavily upon his strong shoulders. There was no action to take, so while unease still lurked deep beneath his unflappable surface, he dismissed the feeling as nothing more than a strange side effect of over-work.
This day, the captain had finally finished the last of the paperwork stacked high upon his desk and by the time he'd returned to his manor, moonlight softened the already graceful flow of the sculptured garden he had spent so many hours strolling through with his late wife. Starlight glittered delicately within the velvety ebon of the night sky, and the subtle perfume of blooming sakura wrapped the weary man within its gentle embrace.
A world already mystical by mortal standards exerted its enchantment even further upon its denizens by way of nocturnal charm.
Byakuya found himself lost within the memories of that patch of land and the serenity of that patch of time. Tension slipped from his shoulders as he paused on the small arching bridge over one of the tiny ornamental streams. A graceful, refined hand rested upon the smooth surface of the rail. He allowed himself the simple luxury of a deep breath of cool night air.
Thin, dark brows furrowed at a whisper of discord in the ambient reiatsu of the garden. It was almost slight enough to dismiss as a passing glitch, perhaps escaped from the 12th Division, but it was still enough to bother the noble.
Grey eyes blinked, then snapped to a sudden lick of flame appearing out of thin air. The yellow flicker exploded into a raging blaze along a formerly unseen seam in the air.
Energy exploded with the fire, forcing him back a step with surprise.
That blaze separated into a tear, which only ripped itself further open – the blackness beyond disturbingly reminiscent to the inky confines of a garganta just before a Hollow would emerge. However, it felt not like a Hollow – nor like anything within the wide eyed noble's recollection. Wind screamed around the startled shinigami in gale force protest, furious at this defiance of law and nature. It carried within its enraged embrace the slaughtered remnants of the garden and the night.
Cloaked from clear view by tempest and debris, a lone, humanoid figure stepped from the tear.
Moonlight glinted liquidly off of the other's blade as it swung savagely at the black wound. An undeniably feminine broken kiai barely penetrated the roar of the wind.
The touch of her silvery blade healed the storm-bleeding wound. Byakuya's hair and clothing finally settled to their usual perfect fall when the wind abruptly died.
Nighttime peace was as destroyed as the garden - courteousy of the cloaked figure, now knelt, hooded head bowed, amongst the devastation. Her hands, hidden by the long folds of the tattered robe she bore, pressed into the disrupted soil, weapon still held firmly within her grip.
"Who are you?" His velvet voice held a definite undertone of threat in attendance to the question.
The figure slowly raised its head in his direction. He couldn't see her eyes due to the folds of the ragged grey draped over her figure, but he could make out the strong line of her jaw, her frowning lips. A dark coating of blood pierced the smooth white of one cheek. Long spirals of wild red hair escaped the confines of the hood, and swayed idly in the perversely peaceful breeze. Slowly, she stood, cloak opening just enough to offer a hint of course brown fabric over a toned frame. Her blade peeked out of the shelter of clothing, still naked at her side.
No answer, however, issued from that down-turned mouth.
His widened eyes narrowed, and within a second, he stood before the intruder. Silently furious eyes glared down at the shorter woman. "I believe I asked you a question."
Her silvered sword sliced up at him – blocked easily by Senbonsakura. There was no power to the blow, however. Due either to the surprise slightly parting her blushed lips, or a weakness barely visible under her stance. She was harder to read than he had thought at first.
The cloaked female stepped back quickly, and he found his cool gaze met by one of bright emerald sheltered under the hood covering the upper half of her face.
"Beg pardon?" Her voice was rough, oddly graveled, but strong and mocking in its civility.
Byakuya was in no mood for this. "Fine." He struck at her, only to find his blade blocked by her own. "Who are you?" Side step, and two more quick slashes – one deflected, but one connected. It left a long, deep gash through cloth and flesh from elbow to fingertips.
Crimson flowed down the ornamented hilt of her weapon, only to speckle the snow white of his haori as she followed through with her last block. She didn't flinch, but instead continued to watch those icy eyes. "Oh. Diana Kimora. Nice to meet you. And you are?" The words were low, syllables born of a broken and tired throat.
That weariness in her voice did not translate into her movements, however. Muscles hidden by tattered flowing cloth worked to provide a fluid lunge at his midsection, which was easily enough blocked and swatted aside. Bare feet whispered through the disturbed soil of the earth they fought upon as they carried her around in a graceful spin to the side in compliment to his deflection. As she moved, her free arm rose as if to strike with a back-fist – again easily enough avoided, but the liquid sword following the movement was not as easily avoided.
A dignified brow quirked at the glancing blow she landed in his shoulder as he leaned away from her. "Byakuya Kuchiki – Captain of the Sixth Squad of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. What are you doing here?"
Of all the things he would have expected from the whirlwind woman, the wry smirk curled at her lips was the last. "It looks like I'm fighting you, doesn't it?" That damaged voice held a sudden note of flippancy to match the small grin she wore.
His lips thinned. Byakuya had had enough. He began another flash-step, his blade destined for the woman's back, only to connect with – nothing?
He came to an abrupt halt – hair and clothing whipping against his body at the sudden change in velocity.
She was gone. Only the barest hint of reiatsu remained. Skilled storm cloud eyes would have caught a move like shunpo, but she was nowhere to be found – or sensed.
Cold steel pressed to his throat, and heat from her feminine form suddenly permeated through the clothing over his back and shoulders. He remained still, attempting to decipher the strange, subtle changes in her energy.
"Captain Kuchiki," her rough voice whispered in his ear. The breath carrying the words was warm, and brought a tingle to the sensitive skin it caressed. "I don't know why it br-"
Words died at the swell of multiple black-robed parties appearing throughout the garden. The Sixth and Eleventh Divisions had at last arrived.
"Lower your sword," a baritone ordered from their left. The steel point of the speaker's sword pressed warningly to her jugular.
Vibrant green eyes shifted to the bearer – a fellow red-head with concealed tattoos across his brow. Her blade was pulled away from the captain's neck, and her hands rose in surrender. Impossibly, the weapon within her grasp vanished as if it hadn't been there to begin with.
Murmurs, gasps of surprise, followed in its wake.
The bleeding noble turned in time to see that same soul reaper twist the intruder's arms behind her back, then bind them at the wrists – heedless of the blood still welling from the gash separating skin on the right forearm.
Silently, and with refined grace, the captain gripped the hood concealing the face, and pulled the fabric down to rest over the back of her neck.
Now that she was exposed, he could see more clearly old, dried red mixed with fresh from a wound hidden by the fiery curls cascading down into the collar of the cloak.
That bloodstained face gazed up at him – a paradox of defiance and resignation painted over her features.
The noble frowned, then looked past her to the man now holding her with a large, powerful hand. Captain Kuchiki had been keeping an eye on this one for some time, now. "Renji Abarai, is it?"
"Ah," the tattooed man straightened slightly, narrow eyes widening at being addressed by name. "Yes, sir."
Kuchiki nodded impartially, but kept his gaze intently on the officer of the 11th. "Bring her to the prison, and be sure she is processed properly."
"Yes, sir." Abarai bowed, then roughly pulled the woman away.
Byakuya contemplatively watched them stride out of view, before he allowed himself to be escorted to the Fourth for treatment of his wound.
FINALLY, I think I'm happy with the way this chapter turned out. I've figured out why this whole fic has seemed off to me. I'm working my way through it and improving upon it.