A/N: Small Character study of Urahara Kisuke and Benihime. Could be seen as an AU of sorts with Kisuke slaying the enemies Yhwach throws their way.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

Crimson

"For colour is one of the most rapturous truths that can be revealed to man." - Harold Speed

The blood was dripping down his face and onto the ground in slow motion. The metallic taste on his tongue made his head spin and stomach turn. Yet he reached out with his tongue and swept some of the remains of crimson from his lips. It tasted like death. And life. And charcoal.

It was carnage.

The blade in his hands was heavy.

The weight not only literal but also metaphorical.

How many times had it sliced through flesh? Cut through bones? Sawed at muscles? His grip on it seemed to become unsteady as he tried to make out his own reflection in the surface of his blood-coated blade.

All he got was a glimpse of eyes that held to much darkness for his age. A face that had been marred by deaths upon deaths.

The white clothing of their enemies he had slaughtered was now covered in red.

Like a field of lilies that had been caught in a biblical downpour.

His gaze wandered from his blade to his hand gripping it. Holding onto it. Like a lifeline.

And it was.

Kill or be killed.

How many times had he wrapped those hands around a throat? Strangled the life out of a body until it went limp? Until the light of life had left their eyes? How many times had he heard their cries for the god they had chosen to follow as he had cut their throats?

This god they called 'Yhwach.'

His gaze wandered upwards. Searching for his comrades.

He found none.

He wasn't surprised.

The second he had uttered the words under his breath he had known that they would die.

For there was no escape from him.

There was no escape form her.

And their Bankai.

He reached out with his hand and caressed his sword, collecting the blood of his enemies. He brought it to his face and smeared it over his mouth and chin; lapping at it like a starved dog.

He stood upon carnage.

A field of lilies caught in a downpour.

The corpses were still warm.

The laughter spilling forms his crimson lips sliced through the silence of death like a deadly song. Starting low and growing louder. The humming of his blade joined his laugher. His companion joining his song of madness with her own melody.

The world was crimson.

For him and his crimson Princess.