Living in Death

Chapter One: The Veil Lifted.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or Bleach. But I do own this story. Sorry.

Updated AN: Hello again, lads and lasses. Been a long time. Without further ado, new and improved "Chapter One". Not too much different for this chapter. Some changed dialogue and details, a good spit-polish to take care of the more obvious blemishes. Read AN at the bottom if ya care for some more info.

He ran quickly, his legs pumping faster and faster as he fled down the dark road. He did not dare look back, did not dare to see how close his pursuers were. With his head down and his eyes wide in fear, he ran on, wincing as his bare feet hit the cold stone. Shouts of anger and hatred rang in his ears, and fear drove him on. If he stopped, if he faltered but once… he would die.

On and on he ran, never knowing where he was going. His mind was given wholly to flight, and he could spare no thought for anything else. All that he could feel was the ache in his legs and the beating of his heart, franticly throbbing within his chest. Sweat poured down his young face, and his blonde hair was damp with it. The rags that he wore were soaked through, making them even more foul than they were before. But he cared not. He cared only for his life. So, clutching the stolen bit of bread to his breast, he raced on into the night, hoping against hope that he would escape, that he would live to see the dawn.

But, it was not to be. As he ran, his foot came down on a carelessly discarded sake bottle. In the darkness of the night, he had not seen the thing until it was too late! With a cry of anguish and terror, he fell to the ground, slamming his little forehead into the stone of the road. Pain filled him, and for a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then, he remembered the seriousness of his plight, and he struggled to get up, to stand and flee once more. But, even as he tried to lift himself up, dizziness overcame him, and he collapsed to the ground once more and lost consciousness.

They found him there moments later. The furious mob gathered around, staring down at the boy as he lay prostrate on the road, blood leaking from his brow and already beginning to pool on the rain-slick stone. They faltered, then, unsure of what to do. Many of them felt pity for the boy, even knowing who he was. Or, rather, what he was. Some even turned to leave, thinking that the lad had suffered enough for his theft.

Some, however, were not so sure. Stepping out from the middle of the mob, a tall man with brawny arms strode over to Naruto, a snarl of anger on his face. Snatching the bit of bread from the poor boy's limp hands, he turned to face the ground, holding the crumbling loaf towards them.

"You see?!" He cried, his voice deep and angry. "Even at this young age, the demon refuses to leave us alone! Not only has it robbed us of friends and family, now it would rob us of our food! Our livelihoods! I will not stand for it!" He threw the remnants of the bread to the ground with a snarl and spat on it. Then he turned back to the still boy and raised a booted foot, preparing to slam it into the blonde lad's ribs.

A voice from the back of the mob rang out, saying "Stop! It was just a bit of bread! You've got plenty more in your bakery, Gabi! Let the lad go, he meant no harm!"

Gabi wheeled around towards the crowd again, his anger reaching new heights. "No harm? NO HARM? Oh, sure, it's a loaf of bread today! But what about tomorrow? The day after? A year from now? If we do not teach him a lesson now, he will continue to take what is rightfully ours! Unless we check him now, he will just get bolder and bolder, until he steals our very lives away! I will not stand aside and allow a demon to do as it wishes!"

His loud voice echoed through the street, and the mob went completely quiet, thinking over his words. When he saw that no one would stand in his way, he turned back to the boy and seized his by the neck, lifting him into the air. With a snarl of hate, the burly baker threw the boy from him. The limp body flew through the air, slamming into the ground some feet away with a feeble groan as the pain brought the child back into the realm of consciousness.

At that moment, the moon itself, shining in its luminescent glory as it stared down from the heavens, was shrouded in the clouds, as if even that heavenly body sought to turn its gaze away from what was soon to come. Darkness fell over the village.

Then it began.

The people of the village had long felt hatred towards this boy, this demon, for all the things they had last four years ago. They had tolerated his presence for a time, had been patient and tolerant. But no longer! It was time they struck back at the thing that had attacked their village, killed their family and friends, and had been the downfall of their beloved leader! They would not let it happen again! The mob gathered around the limp form of the boy, intent on putting an end to it. With cries of hatred and snarls of fury, they pounded the lad with fist, boot, anything they had. They beat him until their anger was spent, then stepped back to look at their work.

The boy was a mass of bruises, and he was bleeding all over his body. His arm had been snapped in two places, and blood was oozing from his mouth, mingling with the blood already spilt on the uncaring stone. He was broken and beaten, but still he clung to life, his battered body taking short, shallow breaths as he fought to keep his life. But the baker was not satisfied. Stepping over to a small alley, he seized a length of lead pipe, hefting it in his hands. As he walked back to the boy's broken body, he lifted it high over his head, preparing to end the boy's life.

The young boy let out a short cry of fear and curled into a ball as best he could, tears streaming down his face as he screwed his eyes shut against the pain, against the callous, uncaring stares of the villagers.

At that moment, the moon broke out through the clouds once more, spreading its beams through the night, casting the boy into sharp relief, highlighting his many wounds and accenting the blood pooled on the ground with dancing flecks of light. It revealed to the gathered villagers the truth of what it was that lay before them.

A young child of four, of frail body and strong heart, who had never done them ill, never taken more than he needed to survive, never knowing that he housed the demon that was the cause of all their pain and suffering those four years ago. A child with a will to live so strong that even now, with his lifeblood draining away and his body nearly destroyed, he had the strength to wrest his spirit back from the threshold, the will to keep himself balanced on that razor edge between life and death.

Nothing more or less than a child.

For a long moment, Gabi did nothing, thought nothing, merely stared down at the boy he was about to kill. His eyes shifted to the crowd, watching and waiting. But they did nothing. Some looked anxious, and a few had turned their heads away, but no one would stop him. No one would keep him from murdering a child. A child…

He faltered, lowering the bar once more. What was he thinking? Could he, Gabi the baker, really kill a child in cold blood? The lad had to be four at the most! Surely there was no reason to kill him, not for just a piece of bread? What was he thinking?

And then the boy, who had been waiting for a blow that had not come, looked up at his assailant, at his death-in-waiting. And the moon, that cruel and perilous trickster moon, revealed to them the slight marks in his cheeks, throwing them into sharp relief, making them look deeper, more defined, more bestial.

And Gabi felt his heart harden.

No. This boy had killed his son. This demon had slaughtered his boy, his only child. No, there was plenty of reason to kill him. It was time that this… this thing… paid for what it had done to him. What it had done to all of them. He would break the boy just like his son had been broken. He would end it, now, for the sake of his son and the countless others who had died.

The bar rose and fell, sinking into the boy's skull with a sickening crack as metal met bone, and bone was defeated.

Then again.

And again.

Again.

AGAIN.

Then, as his suddenly cold fingers dropped the lead pipe, he gazed down in mixed horror and triumph at the corpse of the boy before him. The skull was shattered, the pipe covered with the boy's blood and brain matter. The blood no longer flowed in his veins, the spark of life that had fueled his will had vanished. It was over.

He had killed the Kyuubi.

With a wail of heartfelt regret, he fell to the ground and wept. He sobbed and cried as he had not done since he had seen the broken and twisted body of his son. As he let out another cry of pain, thunder cracked and roared in sympathy. Tears fell from the heavens, and the sky wept with him.

He had his revenge. And it had brought him only more pain.

His eyes opened slowly, and he stared unseeing into the night sky. For a long moment, he didn't know where he was, or what he was doing. Slowly, ever so slowly, his mind began to take note of his surroundings. His head turned sideways, and his eyes moved to survey the street, the buildings around him. Then he spied a small, soggy lump lying some ten feet away. After a pause, his mind suggested that it might be the remains of some hunk of bread, left in the street and soaked with rain.

Then, suddenly, memory poured over him in a huge wave. He had stolen some bread from the bakery. He had been seen. He had run away, as fast as he could. But not fast enough.

The peril of his situation overcame him, and he let out a loud wail of fear, curling himself into a ball on the hard, cold stone. At any moment, he expected the mob to find him, to beat him. To kill him.

But… nothing happened. He could hear nothing, feel nothing. Nothing except… cold.

Such cold…

Shivering, he slowly uncurled himself, working up the courage to look around. There was no sign of the following mob, no sign of any angry bakers. In fact, there was no life as far as he could see. The night was still and silent, and the moon gazed coldly down on the boy.

Standing slowly to his feet, he heard the clink of metal on metal. He froze, thinking that someone was there after all. But he heard nothing. Hesitantly, he began to walk forward, towards a nearby alley where he could rest. But, as soon as he started moving, he heard that strange sound once again. Standing as still as he could, he craned his head around, looking for the source of the sound. But there was nothing moving; all was quiet. He sighed in relief, and heard the clinking once more, this time from below. For a moment, curiosity warred with fright. Then, like it often does, curiosity won out, and he looked down.

There, dangling from his chest, was a strange chain, made of a smooth and silvery metal. Reaching out a small hand, he grasped the chain softly. It was strangely warm to the touch, and he gave it a hesitant tug. But, even as he did so, he felt a sharp pain flare in his chest. Letting go of the chain was a sharp gasp, he stared at it in horror, wondering what it was. He noticed that the chain was quite long, and seemed to stretch out behind him. With childlike curiosity, he turned to see where it led, little knowing what was waiting for him.

Lying on the ground in a great puddle of blood, covered with wounds and injuries, was his body. He gasped in horror at the terrible damage that had been done to it, and his mind seemed frozen in shock. Then, his azure eyes slowly slipped along the length of the broken form, and came to rest on the shattered head. Still in shock, he took in the gruesome sight with a small whimper. He was looking at a dead body.

His own.

A high wail broke out of his open mouth, and he turned and scrambled away, tripping over his own feet in his haste. He ran towards the alley, fleeing from the terrible sight, from the horror that lay there. But, before he could reach the alley mouth, he felt another pain in his chest, this time much stronger and sharper. With a cry, he fell to the ground, whimpering in pain and terror as he lay there. The chain in his chest was stretched taut, anchored to the corpse he had run from. He was trapped, and there was no way for him to run this time.

He wept.

From high atop the nearby mountain, a figure could be seen, crouched down against the stony ground. The moonlight shone down on him, dimly illuminating his features. He was a fair man, with brown hair and dark eyes. He was clad in black and bore a sheathed katana at his hip, with a hand resting on it in readiness. On his thin nose rested a pair of glasses, gleaming brightly in the moonlight. But, despite his rather bookish appearance, there was a look about him, some kind of aura, that radiated a fighting spirit. This man was a warrior.

This man was a Shinigami.

He looked out over the expansive town, shaking his head slowly in wonder. So, this was the world of the Shinobi. This was the place were death was rampant, where murder and money went hand in hand. This was the place where men's lives were decided, the place where one was either a killer or a corpse.

This was Konoha.

Aizen felt a smirk twitching at his thin lips. Yes, this truly was an interesting world. The incessant fighting and death is productive, in its own fashion; the weak die and the strong survive. Thus, the next generation is always stronger than the last. Yes, that was truly the way things should be done. Survival of the fittest. Using war as a tool for growth.

Intriguing.

But, these were thoughts for another time. After all, as the fifth ranking officer of the Sixth Squad, he had a job to do. And, unless he was very much mistaken, there was a soul that needed cleansing. With grace and ease, he drew his blade and stepped out into the air, walking slowly and deliberately, as befit a candidate for the available vice-captaincy position in Fifth squad. His 'betters' were watching; the curtain is up, and the play was about to begin. If he expected to make use of that fool Shinji's suspicion, then he had best play his role carefully.

It did not take long to find the soul; its presence was fresh and strong. No doubt it was a young soul, not yet worn down by the weary troubles of the living. This would make it much easier for him; the mature souls were always so unwilling to accept the inevitable. He let himself drop slowly towards the ground, his hand still gripping the blade at his hip. His feet touched the ground, and he moved on, knowing that he was not far from his target.

After five minutes walking, he found himself at his destination. His cold eyes took in the sight of the broken corpse emotionlessly. For a man who had seen so much death, one body would not faze him. Then he heard sobs coming from the mouth of a nearby alley, and he saw the chain that led from the body. He strode over to the whimpering boy and stood beside him, his brown eyes scanning the young soul.

It was a mere slip of a boy, possibly around four or five years of age. He was curled up on the ground, crying softly into his hands. He was wearing clothes that were little more than rags, and his ribs were plain to see beneath the sallow skin. Aizen felt his lip curl in distaste; what manner of village forces its children to live in such utter poverty? But he banished the thought with a curt dismissal, knowing that it was the child's fault for not being strong enough to resist it.

Either way, it was time for his act to begin.

Forcing a warm smile to his lips, he knelt next to the weeping soul, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. The touch seemed to startle the boy, who whimpered and curled himself even tighter. Aizen felt a flicker of annoyance, but did not allow it to show.

"Are you alright?" He asked the boy softly, hating the fact that he had to be like this. Comforting the weak was a waste of his precious time, and he had far more important things that required his attention. The young soul uncurled a little, looking at the Shinigami with bloodshot eyes. "My name is Aizen Sousuke," he said, knowing the boy would have to be coaxed into talking. "What's your name?"

The blonde child said nothing, merely looking at him with fearful eyes. Aizen couldn't help but shake his head in amazement. What sort of life had this child led to make him so fearful? Memories of Aizen's own childhood flashed through his mind before he dismissed them angrily. This was no time for reminiscing.

He tried again, still speaking softly and lowly, "I'm not going to hurt you, little one. I promise."

The blonde still seemed uncertain, and Aizen had to push back the impulse to simply send him and have done. But, the observers would no doubt notice such things and question him about it later, much to his greater annoyance. He would take the lesser of two evils.

"Naruto." The low voice broke through his thoughts, and he realized that the child was finally speaking. The blonde boy sat up a little and spoke again, his eyes downcast. "My name is Naruto."

"Naruto? What's your family name, little one?"

Naruto shook his head forlornly. "I… I don't have a family."

Aizen arched an eyebrow in curiosity. "Hmmm… So, you are an orphan, little one?"

"…Yes…"

Aizen knelt next to the sitting boy. He was getting more and more intrigued, despite his prior determination to not do so. The child's situation seemed to ring true with his own, from long ago… "Naruto. Would you like to leave this place?"

The blonde's head shot up, his azure eyes wide in surprise. "What? Leave?"

Aizen grinned. Looks like he had found the right thing to say. "Yes, leave. I can take you to a place where you can have a new life. You'd have a home, a family… even friends."

Naruto stared into the older man's eyes, hope dawning for the first time. "I… a family? Really?"

"Yes, really." Aizen smiled and stood up once more, holding his hand out to Naruto. "Come. I'll send you there now."

Naruto, no longer crying, was lifted up softly by Aizen. He clung to the older man's arm, urgently, as if Aizen would fade away if he did not. Suppressing a flash of revulsion as the child touched him, he softly removed the boy's hands, backing a pace away from the boy. Then, he slowly drew his blade, preparing to send the boy's soul to the Soul Society.

No sooner had the blade begun to inch out of the sheath than Naruto screamed in terror, turning to flee once more. But Aizen was already there, quick as lightning as he moved in front of the lad. The katana was once more in its sheath, and his hands were holding the boy fast. He spoke lowly and quickly, trying to calm the boy down. "No, no, wait. Listen to me, Naruto. Listen…"

It didn't work. Naruto only struggled the more, frantically trying to get away from the man. He was sure he was being tricked, that this Aizen guy was only being nice to him so Naruto would let down his guard. With all the strength in his bony frame, he tried to pull away from the brown-haired man, tried to flee like he had always done. But it was no good. He was held fast, the man's vise-like grip unrelenting.

Aizen tried a little longer to reason with the boy, his normally impeccable grasp on his temper beginning to slip. Why wouldn't the brat stop struggling? He was just making this harder for himself, damn it! Suddenly, Naruto seized on of the arms that pinned him down and bit it ferociously, causing Aizen to give a strangled yelp of pain and let go, cradling his wounded limb. Immediately, Naruto turned and tried to run, but was brought short yet again by the chain that bound him.

That was it. That was the last straw. Aizen's tenuous hold on his rage shattered, and drew his sword with an angry flourish. Striding forward, he seized Naruto by the scruff of his neck and picked him up, turning him about so he faced him. For a long moment, frightened azure eyes stared into smoldering brown. Then Aizen, with a somber frown set in his fair features, thrust the sword home, piercing in the belly of the soul.

For a long second, nothing happened. Then, the boy's soul began to disappear into the night, enveloped in a bright blue light. Slowly, his soul broke apart into fragments, which disappeared into the night sky. Aizen sighed softly in satisfaction, watching as the soul began the journey.

Suddenly, something happened. As the last of the boy disappeared, there was a great explosion of crimson light, the force of it throwing Aizen back. Stumbling to an awkward halt, he looked on in intrigue as another soul began to form, fiery red in color, writhing about as if in agony. It had no specific shape, but the feel of it send shivers down Aizen's spine. It was something like a hollow, but far, far worse.

Whatever that thing was, it was evil, so much so that it frightened even him.

He stepped forward once more, Kyouka Suigetsu trembling in his hand, feeling both his fear and his anticipation. But there was no need. The thing seemed to curl inward on itself, becoming smaller and smaller. Soon, what was once as big as a man was now the size of a small ball, bobbing and flaring brightly in the air. Then, weaving erratically back and forth, it seemed to disappear entirely, its crimson light blinking out into nothingness.

Aizen Sousuke sheathed his Zanpakutou stood there, alone, his job accomplished. The curtain was closed on his little play, and now he knew several things that he had not known before.

He knew that his superiors who were watching would not care that he had done the ritual out of rage, especially since the soul had provoked it. Although using the edge of one's Zanpakutou to purify and cleanse the soul was a rite normally reserved for sinners and Hollows, it was far from illegal to use it on a Plus spirit, although most would consider it bad form. Still, it was approximately equivalent to being a 'poor loser' or peeking at another's hand in a game of cards. There were few who would read much into it, and those who might were free to let their minds toy with the idea, before the sheer force of his popularity swept away whatever doubts they might have had.

He knew that they would not care that the boy's soul had disappeared rather slowly compared to most, signifying an abnormal density of reaitsu. Of course, under most circumstances, even those oddities of nature that call themselves researchers would have noticed the significance of that, even despite the marked decline of quality at the Technological Research and Development Bureau that had slowly occured since the days of Urahara's... exile.

However, he knew that they were most interested in the strange phenomena that had occurred afterwards.

For that matter, so was he.

Intriguing.

He came awake slowly, letting out a low moan as pain filled his stomach. He didn't dare open his eyes, knowing that it was hard enough dealing with this agony in his belly. But, from without, he heard voices whispering, and occasionally a shouted command. From just above him, he heard a light female voice giving orders hectically, demanding this and that from various people.

"Quickly! Bring me that poultice, Renji! No, the other one! Kazuki, I need you to go and fetch Liam; he'll know what to do. No, not that one, Renji! The other other one! Were you dropped on your head as a kid?! Just…" The girl's voice died away into a muttering of profanity, which was fine with Naruto; all the shouting was giving him a huge headache.

He licked his dry lips, trying to speak. His throat felt hot and dry, and the breath rattled in his throat as he fought to suck in air. The girl tending him gasped in concern and shouted for water, which was soon brought. Naruto felt the water trickle down his throat and swallowed hurriedly, coughing as a little went down the wrong tube.

"Hey, now, don't drink too fast!" said the girl who tended him, pulling the water away from his mouth. He nodded feebly, then instantly regretted it when the headache flared to new strength. He felt himself going light-headed, but was able to ask the two questions that bothered him most.

"Who... who are you? Where am I?"

"It's okay," came the patient answer, "you're in Soul Society. My name is Rukia. Don't worry; you're safe here."

And with that, he gave himself over to the darkness, drifting into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

AN: Yet another story from me. My first crossover that doesn't suck! Not only that, but it's Naruto and Bleach crossover. Good stuff. I'll just clear up a couple of thing, then I'm done.

Firstly, in this story, Naruto has no family name. My reason for that is he wasn't given one until he needed it, like in the Shinobi Academy. I know that it's a bit unorthodox, but I like throwing in stuff like that.

Secondly, as you've probably guessed, this is happening around the same time that Rukia, Renji, and their group are growing up in Rukongai. If ya need a more exact time frame, then think of Rukia and Renji being the physical equivalent of about ten. Which is why Aizen is only an officer instead of a captain. Forgive me if I played Aizen a little strong, but he's still young. Give him time.

Um… I think that was all I was gonna cover. If anybody has any questions, you're welcome to PM me or leave a review detailing your questions. Reviews are always appreciated. Please, let me know what you think, 'k?

Updated AN: Yo. So, here's the breakdown. Life's been quite 'intriguing', as Aizen would say, so I've not thought of my stories in... damn, nearly two years now. Long time no see, indeed. Well, I'm back now, for what little it's worth, and I don't plan on leaving again anytime soon. As long as I have spare time and inspiration, then there should be updates. This story is at the top of my update list, which, by the way, has been shortened to this story and Howl of the Kitsune, for those who care. WoF, Bloody Mist and my others will almost certainly not be updated for some time yet. Again, for those this upsets, I apologize, but I'd rather have one or two stories being updated rapidly, then randomly handing out chappies to which story I feel like updating. It's not fair to ya'll, it's not fair to the stories.

Well, 'nuff said, I think. This was new and slightly improved Chapter One, and if you click the lil' arrow button down bottom, you'll see the new and much improved Chapter Two. Any questions or thoughts you might have, feel free to let me know. Wouldn't mind reviews, but I also have a forum with quite a bit of info already stored in it, so if you're looking for peeks into the future or possible pairings, or even just for extraneous detail, help yourself. I'll relish any food for thought you lads and lasses might toss my way, and look forward to seeing how this tale of drama, romance and good ol' hack 'n slash combat unfolds.

Oh, and fair warning: if you see little differences in the details than what is said in canon, keep in mind that nine times out of ten, those changes are there to improve the overall quality and dramatic value of the story, not simply because I'm ignorant. For those who wish to point these out to me, feel free, just realize that you may get a six word reply reading "Poetic License. Have a little faith." Just so's ya know.

'Til next time,

Gaereth