Characters: Kenpachi, Yachiru, story-mentioned OCs. (may add more to this later. Depends how far I decide to go with this.)
Warnings: Contains spoilers if you hadn't seen anything about Kenpachi's and Yachiru's past. Also some mild violence and mentions of blood and murder.
Authors Note: Thank you very much for clicking on this story! I have recently become obsessed with Bleach. (Yeah, I know I'm a late bloomer.) And I'm completely coo-coo for Kenpachi! He's defiantly my favorite character out of the bunch. Of course Yachiru is included in on that since they're like a cute little inseparable pair. So, I really wanted to write about his mysterious past since so much of it is unexplained and I really think there's a deep explaination behind his character because of this past.
Some of the foregoing's I really want detailed answers to are: where he got the scar on his face, who the woman Kenpachi claimed to be "the only person he ever admired" was, therefore the mysteries of Yachiru's namesake. And also a few other little hints here and there I decided to add in about some things Kenpachi had said or did in the show, that perhaps was unrelated to his past, but I wanted to make apart of (if you have a sharp eye you'll know what I'm talking about upon reading.) So yeah, I decided to take the liberty of filling in his history myself. I tried to make my take on his past as accurate and believable to the concept of the characters and fit in with the original plot as much as I could.
I'll be adding a few chapters of his 'history'. This first one being aimed around before he had a name and his meeting with a certain someone. Each chapter will be connecting, so it wont just be a bunch of one-shots. Sometime around the next chapter I'll be writing about Kenpachi's meeting little Yachiru and his early parental adventures. Heh.
Enjoy!
A lone nameless man wandered around his domestic residence of the region of Zaraki; the eightieth district of Rukongai.
Upon maturing into adulthood, this anonymous man adapted to the unpleasant lifestyle of constantly being on guard due to this particular territory being legendary for its outrageous crime, corrupted law and murderous residents.
Just a stroll through an ally could be proven fatal if you do not weld a sword, have developed proficient abilities in defense or skill with armed and close-combat fighting.
For this unnamed man, he had all the skill he needed. He may of not had the pleasures of having family, friends or even the mere luxury of owning a name of his own. But one thing he did have is the advantage of superior power.
According to this man, that was all that truly mattered.
He paid no mind to the filth that judged him through the poverty ridden streets. He didn't need any of them for approval, comfort or protection.
As long as he still has a hand to weld his Zanpakuto - that fortunately manifested from his abnormal spiritual pressure like a blessing upon being beaten in a brawl many, many years ago – that was all that was required for survival in this cruel world he called home.
He recognized the fact he was set apart from the malicious animals he called his neighbors. Not because his morals were any better, but because he was stronger.
There was no worthy opponent within all the dominions of Rukongai and there was no one that could even simply lay a scratch on him. This was due to his instinctive nature of being impenetrable.
Even so, it was never wise to let your guard down in a place like this. Especially with all the drifters and travelers wandering in.
So in other words, he never knew when a true worthy opponent would show up, and the last thing he wanted was to be killed off like a stray dog in the street by a surprise attack when there was such a great opportunity at hand.
If someone was of equal or higher power to his own, he wanted to savor that moment, just as someone would relish in the flavor of a fresh glass of expensive wine.
It was all he looked forward to every passing day and night while patrolling the filthy streets. Nothing else held much importance other than the hope of a good fight.
There were no true memories to reminiscence about. He wasn't sure where he came from or if he did once ever actually have a family of his own.
Often, he wondered if he was once human but subsequently holds no memory of the past life that perhaps was great.
Or if he did once have a family within this place, but possibly was too young to look back on remembrance of it now.
The only thing he could recall was walking this world alone with not a soul by his side.
Though, the construct of his existence and paths he had chosen encouraged him to get stronger. Not only was it beneficial, but the goal was the only thing he could latch onto without being disappointed in the end; a concept he was very accustom to.
As long as his will stayed potent, he would keep improving, thus inching closer to his goal every second. No disappointment would ever come from a goal that was completely depended solely on himself.
The only person he very came to trust was himself, so failure wasn't a trustworthy endowment. Therefore, he never had to expect it.
Wishful thinking of a better life could only get a person of limited stance so far. He was wiser than to believe in the foolish ideas of someday being worthy of approval or something has far-fetched as being loved by another person.
With this clearly known to him, he set his mind to the only achievable goal within reach. And that was becoming as strong as his highest limits would allow. And when he reached that, he would even surpass that boundary.
It was the only true purpose for his life he could find, and his only true talent he was aware of.
It may of forced him into being heartless and cruel, but to someone that bears no affection or need of approval toward others, it wasn't a sacrifice in the slightest.
While making nightly rounds around Zaraki, the nameless man past by a group huddled near a pit of fire struggling to receive warmth in the merciless evening elements.
He couldn't decide whether they were quivering from the brisk air piercing through their thin rags of clothing or from his intimidating presence approaching their space.
The midnight ambiance was made up of the fire cracking from the barrel, the far-off clinking ring of two hostile swords clashing and the screech of lost distant cries.
The noises were familiar to those who had spent enough time here. Just as someone living in area one would become acquainted to the sounds of laughter and the melodies of morning birds singing.
As he was about to walk out of sight from the group of dwellers, he eyed a derelict individual hastily rush from a nearby ally.
The dirty, anorexic looking man welded a small rusty knife and speedily held one of the resident's captive by holding the knife to their throat.
The others that were accompanying him quickly scurried off in all directions to protect themselves from the lunatic that was assumed to be a mugger.
This type of scene was typical around this hour. Only an idiot wouldn't be prepared for something like this happening.
The nameless man continued to walk; unaffected by the person's life being threatened.
"Please, sir! Help me!" the victim shouted out to the man, who looked to be his only hope of survival.
The nameless man looked at the desperate, yet pathetic looking man pleading for his life and shook his head. "I don't fight others personal battles. Especially not against a weakling." with that, he began walking once more.
"Please! You mustn't leave!"
Although he did in fact try to leave without another thought, he found he didn't get far, because an instant later he heard a feminine, yet rasping tone. The words the voice spoke was assumed to be directed toward him.
"A person battles to defend the weak. Not only for self-indulgence." Said the speaker who was not yet in visual range.
Trying to find sight in the dark of night, the man found the owner of the voice; a dark outline of a silhouette that manifested in an ally way nearby to where the mugging was taking place.
As the shady form inched closer, the form clearly revealed a scrawny - and in comparison to him - a short looking woman. Even so, her body was matured and visually looked to be in her early thirties.
At first, the man had mistaken her for a Soul Reaper due to her attire. But upon her stepping closer to the fire, thus igniting more glow onto her, the assumption was proven wrong.
Her apparel resembled the uniform of a Soul Reapers, but the white color that made up the fabic of the clothing completely contrasted the original design. Also the style she wore it was much more tight-fitted and the sleeves looked to be ridged from being torn or slashed off.
As she finally exited the ally, she slyly positioned herself next to the mugger and in an adroit motion -before the mad-man was able to comprehend his impending fate that was already pre-determined by the savior - she freed her sword and stabbed it through the muggers back.
The cringing sound of the blade scrapping along his spinal cord was inferior to fingernails scratching against a chalkboard.
As the dying man pathetically choked on a combination of his saliva and blood, the dancing flicker of the fire glowed on the mysterious woman's bitter looking features. Despite her expression being harsh, her overall facial qualities were feminine and delicate.
The refined texture of her hair was sleek and glossy; reaching waist length. Her unruly bangs concealed her forehead and brushed over her deep set eyes that looked like a treasured pair of rubies.
Those valuable looking eyes stared bitterly at the nameless man, who appeared to be stunned by what just happened before him.
"If you don't waste your time with weaklings..." she paused mid-speech to push the lifeless man's back from her sword - she then swiftly whooshed the fresh blood from her blade.
"Then perhaps you will find me an opponent worthy of your time."
The nameless man fluttered his eyelids at her skeptically. He reclaimed his regular vigorous posture and provided her with a crooked smile.
His following words came out unenthused and low-pitched, "Tsk. As if someone like you would be worth my time."
Just as he spoke those words, he seized a finer look at her sword - that actually turned out to not be a typical handcrafted blade like he originally guessed.
It was a Zanpakuto. Just like his.
One could only receive a Zanpakuto if they have the required amount of spiritual power to generate one of their own. And given that she wasn't a Soul Reaper, then she must have obtained one just like him; merely created from personal power from within.
"On second thought," he smarmily warped his body in her route; granting her his full interest. "I'll take you up on your offer." his voice imbued with pleasure like a child that had found a playmate.
It's been years since he dueled with someone with a Zanpakuto. And his last challenger wasn't even worthy of possessing one. So this might actually grant him some fulfillment.
The victim that was previously saved by the woman peered at the man and woman hostilely facing one another. The trembling dweller erected from the ground and woozily ran out of sight.
"Well that wasn't very appreciative of him. He didn't even thank you." The nameless man told the woman, jest in his tone.
The woman securely located her sword in front of her and shrugged her shoulders up. "He doesn't need to thank someone for bein' allowed to continue his life."
"Heh." The man tittered through his teeth and eagerly positioned himself for the duel.
"Are you really sure you want to go against me? I gotta' warn you, I never lost once since receiving my Zanpakuto. And if you think I'll go easy on you because you're a woman you're mistaken. I have no pity for anyone."
She sighed in an irritated fashion. "I come across men like you on a daily basis. Ya' didn't need to inform me on that aspect of yourself. I already knew."
The woman replayed his words in her mind, then abruptly gave him an unexpected baffled look. "But, you saying you never lost with your Zanpakuto before does surprise me. I find that hard to believe."
"Hm. Is that so?" he answered in a throaty tone. "Well if you hadn't notice by now, I have an immense amount of spiritual pressure. I know you must feel it, yet you doubt my power? Now that surprises me."
The woman nodded her head up as if she was using her chin to point at him. "Your starting position is flawed with open gaps in your defense; you're full of openings that your opponent could easily take advantage of. Yes, I admit your spirit pressure is strong, but you can't solely rely on that. It's like comparing your strong spiritual pressure to deadly arrows. If you're without skill, it's like bein' without a bow to release them with; making the powerful arrows useless. In other words, if ya' don't know how to properly defend yourself, or correctly weld your sword, your spiritual power is useless."
The man raised his nonexistent eyebrows at her and parted his lips, hoping this mouth would somehow create something clever to say back to her. But he came up with nothing.
He felt compelled to fix his defense because she bluntly pointed out, but attested against it for he didn't want to appear like he was taking her words as a lesson. She was his enemy, not his Sensei.
"Whatever, I don't need your speeches about arrows and bows. I may not of had specific training on how to properly defend myself but I don't need to make weakling procedures like that anyways. You'll see what I'm made of once this battle begins. You will be the on re-thinking your own fighting strategies once I'm through with you."
"Is that so? Instinct tells me you'll be choking on those words later when you're bowing to my feet, sweetie."
"Heh.I never met someone that can annoy and flatter me in the same sentence! But in all seriousness you're arrogant attitude bothers me – you actually believe someone like me would bow to you? You shouldn't label me with those other men you spoke of before because you're in for quite a blow on your ego in a moment." He cheerfully said with a glint of vengeance.
"But I'm bored with small talk. Let's get this thing started already. Ladies first."
"Oh? But I thought you weren't going to give me an advantage because of my gender. You said so yourself."
"Ah, you're right. Stupid me, I seemed to have contradicted myself. But even so, I don't want this to end so quickly before you can even attempt to cut me. So for my own enjoyment, I'll allow you to make the first move – only in hopes of dragging out the fun for a bit." Delight submerged the man's words.
She chuckled confidently. "Fine by me."
In a flash her form flourished into a speedy distorted wave - much too precipitous and fast for the man to visually follow.
With heavy force not expected from her small frame, she displayed her blade in attack formation and swung a violent blow intended for his chest.
His eyes protruded from her agile attack, but with firm reflexes, he blocked the strike; their swords produced a brash clink from the deadly contact.
"I think you're weaker than you put off. I bet you're just a bunch of talk, just like the rest of em'." The woman dived back acrobatically with a flip. Her feet slid against the dirt to halt her force; dust clouds formed upwards around her.
She effortlessly flung her large sword over her shoulder and rushed toward the immobile man - whom seemed to be having trouble tracking her movements.
To the woman's surprise, the man widely smiled; every one of his sharp pearly teeth showing gratitude for the satisfaction he was intensely feeling pumping through his veins. Come to think of it, he couldn't even come up with one time before where he felt such adrenaline and fulfillment from a fight.
"You may have been right, you are a worthy opponent!" he panted out as he swished his arms in every direction of her rapid blade.
Their swords met every time; proving they both had outstanding blocking abilities, for they clashed together numerous times; never impacting a strike on the flesh yet.
"But still, I hope you know you don't have a chance of defeating me, let alone making a mark on me."
"Would you like to bet on it?" The woman speedily twirled to his side, where he met her attack diagonally by angling his Zanpakuto over his shoulder to block the hit.
"Sure. What are the wagers then?"
The woman chuckled, her breath and speech not affected at all by her athletic movements. "Well, if I can land a mark on you, I would say I'll let you live; that is if the blow doesn't kill you. But I have a feeling that wouldn't be much of a fulfilling win to you. However if in fact I can't cut ya', then you can have my life. Seem reasonable?"
With mighty force he launched his blade toward her. "In that case it looks like your life belongs to me!"
She jolted back and caught his attack; her blade quaking from the forceful collision of two conflicting blades.
She grid her teeth and pushed away from him. He went in for another assault; swiping his ridged blade toward her. She was caught defenseless from his blade horizontally penetrating the raging atmosphere.
With dexterous responsiveness, she squashed the ground under her feet; permitting her enough momentum to escape the hit and safely jump to his side.
He momentarily found himself stunned by the sprightly move, but he shook it off and fixated his attention back on the battle.
Hooking around to his left to face his enemy once again, he surprisingly wasn't welcomed with his fierce opponents face.
In fact, not a trace of her was in sight. He regrettably lowered his sword to scan the area for a sign of her.
After the few seconds of her absence, she was located right above him, soaring downward faster than gravity could even control.
The reaction of holding up his sword to the aggressive blur plunging toward him was impossible due to the fact he couldn't even truly comprehend the action until after he felt the hit.
All he could do was thoughtlessly stare unblinking at the polished blade, already stained in blood, advancing toward his face.
The carving sensation of a sharp edge slicing through his skin was all that was apparent to the man. It felt foreign and strange; the stinging wasn't exactly painful, but it's been many ages since he felt even a faint feeling of discomfort generated from a blade.
Crimson liquid oozed from the fresh vertical slash and trickled down the left side of his face - flooding down to his neck and chest and thus saturating the top half of his clothing.
He no longer could see from his left eye, for it was covered under a layer of his own boiled blood.
He strained to hold his sword upward at the blurry looking figure in front of him. But it was then he came to the realization he didn't have much control over his arm anymore.
After a few passing seconds, an aching throb of pain from his shoulder sent signals to his brain, informing him he had been deeply cut there as well.
How did… she manage to do that so fast?
His weight suddenly felt heavy - causing him to collapse to his knees and feebly droop his body onward toward the dirt.
He wheezed while struggling to latch on to his weak sight viewing the filth of the ground below. The blood escaping from his face dripped downward and dyed the dirt with the color of his internal bodily liquids.
Suddenly his sight was matched with two feet stepping into his visual range.
The woman looked down at him and placed her blade behind her neck. "I told you that your defenses had too many gaps. But you insisted on being stubborn and even going as far as letting your guard down completely." Irritatingly she pealed her eyes away from him and shook her head.
The man unfastened his eyes, only to meet the blurry, yet familiar face of the woman.
"You… Defeated me." his hoarse tone stated groggily.
He blinked a few times to clear his vision. "And you… cut me."
"Yeah." Her tone stretched out. She bent her elbows upwards and supported the weight of her head in her palms. "About two hours ago I did."
His eyelids widen and flapped a few times in disbelief. It was then he realized he wasn't still on the streets of district eighty, but in what looked like the interior of an ample sized tent. He located the top half of his attire neatly hung up along the cloth of the tent. That would answer why his torso was a target to the brisk chill he was feeling.
The man was resting in what felt like a comfortable cot, and beside him was a lit candle on a crate with medical supplies surrounding around the flickering flame.
He extended his undamaged limb to reach his sore shoulder; that now felt constricted like it was binded tightly. He brushed his fingers along what felt like bandages.
As he recovered from the confusion on the change of setting, he slightly erected upwards, but only to groan harshly from the pinching pain returning to him.
"Don't move. You'll only open up your wounds."
He stiffly laid his head back down onto pillow. "So… you healed me?" He sounded sluggish, yet astounded.
The woman, who was seated beside the bed pulled her arms out from behind her head and folded them against her stomach. "Yes. Did you expect me to leave you in the streets to rot?"
He turned his attention away from the unscathed women to the drapes that made up the ceiling above his head.
"Yeah. If you defeat someone that's normally what you're supposed to do. I would rather of died in battle than know I wasn't worthy of being the winner. Now I know I'm not the strongest, what's the point to continue living after a defeated battle?"
His expression turned harsh, as if he was insulted for her kind gesture. But he had a reason to, for his sole goal in life felt like it was just ripped away from him.
Even though he didn't know how it felt to lose a loved one, he imagined the emotion would be similar to losing a cherished goal such as this.
She muttered a tsking sound and bit the inside of her cheek.
"You really are the stupidest man I ever met. If you are defeated and not killed, you take that as an opportunity to become the strongest again. Why would you easily want to admit defeat? You're only truly conquered if you're dead. If you're alive after a battle you were overpowered in, then you use that as your motivation to strain your limits; after all if you lost it means you weren't as strong as you originally thought, so it's time to train harder to your fullest potential. Then to prove your strength, seek to defeat the one that left you alive and claim back your title of being stronger. After that you can reclaim your rightful position. But if ya' wanna' die like a wimpy kid that didn't get his way, then by all means I will fulfill your wish."
All the wounded man could do was remain speechless and stare at her – even long after she stopped speaking.
For this nameless man that solely relied on himself for knowledge, beliefs, and opinions, he discovered he could not exclusively depend and trust himself as much as he originally thought.
Since he never had family, friends or even a companion to teach him anything, he taught himself the best he could in a previously-believed effective way.
He thought for someone living in an unforgiving world, being defeated was out of the question because automatically, it resulted in failure; something not acceptable in this tough lifestyle. He never came up with the possible event of living through a defeat, so this obstacle he was now facing was completely unexpected.
He never thought of himself as not being the strongest. Although he always strived for tougher challenges, he always knew in the end if he defeated them, like he always had, it was like mentally being promoted to a higher rank; therefore closer to the only goal he strived for.
With the idea of being defeated and living to face the reality of not being strongest, it was something he never considered.
But because of this strange woman that walked into his life, he had experienced something he never deliberated.
These woman's words – it was the first piece of clever advice he ever received in all his existence; never would he have come up with alone.
"So." The woman said in a sigh. "You just gonna' gawk at me for the rest of the night or you gonna' tell me your name?"
He was awoken from his thoughtful trance to immediately be faced with his unpleasant reality. He turned his face away in a heated fashion.
"I don't have one."
"If ya' don't wanna' tell me then just say so. You don't have to make up ridiculous things."
He rapidly twisted his head back to her, causing him to feel a pinch in his wounded shoulder. "I'm not. I really don't have one. Don't you think it's painful enough to admit that?" his voice was sharply clear; his gruff tone vibrating its way out of his throat.
The women repeatedly twisted her neck side to side; her chin downwards as she let out a sigh. "You really are stupid after all."
"What did you just say to me?" his tone hinted throaty intimidation.
"If ya' really don't have a name, why don't you just give yourself one? Come on, man. You're telling me you when through this many centuries of life without coming up with your own? Who the hell wrote the rule stating someone has to give you one?"
She pinched the bridge of her nose as she gracefully crossed her legs.
"God, I feel like I'm lecturing a child about simple common sense. If it's so painful for you, just pick a name that reflects you and address yourself as such. It's not that hard. Hell, a lot of people would love to have the choice to pick their own name because you can choose something that actually matches you, not something a person gave you before you even began your life or before they even knew the type of person you'd turn out to be."
Once again, he stared at her, flabbergasted once again. Earlier, her blade pierced him physically, possibly leaving him with permanent scars. And now to make him feel more defeated, her words were striking him with equal force mentally. Not that it was harshly intended, though.
But at the same time, some realizations were hard to accept when they were spoken so rash. Especially if you have a complete stranger you just met tell you something that you couldn't even come up with yourself through centuries. The man wondered if he was stubborn or if maybe the woman was right and he really was just stupid.
Perhaps he was just like an angry child for never having adult figures like parents or teachers around to scold him, or teach him right from wrong - or most of all: common sense. This would explain the immense amount of confusion, yet realization, tumbling upon him.
The subtle teachings from this woman carved an eternal mark into his mind. It may have just been a conversation to her that she would forget by the break of dawn. But he never experienced something like this before.
For the first time in his long life, he had received lessons not taught from himself, but from another.
"Don't look at me like that. Don't think I'm trying to comfort you or help you. I'm just amazed at your stupidity, that's all." Her scowling expression suddenly melted in order to show a glint of amusement, finally causing the man to release a faint smile.
A moment later, she stood up and attempted to brush off the grime and what appeared to be the man's dried blood tainted on her white clothing.
"Well. I'll be off. See ya' around – that is if you want your title back of being the strongest." She winked to the dumbfounded man.
"When you healed and toughed up, come find me. I live close by here in the district of seventy-nine; Kusajishi."
She waved her hand up and spun her back to him, then began stepping away.
"Please. Wait." he woozily propped up his aching weight to rest on his supporting elbow.
She rotated around, her face as sharp as ridged rocks. "I told you not to move too much. You'll only open your wounds. Ya' must mistake me as a fool if you think I'll patch you up again."
He weakly grinned and looked away to the far-side end of the tent and watched the uneven flickering of radiance coming from the dim candle light as he gathered his thoughts.
He turned his attention back to her and starred into her glistening, yet deadly looking eyes. "Just let me ask one thing, then you can be on your way."
She folded her arms and tapped her heel with female assertiveness. "Well I don't need to answer nothin' in order to leave. But hey, try me. I might answer you."
He gulped down the formulation of saliva building in his throat; anxiety tumble upon him, for he never asked this question before in his life. "I just wanted to ask…What is your name?"
The woman inhaled deeply and rolled her eyes, then twirled back around. She pulled the curtain blocking the frame of the exit aside to clear the passage.
The man took it she didn't want to reply to his question, and he really didn't find it necessary to pester her after she went as far as patching him up and miraculously transporting him here.
But just as he affirmed he never would know by sketching her face into his memory, only to be left without a label of a name, she slanted her neck back to him and granted him a smirk.
"My name is Yachiru." With that, she departed from the tent.
I hope you enjoyed the read, thank you very much for checking out this chapter. Please review and give back some feedback. I would greatly appreciate it. Stay tuned for more!
-A