Prologue

The golden sunlight rose above the walls of the Old District, which had been derelict for some time now. It moved slowly, bathing the stones and cobbles in gold. Light bounced off silver blades, which were clashing together in the morning sun.

The air was filled with the sound of metal on metal, a struggle that had started nearly half a day before. A small group of black-clad Shinigami were surrounded by bodies of weaker men that lay in pools of their own blood that mingled with those they had died alongside. It was thinning out now, the group backed up against a wall and with a good number of their own taken down by the opposing force.

Slowly their leader pulled his long zanpaku-to from the head of a recently slain enemy, planting a foot on the young man's body to get some proper leverage on the blade. Blood flowed from the tip, splattering onto the floor. He was panting quite heavily, face battered and cut along the brow, sword arm shaking ever so slightly. Across his broad shoulders he wore a haori which was donned by a Shinigami that held a Captain seat, those who commanded their own division. Tanned and with a fair amount of facial hair, the Shinigami had green eyes which glittered gold in the sunlight. They represented how the group backed up against the wall all felt, as they were burning with a furious anger and indignation. This was no ordinary rabble of Shinigami; they were fighting for a cause they saw as right, and were dying to uphold it.

Now there was a ring around the Shinigami. The leader held his stance like a proper warrior, one foot forward and free hand close to the hilt but not actually gripping it. The others had all taken up stances of their own, some unique, some standard, but all tense and near to exhaustion. They all had their eyes on different enemies, but now there were only a handful of foot soldiers left, seated officers who were no way a match for the remaining group.

Standing away from the fight, a group of Shinigami watched calmly as the group against the wall fought on. There were eleven of them, each wearing a white haori with a different style and a marking on the back. Each marking had a number and, if someone were to be counting, they would notice the 3rd and 7th were currently absent, but the rest from 1 to 13 were all there. Save, of course, for the 8th, which was hidden under a vibrant pink haori, situated right at the back lounging on a piece of crumbled wall.

'Hmm… Don't you think it's time we just let them go, Yama-jii?'

He spoke with a long piece of straw between his lips, watched with disapproving eyes by a young girl wearing a knee-length skirt and wire-frame glasses. When there was no reply, save for the turning of a few heads, the man continued.

'They've been fighting all night… how about giving them some rest?'

A hunched figure at the front of the group didn't even bother to take his eyes from the fight, but spoke with a deep gravelly voice.

'No. They are traitors to the Gotei, and they will be eliminated. Shunsui, you know where your duties lie.'

The man addressed as Shunsui gave a small sigh, pulling a straw hat over his eyes.

'Yeah…'

As the group finished off the last one of the Shinigami that they had once fought alongside, the leader gave a little groan. Another man stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. This Shinigami also wore a Haori, shorter, sleeveless but with shoulders that jutted out further along the top. He had long black hair and piercing blue eyes.

'It's nearly over, Hiraharu. We've nearly won.'

Hiraharu shook his head, and now he lifted his head, looking past the bloodshed towards the group that seemed to far away.

'No, Kazuhira. There's still him…'

Then, as if lifted by these words, there was a strong breeze that blew through the group, nearly strong enough to blow some to the ground. In front of them stood eleven figures, each wearing a white haori and each with a different expression in their eyes, from anger to something akin to sadness. The lead figure leant on his cane, eyes almost staring right through Hiraharu's head.

'Ise Ryuurokurô Hiraharu. You have signed your own death sentence.'

The hunched figure then turned his head to the other Captain.

'And Ishikawa Kazuhira. You two cannot be forgiven for this. The others are replaceable… But two Captains… this is unacceptable!'

Hiraharu took a step forward, knees weak with exhaustion. His eyes watched the Captain-Commander carefully, the hunched figure who seemed to frail and old to hold such a position.

'Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni! This isn't right!'

The old man Shigekuni closed his eyes slowly.

'The time for talk is over, Ise Hiraharu. Draw your blade, or die like the dog you are.'

Hiraharu had sheathed his blade, hoping to gain an ounce of sympathy, but now he drew it as if it was burning a hole in his leg, holding it with two hands which shook furiously.

'It doesn't have to be this way! We-'

Hiraharu was cut off. There wasn't even a blur, but now the Captain-Commander's cane was covered with blood. Hiraharu watched, confused, as a huge gaping hole sat where the left half of his body should be from the chest down. Then, as realisation hit, he let out a small gasp and fell sideways to the floor. Blood splattered across the ground. Kazuhira watched in horror as his fellow Captain fell to the floor, feeling bile rise in his throat. Then he looked up, pleading in his eyes despite what had just happened.

'How can you kill him when you don't even know what really happened, Captain-Commander?!'

There was a manic tone in his voice now. Kazuhira took a shaking step forward.

'Please… Captain Kyōraku! Captain Shiba! Captain Kuchiki! You know us! Please let us explain why-'

The three Captains addressed, as well as the seven others, merely looked sternly on, save for Shunsui who gave a sad little smile. But Shigekuni interrupted Kazuhira's words before he could say anything else.

'The time for talking is over. Draw your blade as well, Kazuhira, or else you will die a less worthy death than your traitorous friend.'

Kazuhira shook, his sword shaking madly in his hands. There was a rush of air, and before he knew it…

A barrier stood in front of him. The Captain-Commander's eyes widened. A purple cloak fluttered in the wind. Long mauve hair fluttered in the wind. There was a gasp from the Captains.

'Asai Tokime!'

A grin spread on a rounded face. Tokime gave a glance back at Kazuhira.

'Hey. Sorry I'm a bit late.'

She looked down at Hiraharu, and shook her head, turning back to the Captain-Commander, arms folded. The old man gave a look of disgust.

'Great Kidou Chief, Asai Tokime. So you too…'

He lifted his cane.

'Unacceptable.'

Asai grinned wider, before spreading her hands.

'Kūkanten'i.'

Light filled the area, blinding and halting the Captain-Commander, who could only look on. It lasted for a good minute, a glorious white light which penetrated the retinas and seemed to send swirling images across the vision. Then, when it faded, the group had gone. Shunsui gave a smile, turning away from the scene.

'Looks like they got away after all, Yama-jii. Come on Ukitake…'

He left, walking along side a white-haired Captain. The old man could only look on with disgusted eyes. The first time a traitor had got under his fingers… But it would be the last. As the other Captains left, Shigekuni gave one glance to the bloody area before turning and disappearing from sight