Mangakas Hiro Mashima and Tite Kubo decide to have some collaborative fun with the Sexta Espada in deciding whether or not he comes back from the dead to fight the Quincy Wandenreich!
Rated T for the swears that define Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, some violence, though not any more intense than Bleach or Fairy Tail itself, alternate meanings of multiple things, and the like. Takes place right after Grimmjow's supposed "death" and right at the beginning of the Galuna Island Arc. Also, the Fourth Wall exists for everyone but Grimmjow.
Hi, JTS is back with...get ready for it...my second story! *fangirls self into unconsciousness*
JK I'm fine. I've been working on this segment for somewhere around three weeks, which is a surprisingly long time for me. But then again, I haven't been constantly working on it, so it's fine. This intro is longer than any of the following chapters will be, I'll tell you that. I got this idea after wondering whether or not Grimmjow was gonna come back, which is a widely disputed subject among fan bases, so this is my way of expressing my feelings about his return. If Grimmjow doesn't change at least a little, we'll have a few problems with him fighting Yhwach. Like he won't protect anybody. Problem.
This is my way of figuring out whether or not he returns! It'll keep going until we have definite confirmation that he's either dead or alive. Until then, read and enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own either Bleach or Fairy Tail, although I wish I was that lucky. No OC's this time.
WARNING: SPOILERS FOR ALL OF BLEACH AND MOST OF FAIRY TAIL! READ AT YOUR DISCRETION...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Chapter One: Indefinite
...
Grimmjow
...
The look in his eyes as I failed to kill him said it all.
Give it up, they said. We can stop fighting, there's no point to this. I'll fight you anytime, but we're done today.
His eyes were asking me to believe him.
They wanted me to trust them.
…They wanted me to trust him.
Please. That was never gonna happen, no chance in Hell. The answer to his plea came to me before I even realized that the plea was directed at me. Even as the unspoken words came through to me, all I heard was gibberish.
No, what I really felt through his eyes was that he wanted me to submit. And that got my blood to boiling. The feral beast inside me was screaming with defiance and fury, and my heart and soul screamed with it.
He wanted me to stop, to submit, to bow? To believe a word he said? To f**king trust!? Well, that wasn't going to happen. Because I am Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, I am the Panther King. I am a hunter, a Hollow of Hueco Mundo. And I don't bow to anyone, and I certainly don't bow to the ginger-headed Soul Reaper who invaded my home and carved a permanent scar across my torso.
Those eyes. They dared defy me. I hated them with an unbelievable fury.
"You...you couldn't defeat me," I said in a rough whisper, my voice scratching against my throat as I staggered a few steps towards him. "Look at you. You're too weak for it!"
...I just didn't get it, I think that was my problem. Forget him—why did I feel so weak at that moment in comparison? I didn't feel like a hunter then, much more like the prey that I had expected him to be. How could that damn Kurosaki stay so calm against me in battle? How could the bastard just give up on a fight like this? What did he have in him that I didn't? What was in those eyes?
My power was gone. It simply melted away then. The feral beast inside had receded from screaming to mewling, pathetic inside. I felt a sense of heaviness settle on my shoulders and push my feet down into the white sands of my home as my hair grew shorter and my features became less and less panther-like. My resurrección melted off of my skin, and something inside me shattered as my zanpakutô reappeared in my hands.
He had broken me out of my strongest state, Pantera's sword release. How?
How?
"I will never lose to you!" I roared, breathless as the reiatsu inside me faded away. Now it was just me fighting, not me and the beast. How had he beaten me?
...No. I was wrong. He hadn't beaten me. I was still alive. A pool of blood may have been forming under me, my spiritual pressure may have been exhausted, but I was still alive. Even though the shit had been beaten out of my body, I, the Sexta Espada of Hueco Mundo, was still alive.
With an enraged cry, I lifted my sword above my head and swung it down towards him, desperate to finish him. Obviously, to anyone who might have seen me then, I looked like a complete mess, with scratches all over my face, rips all over my hakama and jacket. Hell, my normally scruffy blue hair probably looked like a dragon had nested in it. The panther jawbone that was anatomically attached to my own had an ugly scratch in it, right between two of the lower jaw fangs, but the cut had pierced the bone entirely and now my own blood was leaking through the gap.
What I am, I couldn't help thinking, another thing breaking inside me as my blade came down. The stupid ginger broke what I am. I am a Hollow, an Espada. But without a mask, I'm not a Hollow. Without my Hollow hole, I'm not a Hollow. Break my mask and you make me angry.
I threw all my anger, all my strength, all my fear down into Pantera's blade. My strength was Pantera's strength, and his destructive will to fight was my own.
I wanted to kill the Soul Reaper so badly, the malice bled through every pore in my body. The thirst of evil became mine, and I became death incarnate. I became destruction.
In a flash of black, Kurosaki was there. It took me a second to process that he had grabbed my wrist and stayed my blade in coming down. I didn't dare look up into his eyes, because I knew that seeing the revolting compassion in his eyes would just make me fight harder. The most shameful thing a fighter can do is struggle in a useless position.
From the sidelines, I could tell that Orihime Inoue was watching. The human healer who had saved my honor, the human girl whom I had saved. Through her overkill spacial and temporal restoration abilities, she had given me back my rank as Sexta, and I had delivered her to Kurosaki so she could heal him until he was strong enough to fight me.
The way she was looking at me, it was like she expected more of a fight. Two gray doe eyes, warm and caring beyond my capacity to tolerate. It sickened me, her wide-eyed stare. So what if I saved her ass? I didn't owe her any debt, and if she cared at all about me, that was her problem. I didn't save her to have her worry about me—I worry for myself, thank you very much.
"That's enough, Grimmjow," Kurosaki said with a surprisingly condescending tone. "Stop this, now. You say you're a king? Well, if you kill everyone who you don't like, that makes you a king with no subjects."
Damn shinigami. Of course I knew that. What kind of fool did he take me for? I didn't become the sixth strongest Hollow alive by dumb luck. The Sexta Espada is no idiot.
"What's the point in that, Grimmjow? If you truly hate me..." He took a deep rattling breath, but not fearful at all. "I'll fight you anytime. But for now, you need to give up."
We were silent for a moment, me basking in my hatred and letting it consume me, Kurosaki no longer trying hard to keep Pantera from slicing him in two. I hated him. I really hated him. He probably believed he didn't need to block my attack anymore, which only got me madder. And he was even unarmed—he had left his Zangetsu behind when he had confronted me. Insult after insult... By this point, I was a ticking time bomb, ready to blow at any moment.
Then another piece of me broke. Even as he was, he had won. Even so weak and useless, he had won. And I could never forgive him. For a moment, my eyes narrowed, and I looked down at the sand at his feet. And then I almost thought about giving up. I almost thought he was right. I almost gave up.
And then those pieces inside me that I thought broke, they put themselves back together, and the little soul I had inside of me that had been in the process of opening up snapped shut.
And the beast roared one thing.
I am the Panther King.
And I roared with it.
I wrenched my hand from his grip and leaped forward, bringing Pantera back up for a deadly strike. A slightly confused expression was on his face; not surprised, only confused. And just for that, I'd never regret killing him, I knew that. I never regretted killing anybody, no matter their strength or weakness. He may have beaten me down, but he couldn't break me. But I could break him.
"NEVER! I'LL SHOW YOU—"
And that's about when Nnoitra Gilga slashed a hole in my chest.
I'm not gonna lie—it really came out of f**king nowhere. The second the curved blade slammed into my body, I knew I was screwed. My eyes grew wide as moons, the full impact of the blow throwing me out of my leap at a right angle and leaving me with a stupefied expression on my face.
Kurosaki didn't move. Just stared. I think his expression mirrored mine for an instant, confused and shellshocked.
The first thing I saw was my blood. I had almost forgotten that I had that much, but there it was—a sea of crimson splattered against the starless blue sky of Las Noches. Surprisingly beautiful to see, it really was. You should have seen it. Thick red liquid flying into the air and dying my vision in shades of vermillion. Like flicking a paintbrush haphazardly at a canvas without giving a shit about what comes out of it.
At least I couldn't complain about being stabbed in the back, seeing as he did it right in front of me.
And then the reddened sky faded away, and at that moment, all I could see was that piano keys smile of his, grinning down on me like his life depended on it. It's amazing what insanity can do to a guy like Nnoitra, ripping out the soul he may or may not have had. Hell, he probably didn't have a soul even before he became a Hollow. He's Nnoitra, the Espada who killed the former Tercero, Neliel Tu.
I think my eyes almost (and only almost) leaked water for a second as I fell to the ground, an act of total and utter defeat. Even a king knows when to concede.
"You just don't know when to call it quits, do you?" I heard Nnoitra sneer, and then the world faded around the edges. But not enough that I couldn't see his smirk anymore, or the double-bladed axe in his hand shaped like two connected crescent moons with a long chain on the handle. Viscous red blood stained the forward blade. My blood.
"Hurry up and die!" he exclaimed with a wave of the axe. "I want the shinigami for myself."
Kurosaki was so dead it wasn't even funny anymore.
Idiotically, Kurosaki whirled around and stared fiercely at Nnoitra—like that would do him any good. "...What the hell? Who are you?"
No answer as Nnoitra moved forward, a grin on his face.
"Are you an Espada?"
Of course he's an Espada, dumbass. I almost felt sorry for him—the almost was there because I was too busy hating Nnoitra for backstabbing me.
"N-Nnoitra Gilga, you bastard," I whispered hoarsely, the air rushing through my lungs, as I struggled and failed to stand. I felt an immense pressure come down on me as the edges of my vision crept inward.
Nnoitra pursed his lips for a moment—I liked the smile better. "What's this? You're still alive?"
The last thing I saw was Kurosaki lifting his blade up to block Nnoitra's enormous zanpakutô, a surprisingly furious look on his face. Everything about that asshole is surprising.
Then I vaguely heard Nnoitra saying something to me, something that clearly must have been important or insulting, but all I could do was stare off into space.
Somewhere after that, the world went black.
...But after that, nothing else happened. I could move again, could open my eyes, although looking around revealed only darkness. The pain in my chest disappeared instantly, although it took a moment for me to realize it, and the pressure slowly lifted off my chest.
Just when I started to lift the distrusting barrier around me, it happened. The nightmares hit me then, and I couldn't move, frozen in shock. All the dreams I've had, all the times they've been crushed, all the people I've killed—I saw it all over again, from the outside. Saw flashes of blood, screams in the night, fades to black. And the funny thing is, I almost felt twinges of remorse for my actions. Why? Screw remorse. I don't need it.
It got worse then. The nightmares stopped being about others and started to me about me. All those times when someone had proven that I wasn't the strongest, and had taken me down a notch before allowing me back up. Living subjectless in the deserts as an Adhuchas. Fighting every second of every day just to survive for years upon years. Doing the right thing and paying the price. Doing the wrong thing and making the price steeper. Humiliation. Pain. Becoming the Sexta, and only the Sexta Espada, with five others able to prove that they were above me. Kurosaki proving that I wasn't the king.
I saw all my nightmares and fears flashing right in front of my eyes, and in that endless span of time I relived every freaking one if them, unable to mutter a single word.
When I got to the memory of Ulquiorra Cifer stopping me in combat with a blank look on his eerie face and a murderous glow in his feline eyes, my heart shot up into my throat.
As soon as my eyes met his, I remembered to breathe and I shot straight up into the fetal position, gasping for breath. The nightmares gradually faded away, although the revolting discomfort and fear that they had brought lingered.
When I could breathe like a normal person again, I got to my feet. The Cuatro Espada was finally gone, thank God for that. I've always hated Ulquiorra, because he's such an antithesis to me. Yes, I know big words. Don't act so surprised.
The world around me was very, very empty. Obviously, there was some source of light somewhere, because I could clearly see the pale back of my hand and the few blue locks of hair that were floating down into my eyes. My clothes and injuries had been fully repaired, along with my spiritual pressure—but when I ran my fingers over my right cheek, my heart skipped a beat, because the most important part of me was missing.
My mask.
F**k.
This must have been some sort of joke, that was it. Within the past twenty seconds, Aizen or Kaname must have developed senses of humor that didn't result in my pain. But there was pain. Hollow masks weren't supposed to come off, at least not entirely. If my heart was in my throat before, now it was flying figure-eights above my head. There was a strange numbness in my skin, like it had been unexposed for years and the cells were trying to adjust. I felt bare, exposed, without my mask.
"Who the hell did this?" I whispered at first, then repeated it as loud as I could without sounding like a wreck. "WHO THE HELL DID THIS?"
"That would be me."
That voice. I knew that voice. My voice. I whirled around, beady eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of the source.
And then I saw it, just out of the corner of my eyes. It was me, a fuzzy projection in the emptiness, staring back at me with the same expression of lividity and boredom I've always got on, with a little confusion and the slightest amount of fear mixed in.
Me talking to me. Sure, that made sense.
What really got to me was the reflection I saw of myself. I saw how utterly normal I looked without the bone mask, or without the teal tattoos that usually marked the space on the corner of my eyes. I—he—it—looked utterly human, save for the gaping Hollow hole in its abdomen.
Was that really what I looked like now? So...normal...?
Normal wasn't such a bad look on me.
"Relax. It's not the end of the world," he said coldly, as his voice smoothed out to resemble another familiar one, and his form began to change until it was two in one. And then he became a very familiar yet hateful person. "I'm not who you thought I was."
When I realized that I had mistaken orange hair for sky blue and a shinigami's shihakushô for my white hakama and jacket, I almost puked. I had seen myself in him, if even for a moment. Disgusting.
I stared straight into the eyes of the Soul Reaper who had defeated me, broken my mask and my pride, and destroyed who I am, for as long as I could before I felt a strong murderous urge.
"...Kurosaki!" I snarled, and reached for Pantera, only to find emptiness. That was all there was around me—nothing but me and him. I looked around wildly, searching for my zanpakutô and coming up empty-handed.
Ichigo Kurosaki, staring at me in a way that was eerily Ulquiorra-like, replied after a beat. "Uh...no...but I can see how you'd get to that conclusion. By the way, Grimmjow, I guess you noticed that both your mask and Pantera are nowhere to be found."
"I don't give a damn about Pantera!" I yelled, advancing a step forward and holding out my hand to use a Cero blast. "Give me back my mask, right know!"
He raised an eyebrow. "A Cero? That's cute."
"Cute?! Bastard, I'll show you!" I roared, and held my palm out towards him. A red sphere of energy appeared in my hand, and with a yell, the sphere exploded out in a flash of deadly light. The blast slammed into him with expert position, and he met it head on.
Except Kurosaki didn't meet the Cero with fear in his eyes. He met it with a sickly piano-key grin.
...Nnoitra? I blinked my eyes and then looked again, unsure of what I had just seen. It was too late to tell, as a cloud of smoke now surrounded him.
"...Kurosaki, get the hell out here!" I called, gruffly but nervously.
Just when I was about to charge in, a lithe white-clad arm cleaved through the smoke like it was butter, and I heard a new voice. "Who ever said I was Kurosaki?"
Within an instant, Nnoitra Gilga had leapt out of the smoke and pressed the tip of his oversized zanpakutô to my cheek, right where the mask had been.
"W-where in the world did you come from?" I said, my voice barely a whisper. I couldn't move at all, but was it my confusion freezing me, or fear? I didn't want it to be fear.
He greeted my response with another keyboard sneer and the removal of his blade from my flesh, lashing out with his hand to grab my neck. I let out a rasping cough as he lifted me up to his eye level, which was somewhere about a foot above my own.
"Me?" he said. "I came from wherever the hell I wanted. What's it to you?"
"You're...you're choking me," I managed to gasp out.
"What, this? This isn't choking you, Pussycat. This," he said, tightening his grip until I saw stars in the darkness. "This is choking you."
The air. I needed air. I needed it now.
Just as I was about to succumb to unconsciousness, Nnoitra began to change before my very eyes. His black hair grew shorter and messier, his skin faded to pale grey, and his eyes went from sadistic to soulless green pits with trails of green leading down his cheeks from them. The jacket that he had been wearing lengthened into a long robe as its wearer shrunk in size until he was shorter than me and floating in the air.
Ulquiorra Cifer was now holding my throat in his pale thin hand, about an ounce of pressure away from shattering my spine. Something inside me sank down, effectively stilling me from doing anything idiotic on sight of my foremost foe.
"Grimmjow," the Cuatro Espada said, his free hand in his pocket, "upon close examination, it has just occurred to me that you look...different. I suppose it's the mask. Or lack thereof."
First me, then Kurosaki, then Nnoitra, then Ulquiorra. Something was wrong here. Whoever I was looking at now appeared almost exactly as Ulquiorra did, but wasn't Ulquiorra. This being must have been able to change forms at will. Right then, though, he was acting so much like Ulquiorra I figured I should just call him by that name.
I attempted to move my hands to remove his arm from my neck, but one glare from him and I stopped. "Careful, Grimmjow. If I don't like what you're doing, I will snap your spine like a brittle twig. Seeing as you're not dead, I can guarantee it will hurt."
Bastard. I didn't have much strength left—I had already wasted most of it trying to pry Nnoitra's hands away, and Ulquiorra being the Cuatro Espada and stronger than the Quinto, I had no chance of getting him off by strength alone. For god's sake, he was holding me clear of the ground, despite me being clearly taller and heavier.
At least I wasn't dead. That was a relief. If I had died at the hands of a Soul Reaper, I would never forgive myself.
"Ulquiorra," I said, as calmly as I could while choking, "let me go, now, and give me my mask back."
His head cocked to the side as he ever so slightly let go of my windpipe. "What makes you think I have it?"
I didn't respond, just bared my teeth.
After a moment, he closed his eyes and released me, and I crumpled. But not even a second after the air had entered my lungs, Ulquiorra placed both his hands in his pockets and slammed his foot into my ribcage.
I think I flew back when he kicked me—the only reason I think so being that he suddenly shrunk in my field of view and the world spun. Then again, my head was spinning, so anything I say happened then can't really be trusted.
"You'll have to forgive me, Grimmjow," Ulquiorra said as he suddenly appeared a meter away from me. The tiniest fragments of a smile appeared on his face, quite possibly making him the scariest thing I had ever seen. "It's just that I've always wanted to do that, but I've never found the right moment for it."
"You...you piece of crap," I coughed, shifting over to my side so I was now facing him. There was a glimmer in his catlike eyes that seemed almost exaggeratedly sadistic, much more than the Cuatro Espada I knew and hated. Much more than even Nnoitra. I hated this Ulquiorra even more. "You're not Ulquiorra."
"Correct," he said, now actually smiling as he removed his hands from his pockets. So weird, so weird, so wrong.
"What the hell are you, then?"
"First things first." Ulquiorra held up a hand like he was holding something, and I watched in shock as my mask materialized in his pale grasp.
"Ah! My mask! So you did have it, you liar! Give it here," I growled, stepping forward.
"Not quite yet." Just as my fingers reached forward to brush the cool hard bone of my panther jawbone, he began to change shape once again, and grew a few inches taller and out of my reach. His hair grew even shorter and chestnut colored, and the white hakama under his robes darkened to black. The smile on his now-tan face grew wider and less sincere, until I was staring at quite possibly the only person I feared in existence.
Sôsuke Aizen. My hand stopped in its tracks.
Aizen—or not Aizen, it didn't matter, he petrified me plenty anyways—tossed the mask boredly in his hands, and I watched as it went up and down and up and down. "You're not very surprised to see me."
Crap. He was talking to me. I knew it wasn't Aizen, I knew it for sure, but I still couldn't respond without feeling frozen. This was the man who had watched with a smile as his henchman cut off my left arm. This was the man who, when he threatened me, caused me to feel an ache in my bones and a tremor in my hands. This was the only person I simply couldn't hate, because I knew that any outwardly displayed hatred of him would be punished severely. The one man I feared now stood between me and the one thing I wanted.
"Do you still want this mask back?" Aizen asked, catching the bones in his hands one final time. Even though his eyes were normal now, brown with round cold pupils, the sadistic glow was still there in his gaze. "Does it really mean as much to you as you claim?"
Of course it did! What kind of question was that? Even Aizen couldn't scare me into giving a different answer. My mask was part of me, the only thing that distinguished me from a shinigami or a human. I didn't want to be normal. I wanted to be me. "Yes," I responded.
"Prove it." And then he held out his other hand, and in it appeared Pantera, my zanpakutô. "Or not, it's really your choice. I don't care—either Pantera, or your mask. You only get one. Make your choice, then I will explain."
Torn. That's the way to describe it. I was torn between choosing what I wanted and what I'd rather have in a practical situation. What was he expecting me to do? I mean, I know that I didn't care about Pantera before, but seeing my zanpakutô before me now changed that.
Instinctively, my hand almost reached for the hilt in his grasp. I always felt safe with it near me; Pantera was my last resort in a battle and—to be frank—really, really fun to use. Battle wasn't the same with it.
But I wasn't the same without my mask.
And I'd rather be the King with the mask than alive.
I stopped reaching for the blade. Thought about it. Attempted to make a choice.
Almost changed my mind.
But in the end my hand found its way to my mask.
The second my fingers touched the smooth bone, Aizen laughed and drew it away. "Alright, then, it's settled! Mask it is. If you finish what I've planned for you, you get your mask back."
It took me a second to realize what he was saying.
With a sickening smirk, he hoisted Pantera up and tossed it to me. I caught it by instinct alone, before I even realized he had. Also without my noticing, I had slid the sheath partway off of the blade, so I could now see my reflection again. And I saw me, completely me as I usually am, teal tattoos and blue hair and all, but my mask was still gone.
"...You're kidding me," I deadpanned, quietly at first, staring into my own eyes reflected on Pantera's smooth metal blade. Then all my confusion and annoyance and anger and fear with the situation burst out at once, and I was yelling. "That's bullshit! I chose the mask so I can have it now, you unbelievable lying piece of crap!"
I had barely finished speaking when Aizen morphed back into Ulquiorra and gave me a death glare of catastrophic proportions. "What did you call me?" he said icily, quite possibly feeling almost egged on by my actions for the first time in his cold and futile existence.
Good. That made me happy. I wanted to kill him—it—whatever the hell it was—slowly and painfully. I would do it. With my bare hands if necessary. I wanted the mask back, and no amount of strength would keep me away.
Ulquiorra's hand silently shifted to the hilt of his zanpakutô, Murciélago. His eyes were scrunched tightly shut, and he was almost trembling from rage—had I really aggravated him so much? I never would have guessed that he would just snap like that. "Idiot. If I were in your position, I wouldn't make such foolish and unfounded comments. I may be many things—a kidnapper, a murderer, a nihilist—but a liar is not one of them."
"Who gives a shit?! What matters is this—give me back the mask, like you promised! You said I'd get whichever one I chose, and I want it now!" I opened my palm to charge a cero, but before I could he advanced with Murciélago and I had to lift Pantera up to counter him. The impact pushed me backwards, my feet slipping and sliding on nothingness.
"I never said any such thing! Just listen," he growled, eyes narrowing in obvious disgust and annoyance as he pushed me away with Murciélago and lashed out once again. This time I had to brace Pantera with my left hand to deflect the blow.
"The reason I'm withholding your mask from you is this—you just don't deserve it back! Even for you, Grimmjow, you really screwed up this time." A glimmer in his eyes, he pushed down harder, and I struggled to keep standing.
"What do you mean, 'this time'?" I yelled in reply, finally taking the offensive and slamming the hilt down on his hand. At any other time, Ulquiorra wouldn't have reacted; but this time, he winced and leapt out of my range. Just another hint that he wasn't Ulquiorra.
"Don't be an idiot. I mean this life," he said, drawing himself back up to an upright position and shaking out his hand. After a second, he sheathed Murciélago, although his fingers lingered on the blade. "You are aware of the reincarnation cycle of souls, correct?"
"Of course! Who do you think I am?" I growled. I didn't understand the point of the question. It was basic knowledge, something that every being with spiritual pressure was aware of.
Wait. Spiritual pressure. That was it, just another thing that was weird about this Ulquiorra. I couldn't feel his spiritual pressure, not even a little. The suffocating emptiness that was always there was nowhere to be found. The hand that was still grasping at his zanpakutô had no energy, no soul. That was the last bit of proof I needed to tell me that the thing in front of me wasn't who he appeared to be.
Ulquiorra glanced at me once before pointing a pale finger at my face, right between my eyes. "You and I both know that when a human is malicious in life, with unfinished goals at their time of death, they become a Hollow! The fact that you're even here proves you screwed up badly in the time you were human. And now, well, look at you!"
He was right. To be a Hollow, a human soul had to have had unfinished business in the world of the living that consumed them. Every Hollow was born that way. And if the current personalities of the Espada were any indication, the ten of us were seriously messed up.
At least, in the eyes of the rest of the world. I didn't have any problem with who I was. So he was wrong too.
"Not only that." Ulquiorra pinched the bridge of his nose. "The fact that you're even talking to me proves that you messed up in your current life as a Hollow."
A pang of fear seized me when he said the word 'life' so trivially. "But I thought you said that I wasn't dead," I said.
The awkward smile found its way back onto his face. "You're not. You're blissfully unconscious in my domain. Back in Hueco Mundo, Nnoitra Gilga has currently dealt you a critical blow that took out one of the main nerves connected to your spine and carved a large wound across your torso. The wound will probably be fatal if you stay where you are."
"Then why are you keeping me here?"
"It's...interesting to explain. Let me attempt to elaborate on your situation," Ulquiorra said, his form suddenly morphing into that of Gin Ichimaru and taking on the more disturbing look of a murderer and the awkward slurring accent that Gin sported. Strangely enough, though, he wasn't grinning like an idiot anymore. Although his eyes were still closed, his smile looked a bit less creeper-like.
I wasn't fazed by this transformation, not even a little. Out of everyone in Aizen's favor, Gin scared me the least.
"Here's yer dilemma. Yer not in Hueco Mundo anymore. Or in Japan, for that matter. Yer here, and that's all ya get to know."
I struggled to stay patient, more so than usual. "So I'm essentially dead? I keep getting faked out of this answer. Yes or no?"
"...No. But yer no longer alive in the world you once knew." He waited a few seconds to see how I would respond, and his eyes cracked open slightly.
"The gist of the life that yer missing is this—Sôsuke Aizen will be defeated but not killed, Gin Ichimaru will reveal himself as a traitor to the Hollows, Kaname Tôsen will fall in battle, and all the Espada'll die."
"All?"
"Just watch."
He held out a frail hand and a hologram of sorts appeared in it. I counted off out loud as the deaths played through, a projection of the future.
"Primero." Coyote Starrk, no surprise. He was too laid-back to fight seriously.
"Segundo." Barragan Louisenbairn, engulfed in an enormous nuclear explosion. Again, no surprise. He was a wannabe king, not even a little like me.
"Tres." The image was a little shaky, but I was pretty sure that Tier Harribel was being slashed open across the chest by Aizen. That image was slightly less expected, but made up for it with worlds of satisfaction. I had never liked that chick anyway.
"Cuatro." Oh my god, that made me happy. To watch Ulquiorra Cifer simply crumble away into dust, it was amazing. He even seemed to show a little interest in the girl Inoue, who was surprisingly there at his death scene. If I had cared about either of them enough to consider them allies, I would have found the moment stirring. But not me.
Quinto was more fun to watch than say, so I didn't say it. I don't even wanna describe that battle between Nnoitra and the shinigami captain who murdered him. It was expected of a fool like Nnoitra, to die like that.
"Yer enjoying this," Gin commented with a serpentine grin, probably noticing the excited glimmer in my eyes.
"You have no idea."
Thankfully, I didn't see myself get murdered alive for Sexta. But I did see Zommari Rureaux get engulfed alive by these cheesy-looking flower petal-like blades. And I got to say "Septimo" out loud.
"Octavo" was Szayelapporo Grantz, the questionably straight younger brother of one of my Fracciones, Ilfort. He was impaled through the stomach in slow motion and kinda just...stood there and took it. Damn. I guess mad scientists have killer fortitude or something, although the attack obviously killed him.
"Noveno." Aaroniero Aruuerie, stabbed through the head by the tiny Kuchiki brat that I had almost blown the head off of twice. That's just the difference of three Espada ranks for you.
Last was Yammy Llargo, the "Decimo". But he was such a slob and an idiot that I knew it would be boring to watch. "Pah, I don't need to see this."
Gin cleared his throat as the cloud disappeared. "That's not all, Sexta. After the defeat of Aizen, an organization of Quincies will enslave Tier Harribel and capture Hueco Mundo."
Harribel, enslaved by Quincies? But I had just seen her death. She wouldn't survive that attack... Although, she was the Tres.
The confused expression on my face probably proved that I wanted an explanation. "...Perhaps I should clarify." Gin let out a small snicker. "Although it appears that she and ya die, Harribel and ya are the only Espada that survive, although only by sheer luck."
"Why?"
"Because I'm stupid enough to give ya a second chance."
That ticked me off. Who did he think he was? I am the king. You don't screw with the king. Nobody gives me a chance—I make my own destiny.
I advanced towards Gin, who didn't react. "You, give me a chance? What is this, a little book for you? And on another note, WHO IN GOD'S NAME ARE YOU?!"
"Oh, nobody important. I just need some plot twists with popular characters, ya know, so I'm collaborating with Mashima for a little until we decide what happens."
"...Mashima? But that's—"
It clicked.
Kubo. Tite Kubo.
And Hiro Mashima.
The mangakas.
I couldn't move, speak, even breathe. He was here. A mangaka. The one who holds all our fates by a thread.
As was appropriate, he chuckled and gave a little sardonic wave.
Kubo smiled as Gin once more, before he melted away and became the darkness surrounding me. "Why'd ya think I could morph into all of ya? I wrote everything you believe in. All of you are part of my imagination, manifested into something much, much more. On that note, ciao, Jaegerjaques!"
And before I could do anything, I felt myself returning back to my body in the real world, and I could feel the pain of a hundred fatal wounds, and the world around me was shifting in and out of colors that I knew and yet had never seen before. The world around me was no longer Hueco Mundo—a new moon was rising in the sky above.
And when the last thing I saw before I blacked out was a complete full moon, which I had never seen before, I almost got a little afraid then.
Almost.
...
Well, glad that's out there. Guess where he is. Go ahead, guess! ...Or just read the next chapter when I post and I promise it'll be somewhere within the first five paragraphs. XD
Depending on what you, the readers, the FANTASTIC readers, say or comment about this, I may make it a more frequent thing or not so frequent at all. It's all in your hands! I don't have much else to say for this chapter, so...hasta la vista! For now, let's say I'll post the next one in two weeks.
Next chapter will feature Laxus Dreyar, the Thunder Dragon Slayer, along with our favorite Titania! See you then!
Bai!