The mist slowly clears and Ichigo looked around. The wide trunks of the towering oak trees surrounding him seem ancient beyond any fathomable sense of the word. The sun was setting and the sky, a fiery color. The clouds that should be white and fluffy were red as blood and stained the sky like a murder scene.
He stopped his inspection and turns to the smells of this ancient forest. It smelled earthy and moist. Almost as if it had rained recently. But the ground was dry and the trees looked withered. Rain had been a long time away from here.
Kurosaki walked toward the largest, and therefore oldest, of the trees around him and lays his hand upon its weathered trunk. Bleached white from the exposure to the wind and dry conditions. The feel of the tree was more then physical. The tree was a sentient being and awoke at the soft touch of Ichigo's war-calloused hand.
The tree's memories whirled through Ichigo's mind at breakneck speed, slowing only at the massive forest fire that had forced every other tree to start from a seedling again and sparing this one only because of a sudden downpour that had put out the fire.
Kurosaki couldn't believe that the tree had "lived" longer then man had existed. The sheer immensity and multiple layers that this mind consisted of was staggering and forced Ichigo to his knees.
When the tree was finished with its memories, it told him to get up, draw his zanpakuto, and cut down the oldest remnant of a forgotten age, an age of wisdom and might beyond the comprehension of himself.
The boy took his hand from the tree and sat down. He thought of all the times he had been told to do something, all of the times he had been compelled to do something. Not once, though, could he think of a time where he had been told to cut down a tree.
But all things must come to an end. At least that is what he told himself as he drew his blade, his partner. He looked at his reflection in the blade, surprised at the image reflected. It wasn't the orange haired reflection that he saw in the mirror everyday, but the image of Zangetsu, the embodiment of his soul cutter.
The old man did nothing but stare back at the bewildered boy, he offered nothing but the blank, reflective surface of his glasses. Though no words passed either one's lips, the message needed no words. If Ichigo was to go through with this, if the tree was to have its last wish, then Ichigo would need to overcome not only size, but the sheer ancientness of the tree. Was he ready?
The decision was made for him. It had been since the tree first sprouted. Fate had decreed that this tree would live to this day, or longer if the catalyst was not present. Was Ichigo the catalyst? Could he break the bonds of everything and shatter whatever there was out there?
Ichigo readied himself. He walked to the tree again and, for the last time, set his hand against the old trunk. He whispered a thank you and a soft good bye. He turned away from his opponent and walked slowly in the opposite direction. With a solid ten feet between him and the large tree, he turned and set his feet apart, brought Zangetsu up in front of him, parallel to the ground and whispered something to his partner. A second pair of hands wrapped around the hilt of the giant sword where Ichigo's didn't quite touch.
He ran forward, drawing the blade back for a swing. Images of his life flashed through his mind. Images of Rukia, his family, Soul Society, his friends, everything was there and then gone in an instant.
He swung. Fate smiled. The tree fell.
A/N-- Ok well, that waas a blast, tell me what you think and I might turn this into more then just a one shot. Well, I just wanted to hold you up for a minute and let you know that feedback if greatly appreciated and that I'm always looking out for what you guys and girls want. Just drop me a PM or send it in a review if you would like me to do a certain type of story. Ideas are greatly appreciated. Oh, and one more thing. If you could put a shout out in your stories I would love you guys forever. Thanks again for ready. --CynricShadowInk