Shadow... falling... whiteness...
Set on the nail-biting, chair-gripping, sheer omfgness that is chapter 392. Hitsugaya-centric, as we glimpse into what could have been for him during the blazing, breaking glaciers.
They quiet their hearts in darkness, for their chance will be fleeting… the shadow cast before the eyes of these falling comrades shine with a dazzling whiteness…
-Bleach 391, 04/19.
He didn't spare a glance to their allies' bodies as they plunged gracelessly into the cracked ground of the burning, make-believe city that became their battleground-
(burning blue-hot like his ice, like his hatred; burning because) "…It's over Aizen."
-so it was only logical and tactical and-
(nothing else) that he didn't spare a glance? Thought? to the limp body between the remaining, still-standing lieutenants.
Uncontrolled rage in his eyes; promising murder. Unbidden hate in his blade; demanding blood.
And the cool haze falling over his mind, as the dragon's jaws snapped down on their prey.
And it really was over.
For just. One. Moment.
"…shiro…chan…why…?"
Then Hyōrinmaru 's unforgiving ice is melting on his blood, burning through his vein, coiling around his body and tearing up his throat as he screams and rages and—
The last thing he register before the pain became his only one, is Ichimaru's ever-grinning face, and over the shrill scream of a voice way to high to be his lazy, good-for-nothing, second in command.
"Where are ya wings now, little taicho?"
Matsumoto better take some damn good care of the paperwork.
