::Authors Note::

Hello there, I'm rather new to posting here, yet I have been around the site for a couple of years now, but due to some irrational fear of the great web I have only reviewed a few times *shame faced*

I started writing this in November, for NaNoWriMo. Unfortunately, I had hit the dreaded writers block (reasons on profile.) but, after some time I am finally beginning to post. Please don't expect super fast updates, as I do have a life outside of writing and somehow considering I do procrastinate a lot I do have a very busy life (somehow). There may/will be some mistakes, as I suppose you could say I am converting this into fan fiction from my original version with own characters names. I couldn't help but put in characteristics from some favourites into my own characters, and really feel slightly more comfortable in writing another character I do not own or made up, than my own. Perhaps due to fear of the dreaded Mary/Gary Sues?

Anyway, note aside, and onto reading!

::To save hassle, this is both the prologue and first chapter::

Disclaimer: Since I am female, English and have not the dedication to write a good 480 chapter plus manga, I obviously do not own Bleach. Tite Kubo does, and always will.

-Prologue-

Cold. Cold cold cold… dark.

Oh? It doesn't seem it. Where are you? Oh, that's right.

Who are you running from? Oh, nothing it seemed.

Who are you? What- what kind of question was that?

A valid one.

A what?

Answer the question.

I can't

Why not?

…Priest. That's what I am at least. Yes- that's it. I'm Priest, in soul, in existence, and what I am.

Is that really who you are- or what you are- or what your existence is? Must be pretty sure to say it's your soul. I don't think you are. In fact, the answer is sure to be far from that. What kind of priest holds a conversation with himself? Surely that is a sign of demonic possession?

…Shut up. I am not talking to you- I am not thinking of you. What are you? What am I truly then?

…Nothing. You are nothing, always have been, always will be. You are truly nothing. Past, present and future. Priest- the nothing is what you should be called if you insist upon Priest as a name.

No- you lie. You are the nothing. You're just my imagination.

…Che

"A pretty vivid imagination you have then? If I am your imagination, then why am I here?"

Priest turned- Priest, the more he thought that was his name and very existence, the less sure he got. He needed, he wanted to remember. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

As he turned, he came to see a pale spectre, standing tall, lean wiry muscle evident on his body- strong black leathery wings that looked as though they could slice the air, whirling with shadows- proud. That was all he could describe him as. Proud, the pure epitome of pride.

"I'd say I'm Sin more than Pride"

Hang on, did he read his mind?

"I suppose you could say I did. Human minds are oh so easy to read, to destroy, and to rip to pieces. Then there's the screams, the screams as a person's mind and reality falls apart- their memories vanquished, erased, their very soul stripped to pieces as all they can remember and who they are is re-written. Painfully."

"Is… is that what you did to me?"

There was no answer. The creature, as that was what it was, no denying that with those wings—and good god. The eyes. The tail. He really was royally screwed.

"A…Answer me! If you do not—"

"You'll do what exactly? Kill me? Know your place human."

Damn, he was fast. A strangled cry tried to claw itself from his throat, his throat now being squeezed and pressured by the thin, black, demonic tail. He couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even think. Its face was pressed up, close to his face. His eyes, the pure wrath and fury of hell were in his gaze, and that gaze was boring into his mind. He had never felt so intimidated, so scared, so mentally unstable. Breathe…

Just… br..eathe….

Brea…..the…

b..r..e..a..t..h..e…..

Too late, human. Your pitiful life is over. You are mine….

-Chapter One-

"How are you today, Mr? Everything all right, no worries now have we?"

No reply, but then, there never was. At least, there was never no reply verbally. You had to look out for the small actions, the miniscule signs that could show his motives, what he would do, the signs that would give you a split second warning before an attack. The last time that had happened- two weeks ago to be exact- he had killed. Showed no sign of even being conscious of this act, mercilessly splitting the skull, and digging his dull, blunt, ragged nails into the still alive mans skin, pulling—ripping—peeling the skin. Not even batting an eye at the pain and pure grotesquery of his actions- in fact, he looked like a child on Christmas. Never had more fun in his life.

No, she would not think of that day, she hadn't witnessed the event, but had heard the account. Awful, and yet he didn't even acknowledge the heinous act, the pure cannibalistic act of no mercy. He had been heavily sedated after that. Strapped down on the bed with the strong black leather straps, stopping him from moving- well, he was too under to even think of moving.

But that was then. And this was now. Now, he was awake- and watching her every movements. Watching her with bronze, unblinking eyes. It was unnerving- the way he seemed to regard her as a toy. A toy to be played with, to be broken, to have her head ripped off like a child would do to ones Barbie for pleasure.

He was the hunter, she was the prey.

And he knew it.

Oh, he knew it so much that his eyes taunted her, dared her to move closer and to venture into the Lion's Den- a venture that if taken, she would not be alive to tell the tale. The pure fear that he inflicted on her- on everyone- was one that she had to cover, one to hide. A predator always took pleasure when it noticed that the prey was scared. They could smell it. The fear they could, they could sense it rolling off a person in waves, waves that are un-tameable and let free to roll off to tempt the predator into taking the prey. Waves that are unstoppable. Waves that alerted anything to the weaknesses of the person they were coming from. Fear was like a giant neon sign blaring out in its full glory of excessiveness: 'Come get me! I'm here, I'm here!'

Haunted Soul

Going under

Missing My Purpose

Taking over me

Thoughtless

Everybodys a fool

Farther away

My last breath

Breathe

No more

Please no more

End my life

Whisper my name

You're Imaginary

You're Hungry

Those words were scribbled all over. Scribbled into the soft padding that made up the floor, walls and ceiling. Scratched into the hard lumpy bed. Even on the sturdy leather straps. There wasn't anything that he could have actually used... then her mind went back to his tattered, torn nails. He couldn't have... could he? But he must of. It was evident- there would be no other sharp, potentially lethal object in his room. The only lethal thing in here would be him. Again, thoughts of the whole Predator Vs Prey scenario popped back into her mind.

Letting out an involuntary shudder, she took a step forward, proceeding in her days task. Why had they picked her to do this particular job again? Oh yes, Higher Ups demanded her too. She was generally used to dealing with the... ah –mentally unstable- whom weren't a threat to society and the world as we know it. Those type of people were easy to deal with- a little pill here, another there, possibly an injection when needed and small easy, menial things to be dealt with. Her shock, when she first found out her task for the day, was indescribable.

"I'm supervising who?"

"You heard the occupant of room 13. Our John Doe. Think you can handle it?"

13... that was a low number. The way rooms are assigned here are based on the length of how long the subject has been here. 13 was the lowest that I had ever heard of- I was normally dealing with subjects that weren't long term, normally the stay of subjects that I supervise is generally 6 months to 1 year. Why am I being asked to suddenly supervise this subject- especially one that is being called a John Doe—meaning that any identification, background, recorded life is an unknown?

"Well… I—"

"Good, all the documents you need to read and revise are here. The Nurse will give you the correct amounts of medication that you need."

Breaking out of her muse, she took another step forwards, wary eyes still fixated on the Subject that she was made to oversee for the day. Despite the fact she was making slow progress, she was still unnerved. You know that saying that sudden movements are the only thing that will provoke a wild animal? Yeah, right. That's a blatant lie if she's ever heard one. Every single step she took, she knew she was losing more and more of her precious composure, letting the fear become more and more visible, and apparent- and he knew it. He knew it so much that it doubled- tripled- her fear, making her even more of a target, making her even more vulnerable than she was.

She could see it now. See how this would turn out. He would spring on her, succumbing to base predatorial instincts, he would grab her by her hair, effectively scalping her, ignoring her screams of pure fear. He would take pleasure in another killing, squeezing her throat so hard that her neck became a mangled mess, squeezing until the bone erupted from the skin, squeezing beyond her death—no torture. He would then proceed to lapping up the blood, enjoying the pure primal form of torture it would be…

No. that would not happen. She will not be killed and mangled. She realised that she was now in front of him, and bent down to his level. "It's time for your medication now" it was all she could do to stop stuttering. God forbid her if she stuttered.

His gaze was still on her, but this time it was scrutinizing her, analysing her, picking out whom and what she was, calculating her every move. He narrowed his eyes, now mere slits of a swirling, deep, angry brown.

"…You're new."

Wait…. She thought that he didn't speak. Hadn't said a word since he was found and left here. That's what she thought, what everyone thought. Yet here he was, speaking.

Ignoring him, she continued with her task. Passing off the speech as something as simple as she was hearing things. That isn't a good sign is it? Here she was, a worker at a mental Asylum, hearing voices. Definitely not a good sign.

"...You're new. Which means they have run out of willing people able to deal with me."

Yes, he had definitely spoken. Willing people? Who would be willing enough to even work here? She herself had been pushed into working, as an apprentice psychotic health student, majoring in mental issues such as schizophrenia, instability of the mind, severe amnesia... she had gotten a job request to work here, and fool as she was, so happy that someplace wanted her to work, accepted, without waiting for any other applicants. She tried not to let it mull about in her mind what she could be doing instead right now. But here she was, stuck in a job she was an idiot for taking, and unable to back out of it... until a mental breakdown... where she would most likely be here still but in the wards for lesser effected persons. Now that she thought of it, there had been quite a few members of personnel that had sheer cases of depression or other things caused by this job- they would randomly break into tears, or insane cackles in some cases. No, she would stick to this job until the end. Whether it killed her or not.

Back to the task at hand, she did her best to put on a smile -not a creepy leer sort of grin, or something too exuberant- and to look kind and helpful. She hoped it came out alright- not the pained faked grimace full of fear leaving her mouth twitching at the edges that she could feel her facial muscles pulling. Great smile.

"You're scared, aren't you? Aww, didn't mommy ever tell you that monsters and bogie men were made up? There ain't no monster..."

Great. He was mocking her, a John Doe subject whom had been here the majority of his life- that had never spoken in the years he had been here- was mocking her. Mocking her- just the standard worker here that was in control of minor subjects. If she were anybody else, then she would of probably thought more. This man, this enigma, was finally talking after years of silence- warning much? Not including, he seemed to be mocking her. Yes, if she was any other of the Higher Ups whom worked in this section of the Facility, some warning bells would have triggered.

But even if so, nothing could prepare anybody for what happened next.

"Yeah... no monsters... No monsters except for—"

"Except for me, perhaps?"

Wait- that was another voice. One coming from behind her, not in front. She turned, not as if she wanted too. Her movements were slow, sluggish, as though she had just woken up.

She really didn't want to turn.

What if it was just her imagination- her imagination that it was time to quit this job and start living here, in her own cell...

No, it wasn't that. It was there- the other person.

Then why didn't she want to turn?

Don't turn and think that she's going insane- hearing the voices of both a strange man whom couldn't possibly be in here as she had bolted the doors closed as instruction and of the John Doe patient- a man whom hasn't talked since being brought here. A man presumed to be a mute. A man whom neither the facility nor police- or in fact anywhere, anyone and everywhere- held no information on.

Turn and she'll be face to face with a person whom can walk through solid doors and break through top level security bolts and codes.

Weighing up her options, she couldn't really think which would be the worst.

Letting her instinctual curiosity take over, she turned her head. And was shocked at what she saw. A man, standing tall and proud, composing his posture as though he was a noble of some sort, body held in an icy demeanour that screamed for respect and fear. Bare footed, she could hear a soft clicking as he moved predatorily towards her... clicking... but from what? Looking at his feet, she noticed that his toes weren't human. They were clawed- not canine or feline, or taloned like a bird of prey- they were clawed somewhat similar to a reptiles, like an alligators or a lizards. Continuing her observation of the man, she noticed that his hands were clawed as well, shoulder length white hair tattered and messy, making him look feral and even more beastlike. His clothing was ripped, and was un-earthly. A long black trench coat style jacket, ripped at the edges and sleeves and buckles made out of some kind of swirling silver metal and long trousers, again torn at the ends. His shirt was ripped, showing off lean, toned muscle and a large ugly scar that begun at the base of his collar bone, and disappeared under his trousers. Some sort of combat gear was as close as she could guess. A low lying belt hung at his waist, hanging from that was a more than big enough collection of daggers, all looking lethal and designed to make as much damage as possible. There was one that the not- human seemed to be letting his hand linger above. His hand making, slow, almost comforting lethargic motions on the hilt- a hilt obviously worn with use.

The dagger itself was beautiful and deadly, a thick blade with a serrated edge, wickedly sharp. It even sung out blood lust and pain.

Also attached to the belt, hung a black chain, stained with some sort of coppery liquid... this man was obviously a ruthless killer, a fighter, a warrior hardened to war...

His face was that of Adonis, yet his personality seemed far from the God of beauty- he was more like Erebus, a son of chaos, spirit of darkness. He had a strong jaw line, accentuating his strong feral pride and attire. A straight nose- one that you would expect to be crooked as he has obviously been in many fights- and his eyes. Demonic eyes were how you could describe them at best. A dark black- so dark that you could fall in and never surface. You thought that midnight was the darkest black could ever be? Midnight seemed bright in comparison. These were the sort of eyes that would haunt you forever... the eyes belonging to a true predator, an ultimate being. All she could see in them was cold, cruel mercilessness, a feral intensity that could truly rip a soul to pieces, and a hard cold aura of intelligence, an intelligence that suggested he knew everything about anything in one look.

But worst of all, protruding from his back were a pair of strong, dark leathery black wings. They looked as though they could slice through anything, with the briefest of thoughts. A tail was also present, flicking at the tip like a cat when irritated. A thin tail, yet its thinness suggested something far from weak. It ended with a sharp point, a point that eerily reminded her of a blade- or even the tails of Xenomorphs from those movies that her brother had liked.

This beast- this demon from the deepest pits of hell- was born purely to kill.

And he knew it

She knew it

She was scared. This was the real predator in the room.

He knew she was scared. His sadistic smirk contorted into something that was more of a show of teeth and dominance.

Huh, flashing off his dominance at every chance. How very much like a male teenager full of testosterone.

There was no hiding her fear. She was aware of this as she took steps backward- backward into a corner of this padded prison. She would die here. She knew it. But why?

A cackle of laughter broke out, making her jump and move her head side to side franticly searching for the source. It was the Subject. He looked happy, as though something indescribably good had happened. The demon let out a snort of contempt at her actions, and moved forwards the Subject.

She had forgotten about him. Eyes wide now- what would happen if he escaped? She made a move, hand outstretched to grab onto the Subjects straight jacket—

"Now that isn't a good idea, is it new girl? Grabbing onto my clothing in an attempt to stop me from moving... it could say, perhaps trigger an attack~"

The demon chuckled, and bypassed the subject, focusing upon her again.

"Aye, that really isn't a good idea human. You could end up getting... hurt..." as he said hurt, he trailed his claws down her cheek, making quiet cooing sounds, temporarily relaxing her, putting her under his spell.

As his hand made its way to her jaw, his other joined the first hands petting. Now cupping her face in his hands, he stared into her eyes. Eyes filled with fear and begging to be released. Licking the corner of her mouth, he kissed her, sucking out her very being, her essence, her virtues, what she stood for, what she was. As he parted, he clicked his tongue and licked his lips where some kind of silvery liquid made its presence. Letting the Worker fall to the ground in a crumpled mess, he wiped his hands off on his jacket, as though touching her had been disgusting and he must purge himself from any contact.

"Tch, I hate women like that. Really don't go that great with my stomach"

"Yes, a very nice greeting that was. Shall we leave now? This place really does get bland after long periods of time"

"Quit the small talk. We both know why I'm here. It's time you repay your debt."

"...wish you'd forgotten that."

"Please, it gets awfully boring whilst waiting to be summoned which as people now are relying upon technology, becomes something that rarely happens."

Gripping onto the Mental Detainees' wrist, the demon squeezed and with speed truly unknown to mankind yanked him into a dark portal which only gave the essence of death and misery. The home of all Demons. Taking him to his guaranteed demise.

::End note::

Confused a little? Characters and names will be revealed in some time, but at the moment you will have to wait and guess, one is obvious who he is.

Rating will probably change to M, for reasons you can all try to guess. Any help (a beta reader, help with title, help with summary is much welcome)

I am sure this is now obligatory in unwritten rules- review!