The Library's Keeper

by ShadowThorne

Ichigo gets the chance of a life time, the opportunity to apprentice in a famous library under a man who does the work of God, a man that no one has ever seen, but the library and it's keeper aren't quite what they seem and the church has secrets. GrimmIchi. Hints at my twisted version of the bible. Maybe a continuation later?

2. PREQUEL

Firstly; this is a prequel, set before the events of the first chapter, but it will read better if you've read the first chapter first anyway, so I'm posting it as a second part.

Secondly, I'm making no promises that I'll be getting back into this story, but I promised a couple of people that I was working on a prequel off and on, and so I finally finished it. I'm not tremendously pleased with it. 3/4 of it was written like nine months ago and the last stretch and some bits between were finished just recently and I think it shows, but I guess I'll let you guys be the judge of that.

Enjoy.

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At first, the war was only a rumor whispered amongst the other gods. Stories spread throughout both the higher and lower realms, about missing garrisons, mangled angels that survived the ambushes, at least long enough to sound the alarm, and assassinated gods. The higher gods laughed and jested, they claimed no lowly creature would wage war on the mighty, on the powerful, but they were wrong.

A new god, born in the same way all others were created, envisioned what others had never thought of. To war amongst themselves was to create chaos and death, to go against the one and only law that all gods were bound by. But the new god cared little for old tradition. He sought power over the others, he sought singularity and let nothing stand in his way.

It soon became clear that there was more than false rumor to the horror stories and like a bad dream gone horribly wrong, the nightmare became real. The gods warred amongst each other. They fell. They died and were reduced to a mere fraction of their former prowess, rendering them powerless when compared to the god they had fought against.

A short lived race, weak in both mind and body, caught the attention of the god that named himself simply God. The humans ruled their realm of pitiful creatures on their lowly planet, but they held power in numbers and in the mindless, driven way they were apt to follow orders, commandments and their willingness, even eagerness, to shed blood in the name of a "holy" cause. When the god that sought to rule the other gods came to the lowly humans, they recognized him for what he was and he basked in the glory and attention they showered him with. He fed them, provided for them. He showed them his tricks and he spun tales of vicious monsters and evildoers that sought the destruction of mankind. He told them of demons and monstrosities that masked themselves as gods and led the innocent astray.

One by one, the armies of the opposing gods were trampled, their angels killed off, leaving the gods defenseless against one of their own. The humans, believing wholeheartedly in the word of God, did their part. They preached amongst themselves and passed their beliefs on, they gathered fanatics to help their God in his conquests. The human race was no where near strong enough to kill a god, nor even an angel, but God gave them the means needed to bind his enemies, to seal them away.

The book of his spoken word, the Bible, became a weapon to not only snare the humans and strengthen their faith, but it became the symbol of their God. It became the object needed to bind other angels and lower gods. God sent down his only son, merely an angel in disguise, and had the soldier teach the humans how to use his weapon. The bound soldiers that would oppose God were written into the pages of books, where they were trapped and held captive, powerless to free themselves and unable to fight against God.

There were survivors to the war, as there always is, gods that got away, gods that fled and went into hiding. But there were many casualties as well. The angels that fell during the war lost their lives, erased from existence, leaving behind a scar on their very realm. The marks of their death throes were scorched into the fabric of the higher realm the gods occupied, burned into the lower realm the humans occupied, visible only in the night sky.

The gods that were killed didn't truly die. Like the disbelieving humans were rumored to do, they fell to enter the lower realms, to enter what the humans had been taught was hell. They were reduced greatly in power, some so much so that many became near mindless, snarling and snapping at one another like beasts. They became the demons the humans were told of, the things of nightmares, doing the bidding of the being that ruled over the lower realm or simply attacking and killing those around them. They had once been powerful warriors after all, killing is what they knew before their own falls.

Still others, the ones that were strong enough to survive the cleansing and scorching fires of rebirth, entered hell as angels. They too were reduced in power, becoming a mere shell of what they had been before they were defeated, before they had been stripped of their godhood, but they were far more powerful than the demons. They entered servitude to the being known as the devil, as Satan and Lucifer. He had many names, but he was still only one being and the fallen gods fed his army, becoming the devil's soldiers and his garrison grew and swelled to vast numbers.

He was the one creature God did not fight against. The being known to the humans as the devil was really a god all of his own. He didn't hold the power to fight against God, not on his own, but he was old, wise beyond that of nearly all other gods, and he knew the value of patience. Time was something that worked on his side and always had, so he sat and he waited. He let his army build, awaiting for the perfect commanders to lead his garrison. He knew they would come, and he knew they would be among the very last of the fighting gods to fall, the very strongest that did not turn and flee when God struck them down.

That time would soon come.

By nature, the gods preferred solitude. They avoided each other, not particularly disliking the other gods, but they didn't really make friends either. It was true that power was drawn to power, but not when faced with the vast amount that a god could contain. That kind of power, like a strong magnet that brushed against another of like polarity, normally repelled other beings of power, but as the very last two gods still willing and determined to fight against God himself battled, they were forced to join and combine their strength and their ranks.

One of the remaining gods was known for his brute strength and brash power. He reveled in the destruction he caused and fierceness helped him tear his way through God's own garrison. His very body showed his power and prowess, honed and shaped from centuries and longer of fighting and killing, of surviving. His large frame carried cut and chiseled muscle, his limbs long and strong. That muscle bulged and flexed with his perfectly timed and balanced movements, with the almost dancing strides of a warrior, a grace and perfection that could only be found in the moment of taking a life. He fought with a large, manic grin on his angular features, the blade of his heavenly sword gleaming with a ferocity that matched the cold, cutting gleam in his crystallin eyes. Blue like the brightest of days in the human realm shone with a glee that simmered with fury, that hid a fire not of any world.

This god was called Grimmjow, and he tore through the angels sent his way, snarling and soaked in blood that would boil the flesh from human bones. His own angels were growing tired, their numbers decimated and thinning still. They did their best to back their leader, their wings splayed wide and their feathers bristled in fighting rage, but they were only soldiers and they knew they fought a loosing battle.

For every angel of God they killed, three of their own men were wiped away. Their leader too was beginning to falter, overwhelmed and overrun. His blade drank deep, his roaring cries ringing through the battle field as he gave voice to his rage, but he wore as much of his own blood as he did of his enemies'. What was left of his armour glistened a deep crimson rather than the blueish silver it should have. His massive wings were beginning to sag with fatigue where he held them alert and ready behind him. The blue-grey feathers that covered them were bristled to match his seething temper and need for blood. Narrow and sharp edged, nearly blade-like, the feathers of his wings were just as haggard as he was. Some were missing, others torn from his countless hours of battle. But the state of his wings hardly bothered the god. The feathers would grow back if he survived long enough.

He ducked an angel's blade, his wings flattening out of the way as well, no conscious thought needed. From the corner of his impossibly blue eyes, he watched as one of his own was cut down, screaming in agony before crumbling to ash and brittle bone. Snarling, the god known as Grimmjow sprang back up and surged toward the enemy standing before him.

Still on the backswing, the angel didn't have time to pull his blade in for a block and the blue winged god's sword tore a gaping hole in his abdomen like the armor he wore was mere cloth. Trained to care about nothing other than his God, the dying angel grabbed hold of the blade impaling him, holding it tight even while it sliced through the tendons of his hands and fingers. Blood ran the length of the blade, dripping from the hilt but the creature wouldn't relinquish his hold. The god's blade was trapped, leaving him open for the attack that came from his back.

Sensing the approaching enemy, the god spread his wings wide with a snap of muscle and sinew and swift motion. The serrated edges of his feathers sliced into the flesh of those around him, drawing blood but not halting them. Head thrown back and jaw opened wide to reveal over sharp teeth, his deep, growling voice rang through the air once more, this time in pain rather than in rage, as a blade slashed across his lower back, grinding across his ribs and shredding tender flesh.

Not far off, in a battle of his own, the only other remaining god to fight the creature attempting to annihilate them listened as that voice cut through the air. A lilting snarl, distorted in the oddest of ways, followed the echoes as a creature as white as the moon sped into motion.

Lighter in build than his nearly fallen companion, the pale god known as Shirosaki was thin in a wiry way. Toned muscle rippled below his colorless flesh as he twisted and ducked and spun amongst his enemies. His blade, made of a black metal so polished it shone white in glinting light, danced and arched with his movements, slicing through limbs and parrying the swords of his enemy.

Finding it useless against the angels of God, he had long ago cast aside his armor in favor of using his full speed but even that could only go so far. His own, thick, oozing blood seeped from below parted flesh to drip down his lithe torso, to streak his sharp features and slick the grip he held on his sword. It painted his usually blank, colorless skin with a deep blueish, a matching quantity of red from the enemy marking him as well.

Behind him, his massive wings created a dark, looming shadow, tainted in a way to match the god they were attached to. Feathers of the blackest night bristled, the tips wispy and almost undulating like thick, turgid smoke. Dark, tar-like ichor bubbled along the sturdy but lightweight bone that formed the skeleton of the wings, dripping in slow moving, thick rivulets to coat between and under the smoky feathers. It pattered to the ground in bubbling droplets with the god's movements, sizzling in an acidic way when it came into contact with another being, but it was a meager defense when faced with the angels the likes of which he fought against.

His eyes held a hard, burning gleam to them, fevered and fear worthy. Inverted in a striking way, the blacks of his stained sclera rivaled the deepest abyss while the gold of his irises danced like heated flame. Panting, Shirosaki bared rows of sharp, vicious teeth at the enemy angels around him, giving his startling features an almost deathly, skull like visage as he eased back a step and lowered into a defensive crouch, his blade held at the ready.

Being creatures that usually chose to fight alone because companions merely got in the way when faced with their destructive power, it could only be a bad sign when they began unconsciously retreating toward one another. They wouldn't kill each other off, they would fight back to back and they would fight hard, but they would fall and both knew it. The enemy was too strong, powerful enough so that they had need to work together, and God himself had yet to actually step into the battle field.

A soldier unwisely charged the pale god and his heavy sword cleaved its head from its shoulders as the pale god backed away another step. Behind him, he heard the growling baritone voice of the only other opposing god draw nearer him and, in the very back of his mind, where instinct took over and conscious thought didn't exist, he knew they were nearly finished. This was their final stand and their armies, coming together in their desperate battle, were already dead.

Shirosaki's lilting snarl caught in his throat as he parried one sword only to have another run through the front of his shoulder, scraping the bone of his scapula and tearing a bloody gash out through his back. Angled outward, the blade ripped through the feathers of his left wing and sliced through the membrane below. With his pained, twisting motion as he deftly, desperately tried to evade too late, the blade shredded through flesh and membrane alike, until the sharp edge was halted, grinding against the bone of his wing and shattering the fragile joint.

The pale angel stumbled backward, slipping off the blade as his blood streaked hot and sticky down his front and bubbled from the back of the wound. His left arm went numb and the grip of his left hand slackened around the handle of his sword. Surrounded, he didn't have time to tend to the wound, he didn't even have time to attempt to stem the bleeding, and so he swung his heavy blade out to the right as another enemy closed in, screaming his rage and his desperation in a raw, distorted cry. Another enemy came in from his wounded and defenseless left. The blade sank deep into his hip, splitting pale flesh and lodging against bone, knocking his legs out from under him. He dropped to the ground, teeth bared in a fearsome snarl directed at those still closing in around him.

Not far from his side, blue eyes widened as the powerful god that had chosen to stand by his side fell under the enemy. Those cyan orbs turned outward, taking in the sight around him, of the blood and carnage and dead soldiers, as he too was finally overcome by the seething hoard of enemy soldiers.

The two gods, fated to take their stand against the god that would subjugate all others, fell and were killed. The creature known as the devil, his face hidden from view as he sat upon his throne and watched the events play out, smirked. His greyish eyes were bright and lively, for he knew what the future held for the two and he knew they were not quite so done as they believed with their dying breaths. He knew they were the commanders he had sought.

And so with death, the gods known as Grimmjow and Shirosaki were reborn into power, a different kind of strength. Like all fallen gods, they were dragged through the scorching fires of hell and, like the stronger ones, they were reduced to angels, to soldiers under the command of the ruler of hell. The man known as the devil had plans for them, and he had made preparations.

After the cleansing fire that stole a creature's godhood came darkness; darkness and earth. The fallen gods were forced to claw their way from the soil of hell, from the crumbled bone and rock that made up the very dirt, like climbing from a grave. The two struggled, snarling as they dug upward, the weight of the surrounding earth enough to constrict breathing and nearly suffocate them. In hell, only the very strongest survived.

Pale fingers, smeared in blood and dirt, the sharpened nails stained black, broke through the surface, followed by a lean arm. Those fingers reached outward, anchoring into the loosely packed ground of the surface, claw like nails latching in. Leanly corded muscle strained as the fallen god, now reduced to an angel of hell, struggled to free himself. With a lilting snarl, he managed to break the surface of the soil with his other hand and began tearing his way through.

Only meters away, angular features twisted into a strained, enraged expression as Grimmjow growled low in his chest. The sound vibrated through the soil still pressing against his torso as he braced his hands flat against the ground and heaved with all his strength. Dirt and gore smeared his chest and stomach, stained his broad shoulders and muscled back. His chaotic mess of blue hair hung in his face, dampened by blood, sweat and mud, but his gaze was clear and determined, bright and fiery in a way such a cold color should not have been.

The struggling angels had an audience and, seated upon a creature that looked to be a decaying mix of a half dead hound and an even deader horse, the ruler of hell glanced to his companion for a moment before directing his sharp gaze back to those that he was certain would become the leaders to his army.

His companion caught his glance and snorted an unamused sound, crossing muscled arms over his massive, scared chest. One eye watched the struggles of those before them, the other was merely a mass of dark shadows and an empty socket. A jagged, rusted and pitted sword hung at his hip but he made no move toward it, even with his seemingly unarmed ruler at his side.

"They're small, puny." The beast of a man finally said, his voice a rough wash of crumbling, grating stone. "Especially the white one."

An amused chuckle sounded from his side as the ruler of hell hid his smile and his features. He tipped his crown a bit lower over his brow so that shadows hid his sparkling eyes but still he didn't pull his keen gaze from the emerging angels.

"Yes, Kenpachi, though all fallen creatures look small compared to you. Not all can be born as barbarian gods." The ruler said, his smile obvious in his voice. "But it's not their size I seek. Their strength is not measured by their scale."

"Guess we'll find out." The beast of an angel called Kenpachi said, a manic gleam taking over his one eye as he watched the blue haired angel finally struggle the rest of the way free.

Grimmjow panted as he straightened, his blue eyes spelling murder. At his right, the fallen god that had become his partner staggered a few steps before regaining his balance as he too climbed to his feet. Dirt and bits of bone and debris rained from their honed bodies, creating a light dust in the air. Around them, all was silent. Even the local fauna fell quiet as power rippled through hell in waves that world hadn't seen since the devil himself had come to power.

"Ah!" The ruler of hell leaned forward in his seat where he perched on the back of his mostly skeletal mount, holding a hand out to stay his companion. "That's unwise, friend."

But the ruler's warning was too late and Kenpachi had already drawn his sword. The large angel took a single, massive stride forward and toward the fallen gods before him, his blade poised to strike. In near perfect synchronization, the two newly reborn angels drew their own weapons and met his charge. No communication led their attack, no signals were given, nor even thought to their actions. Their movements were guided on an instinctive level, their motions smooth and that of hardened warriors. They attacked ruthlessly and gave their target little time to react. From Kenpachi's right, Grimmjow's blade sliced in low. His attack was blocked by a jagged sword but it mattered little and the creature that would quickly become his partner complimented his attack perfectly with a high swing of his own.

Perfectly timed, from kenpachi's left, Shirosaki's heavy sword swung in with deceptive speed. The blade met no resistance as it cleaved into the massive angel's ribcage, crushing bone and tearing muscle.

A wide grin parted the ruler of hell's lips as he finally lowered the odd fan he held and clapped his hands together a few times, congratulating his newest soldiers as well as drawing their attention. Two sets of otherworldly eyes snapped to his form, one of a frigid blue, the other a molten gold.

Still, the two fallen gods did not move from their fighting stances. Shirosaki's sword still lodged deep into the large angel's abdomen and Grimmjow's was still held at the ready. Kenpachi's body shuddered slightly before the barbarian soldier bared blunt teeth and began pushing against the thick sword slicing into him with his bare hand.

His unexpected movements forced the two newcomers to react. Shirosaki ripped his blade free with the sick, wet slurp of mangled flesh, dropping back and preparing for an attack. At the same time, Grimmjow's sword poised for attack and sliced through the dead air with a low whistle. Just before his sword struck home, aimed to cleave Kenpachi's head from his body, it struck an invisible barrier and the ruler of hell chuckled, one hand held out toward them.

"Well, Kenpachi?" The god of hell asked, slowly lowering his hand back to the reins of his ghoulish mount.

The massive angel, the devil's own personal guardian, staggered a step back, blackened, half rotted blood dripping from the deep wound in his side. One hand still wrapped about the hilt of his sword, he used the other to force the fractured ends of a few of his ribs back in place and under his tattered hide. "Better than I had expected." He conceded.

The strange god laughed, excitement all but radiating from him as he childishly squirmed where he sat. His demonic mount snorted black steam and pawed the ground but otherwise held still.

"And they're only just reborn, yet to truly rise again!" The god exclaimed, overjoyed at the prospect. "They will grow stronger still, and become more powerful than they were in life."

"Hold on just a damn minute." Shirosaki interrupted, his frighteningly odd features twisted to bare his maw full of teeth that sharpened with his aggression, befitting of a once-god that had commanded an entire race of monstrosities that fed on the life and souls of others.

At nearly the same time, Grimmjow's gruff voice rumbled in the still air with his growling tone. "Who the hell are you?"

The god's strange fan snapped open, covering all but his gaze and even still his large grin was obvious in the mischievous shine in his oddly lively eyes.

"Of course, of course." The strange man said in a cheery voice, dropping from his mount to stand on the bone littered ground. The creature he had ridden disappeared in a puff of black smoke and the faint smell of burning flesh. With a sweeping bow, the god finally introduced himself. "I am the god of hell and I go by many names, but you may call me Urahara."

"You're tellin us that you are the commander of hell's garrison?" The blue haired creature asked, looking the man that stood before him up and down. He didn't look like much, nothing more than a regular dead human, and only the few, strange little tricks he'd shown marked him as anything other than a normal angel. It seemed obvious that he must have been cloaking his true powers from those who might seek it out.

"I am, yes." Urahara said happily, looking rather proud of himself. He absently fiddled with his fan as he looked on at the two new arrivals standing before him. Beside the odd god, the beastly guard grunted and rolled his one eye.

"And that means we're...your angels now..." The pale creature's lilting voice took on an almost choked tone as he squeaked out his confirmation of what was going on. If at all possible, he seemed to go even paler than he already was.

"A bit slow on the uptake..." Urahara mumbled, his cheerful smile never slipping. "But no matter, you're not here for your intelligence."

Strange, gold on black eyes narrowed dangerously, Shirosaki's colorless lip curling into a sneer.

Urahara merely chuckled, waving his fan in the porcelain angel's direction before he continued. "Ooo, scary. But before you attempt suicide, why don't we get you two clothed and back up to top shape, yes?"

Grimmjow quirked a brow and glanced over to his companion before his startling blue eyes widened and he glanced down at himself, finally taking in their disheveled states for the first time since reawakening while buried in the ground.

Both had been stripped of their armor and even their underclothing. They now stood bare before the god, their bodies streaked in old blood and fresh dirt. Their wounds had been cauterized by hell's very fires and were now scared over below the filth that covered them. Long limbs looked a little more skeletal than normal and their once corded bodies were beginning to slim down, loosing muscle definition and tone.

Shirosaki's pale complexion looked sallow, his normally frightening features a little more sunken than normal. His long hair was lank and limp, hanging about his shoulders and in his face, still stained with old blood and bits of decaying gore. A smooth scar crossed the bone of his left clavicle. A puckered, jagged twin matched it across the back of shoulder, marking the exit wound. The wing of the same side sat at an odd, bent angle, torn through and still bare where the sickly black feathers had yet to fully grow in again.

Grimmjow was in a similar state. His hair hung in his face, loosing it's normal chaos and looking more of a dusty blue than usual from the hours of digging through soil to reach the surface. His angular features were pulled tight, looking gaunt and tired. The evidence of the many wounds he took before finally losing his battle decorated his skin like a map of his failure.

Urahara watched their reactions, his small smile taking on a different feel. When both of his new angels finally looked back up at him, he tilted his head slightly and finally put his fan away. It disappeared in a puff of smoke as he spoke, already expecting the questions he would receive. "Your battle ended with your deaths about nine human months ago. In that time, you were reborn here and awakened seven hours ago. That's record time for climbing from your grave, by the way. Most take nearly a full twelve."

The two dead gods, the reborn angels, said nothing.

The god of hell turned away, unsurprised, and motioned for them to follow. They did without question, as Urahara knew they would, and Kenpachi fell in line behind them as the four made their way toward the god's kingdom and home.

The devil's abode was nearly a castle, though built rather like a massive, human church. It had a tall, peeked roof with a stained glass window nestled just below the jutting roof tiles. Tall, imposing doors faced them, wrought iron bars secured vertically across the otherwise bare wood. The building itself was made of a grey, almost black stone. Twisted skeletal figures could be seen pressed fossil-like into the mortar, broken and incomplete as though the stone had been pulled from the bedrock below the soil. A wide set of stairs led up to the entrance, sentries in the form of heavy boned, yellowed and scared skeletons stood at the bottom and the top. Their armour was a tarnished bronze, their weapons nearly as heavy as Kenpachi and they stood motionless, the only thing to show they were animated at all being the faint spark in their eye sockets and the drool that dripped from their gaping maws and shark-like teeth.

As they neared the large staircase, Grimmjow finally broke the silence, studying the guardians with the trained eye of a warrior taking a potential opponent's measure. "I'm guessing not everyone gets the house call?"

Urahara smirked, shaking his head. "Oh no. You two are different. You two are special."

"Well that's not creepy at all." Shirosaki muttered, curling his lip as he looked around at the arching, dramatic architecture and the gargoyles lining the roof's peek. When one turned to look back at him, his white brows unfurrowed and he jolted slightly mid-step before continuing. "So what makes us so different from other fallen?"

"You were the last fallen gods, the ones to survive the onslaught the longest. I have need of your strength and your power. We all have need of your strength and your power." The massive doors creaked open as Urahara approached them, commanded to do so by their god without so much as a sound or gesture. He stepped in and the other's followed him.

The inside of the building was lavish and looked even larger than the outside. The front entryway opened up into a circular room with a tiled, mural like floor that depicted the battles of angels and gods alike. There was an odd swirl to the whole of it, giving to it an oddly foretelling quality. Twin, railless staircases led both up and down, curling around the outer walls to the left and to the right. Directly before them was a long, seemingly endless corridor, lit by candelabras, the flickering flames dancing in the still air and sending shadows skittering about the walls and floor. A few of those shadows moved independently, pausing to look at the newcomers before slipping into the darkness and disappearing.

Urahara stopped in the center of the rounded room and turned to face his guests. His features were set in the most serious expression he'd yet to show, even his bright eyes loosing their excited gleam and taking on the dance of the flames around them. He crossed his hands out in front of him at waist hight and, as he leaned forward slightly, a cane appeared under his palms to support his weight.

"I can make you powerful beyond imagine, I can make you more than just fallen gods or risen angels of hell, but in return, I need your prowess and your word." The god paused, letting his intelligent gaze settle on first Grimmjow, than Shirosaki. He let his silence show how grave the situation was and it spoke volumes to the two listening. "I have need of commanders for my garrison, but more so, I want you to double as assassins."

The two reborn creatures remained silent, serious expressions adorning their features as they listened to their new god. Both knew who he spoke of and both knew what was being asked of them.

"The god I speak of knows you're here, and he knows your fate, as do I. The task will not be easy. The moment you were struck down, you shattered his illusions. He'll be prepared and he'll be waiting for you. He's already had nine months to prepare his human army as well as his garrison."

"What happens if we say no?" Shirosaki's lilting voice was grave, quiet in the large rounded room. His golden, burning eyes never left the god of hell's steely gaze. "Taking on God was a suicide mission before we fell…and now...we're mere angels."

"You're right, it was suicide, but it was a necessary death. You have been reborn into power untold, and I can grant you even more." Urahara leaned upon his cane as he studied the two angels. Even newly risen, freshly climbed from the earth and yet to regain their strength, these two radiated power. They were the creatures he'd seen when fate had shared her visions; one fallen god of brilliant color and one that stole the color from the room, one fallen that was built for strength, one for speed to compliment the other, one that burned hotly while the other burned cold. There was no doubt in the god of hell's mind that these were his sought after angels, the commanders of his garrison and the destroyers of God himself.

"Come." Urahara smiled as he turned back toward the back of the round room, motioning for the others to follow him. "Rest up, rebuild your strength and energy, eat, and you can think on it, at least."

After they'd been shown to their rooms and left to their own devices, Grimmjow paced the perimeter of the small, private dining hall the two now occupied. The king of hell had taken his leave and they were alone in the hall, waiting for whatever was considered a meal in hell. A single guardian stood beside the door, facing the interior of the room and the two angels, but it'd yet to move or speak or even show that it had some semblance of life within it.

"Why did he give us the option?" Grimmjow asked, casting his chilled gaze over his companion as he continued his restless movements, back and forth across the room like a caged animal. "We're fallen and reborn. He's the god of this realm and we're merely angels. We have no will nor ability to deny him. He could simply command us to do it."

"Hell if I know," Shirosaki shrugged slightly as he stood from the chair he'd occupied. His gold on black, inverted eyes watched his fellow fallen god pace the room with predatory diligence. Then his gaze coasted to the large, ornate door closing them in the dining hall and the single guard that stood there. He bared his teeth, a full set of normal enough, white teeth growing in his aggression to become rows of fangs. "but I'm not stayin' here."

Blue eyes just as sharp as the other's snapped toward the single guardian as well, narrowed as Grimmjow studied the undead thing. It stared back at them, its eyes unseeing and sunken into its withered skull. It didn't look like much; an animated corpse with a weapon, but this was hell and the god that reigned wasn't known to play by standard rules.

From in the comfort of his own chambers, the residing god smirked behind his odd fan as he leaned back in his throne and watched his two new angels make their escape. They were understandably wary of the guard he'd placed with them, but when it simply turned to look at them as they neared the door, they hardly flinched. They walked right out the door, unhindered. Urahara chuckled, his oddly alive grey eyes bright under the shadow of his strange crown.

"Should I fetch them for you?" Kenpachi's deep voice growled from the king's side as he too watched the two escaping angels.

"No no. Let them go." Urahara's smile stayed firmly in place. "Let them explore my world. They cannot leave the realm and there's very few creatures here powerful enough to harm them, even weakened as they are."

"Very few, but still some." The beast of an angel reminded, his voice a grating rumble.

The god of hell agreed with the slightest of nods. "Yes, there are a few."

"They cannot lead the garrison if they're wanderin' around the underworld." The devil's personal guard pressed, sneering as he watched the small but mighty angels wander about their lair in search of an exit.

"They'll come around and lead with time." Urahara watched as the two exited the monastery-like castle he called his home and stepped foot into the deadly lands of hell. Their every move whispered of an undefeated warrior's confidence as well as the tempered cation of seasoned veterans. With a single thought, he dismissed the portal he'd been using to look through, turning his attention to Kenpachi as it swirled and faded into mist.

"It would be easier and faster to command them to do it."

"It would, you're correct." Urahara stood from his throne, his cane appearing in his hand as he began walking. "But if I force them into it, how will I gain their loyalty? I wish to grant them freewill and the power that comes with it, but I need them to stay by my side when they're given the opportunity to leave. They are both stubborn and unyielding, used to being at the top of the food chain so to say. No, in the long run, it will work out much better to let them grow into the roles fate has designated and let them decide on their own that I am not so bad to work under."

Kenpachi merely grunted in response as he followed his god and king from the throne room.

Back outside, the surrounding land fell silent under a tense and waiting hush as twin ripples of power washed over the local fauna. The world around them didn't look much like hell, at least not what either had imagined. The castle dominated the space behind them, towering to the point of nearly blocking out the sky, but all around them almost skeletal, sickly trees created an unnaturally shadowed and lightless forest. The impenetrable shadows twisted and curled around the trees like undulating banks of sickly black fog. The dirt below their bare feet crunched as they cautiously stepped from the building's shadow, bits of crumbled and cracked bone mixed with the dark, muddy reddish soil.

As they broke the tree line, entering the odd and previously deathly silent forest, the subtle sounds of movement could be heard; the scratching of claws on the ground, the shift of bodies. Venturing further into the shadows, slowly making their way between the dense trees, the two newly risen angels began seeing darker shadows show themselves amongst the less lively ones. Creatures began circling, drawing near as they investigated the new arrivals to their domain. Demons growled and snarled, baring massive fangs and watching them with dark, hungry eyes. The stench of decay and rotting flesh wafted through the dead forest.

Grimmjow curled his lip, his features pulled into an aggressive sneer as a rumble of his own permeated the small circle of space the demons left around them. Dusky grey-blue wings unfurled out behind the angel, the narrow feathers sharp and bristled with threat. Beside him, Shirosaki rumbled a distorted snarl of his own as he turned to walk backward so that they could watch all sides. His turgid wings also stretched out, a looming shadow behind him, held high and mighty. He curled his lip as he found the previously injured left stiff even though the massive tear had healed.

Heavy bodies moved about through the trees, mere shadows in the feeble light that permeated the canopy. They drew nearer, fearless in their demonic hatred. The two angles drew their swords and let strength sing through their bodies. Unlike with the gods they were used to dealing with, the demons followed the age old rule of letting power draw power. Snarls rang out, growls and roars, some even resembled words. They were a call to arms, as it were, a rise to the challenge the once-gods issued.

But when the creatures attacked, they failed to realize that the two reborn angles they attacked were more than they seemed. They were more than raw hatred, more than anger driven strength. They were more than power. Swords met the demonic hoard's hungry charge. The creatures around them were nothing like the soldiers of God they had last fought and despite that most of the things drawn to the angles had once upon a time been gods, Grimmjow and Shirosaki tore through them with abandon.

The two complimented each other with a perfection that registered on an instinctive level. As they danced and attacked, blocked strikes and dodged away from others, they spun and swung their mighty swords, but never once did they get in each other's way. They stayed back to back, but never once touched the other, nor left themselves or the other unguarded.

Grimmjow spun to the left, his sword following as he pivoted. The wicked blade sliced through flesh, cut bone, and beheaded a demon that had gotten too close. At the same time, in perfect unison, Shirosaki's movements were a near match. He swung to his own left as he stepped in that direction and even as they switched places with dancing, perfectly balanced steps, they stayed back to back.

The soot-like, crumbling ground below them soaked up demon blood in a hungry, living way as the two carved a hollow path from the hoard. Blood spattered against the trunks of shadowed, smoky trees. It rained down around them all, arcing through the air and sent spiraling as flesh parted below the keen edges of the weapons held in well versed hands.

The demonic monstrosities may have been nearly mindless, what intelligence they held rotting away as they sat in the depths of their realm, but instinct remained intact in even the most basic of creatures. As the screams of dying and wounded beasts echoed through the ghastly forest, the hoard thinned. Some retreated, turning and outright fleeing. Others pulled back far enough to be out of range and formed a snarling, toothy circle around the two angels.

Panting slightly from the exertion of fighting off against such outnumbering odds, the two angels let their wings slowly extend to full length once more. The demons crowed nearby flinched away from the wing tips, not daring to attempt an attack. Unconsciously, Grimmjow's and Shirosaki's actions mirrored each other with near perfection and the creatures around them could see that. These two were not to be trifled with. These two were something more.

The call was sent out, as unintentional as it was. Power had a way of traveling and just like the twin ripples that had announced the angels' arrivals into the wilds of the underworld, the deaths and distress calls of the collected creatures echoed through the realm in waves.

"Come."

Shirosaki turned to look at the angel that had become his ally before they'd been killed just as Grimmjow lowered himself, wings arching high and knees bent. His massive wings beat downward, creating a powerful updraft as he pushed off the ground and left the shadowed, sickly forest below. The pale angel followed suit, his own wings going high above his head as he pivoted to push off in the same direction Grimmjow had.

Below them, the demons that had still been gathered snarled at one another as they crowded in around the circle they had previously held around the now airborne angels.

Grimmjow and Shirosaki soared over the dead forest, their shapes standing out against the stormy looking sky above them. They put the massive, cathedral like castle behind them, their gazes roaming everything around and under them. The realm stretched out below them on all sides; dark and imposing. Nearly all of the visible land was covered in twisting, shadowed forest, clearing only large enough to crowd around the banks of streams of green-black waters that bubbled and frothed at the turgid edges.

They banked to follow the sickly river as they rode the nonexistent air currents, kept aloft and mobile by their strength alone. They flew for miles, hours, exploring and looking around the realm they were trapped in. They knew they couldn't leave, even should they find a tear completely by chance, only those with permission from their god could leave and the lord of hell had given them no such thing, despite that he'd not really issued orders.

Below, sometimes on the edges of the churning river and sometimes hidden deep within the dead forest, creatures shrieked and snarled and roared up at them, voicing territorial calls and threats or maybe just mindless rage and recognition of something new and foreign. The two flew until the beginning's of exhaustion and fatigue demanded they touch down and give the powerful muscles that anchored and manipulated their wings a rest. Yet still no sign of a rising sun shone anywhere within the overcast sky. Nor did a moon push through the dark, foreboding cloud cover. The lighting never changed, not to grow darker nor lighter. The sky seemed as dead as the rest of the world.

The pale angel was the first to set foot on land once more, his more colorful companion following closely behind. Neither voiced the need to pause aloud, yet both knew it was equally needed.

"You think here is a good location?" Grimmjow questioned skeptically as they splashed into the shallows at the edge of the river they'd been following. His vivid eyes seemed to glow an impossible blue light of their own in the monochrome surroundings as his gaze panned across the tree line of the opposite bank.

Shirosaki shrugged, lip curling as he folded his right wing behind himself with smooth grace and carefully eased the stiff left into the same folded position. The tips of his black, inky feathered wings swept through the equally discolored water as he began walking, the tar-like ichor that bubbled from them bleeding out into the already poisoned water. "Dunno. Does it matter? I'm guessin' we're gonna attract attention wherever we go."

"Hnn." Grimmjow was a bit more careful to keep his feathers dry, wings held in a half arc out behind himself as they sloshed through shallow waters. The turgid river reached their calves, and their bare feet sank into the slick, cold mud of the bottom. They still followed the direction they'd been going while flying, no particular destination in mind. "You have a point."

The two trudged through the shallows near the bank for a few moments in silence and it suddenly dawned on Grimmjow why his pale companion had chosen to traverse through the water rather than on land. As he looked about them, searching the tree line for signs of potential threats, he realized how visible the tracks of other creatures near the river's edge were. If they were already going to be hunted, they may as well not market their location quite so obviously and sticking to the dead waters insured they left no trackable traces of their passage. He grunted a quiet sound, officially deciding the once-god known as Shirosaki was more than just a battle hungry creature tainted by madness.

Still taking the lead, though not very far ahead, Shirosaki was coming to a similar conclusion. Being powerful gods, they had had little contact with others of their caliber before their deaths and so had little knowledge of each other before going into their final battle against God. But during the battle against heaven's angels, and then again in the forest against the demon hordes, the blue haired fallen god known as Grimmjow had proven his worth. Even now, the big creature walked through the shallow but swift current with the silent ease and grace of a predator.

Mile upon mile away, back at the lord of hell's castle, Urahara smirked, once more looking through one of his little conjured portals. He tilted his head slightly, his blond hair swaying as he hid his grin. Ever at his side, Kenpachi grunted.

"Why did you bother dispelling the window at all?" The big angel asked, the very barest of sarcasm hinted at in his voice.

Urahara caught it. "Oh hush." With a quick snap, he closed his odd fan and chucked it at the big guardian. The moment it smacked against Kenpachi's chest, he opened his hand again and it reappeared between his slim fingers to once more hide his grin as he continued his watch.

Kenpachi's one eye panned over to glance through the portal as well and Urahara's grin only widened all the more when he realized the decaying once-god was equally interested in how his newest recruits were fairing on their own.

"Do you think they know they're headed into dangerous territory?" The big angel asked his god.

"Hmm, doubt it." Urahara nodded a bit as he thought, "Likely they haven't realized that the draw of power here is opposite as it is for gods. It's doubtful they realize they're headed toward a power source at all."

"They're headed right toward one of the most dangerous creatures in your realm."

"Yes, so it would seem." Urahara chuckled, unworried. "They'll figure it out soon enough." Then he turned in his seat upon his throne to face Kenpachi more fully, "I wouldn't know firsthand: is it difficult at first, to get your bearings when going from god to angel?"

The big angel sneered at the poorly veiled jab, sending a one eyed glare at his god, to which Urahara merely chuckled. "It can be disorienting for a while." He growled out in answer.

Urahara merely chuckled and nodded, as he turned back toward the portal.

Still traversing through the slick, oily waters of the river, the two allied creatures had fallen silent again as they paid their full attention to their surroundings. The quietest of sounds, a slight snick of something being cut, caught Grimmjow's attention.

"Wait." He froze mid-step, wings bristling in tense threat.

Hardly a moment later, as Shirosaki turned towards him and started to question, something flew in from the pale angle's unguarded side with speed that far exceeded normal. The colorless creature bared white, lengthening fangs and drew his sword. He threw the weapon up in a blocking motion just in time for something heavy and solid to slam into him. The weight and force of it alone were enough to stagger the powerful angel, but it was the sharp, barbed spikes of splintered wood that caused the yelp that worked from his throat. Like spear shafts, the spikes pierced through his flesh. One near his hip, his shoulder, another through one thigh and still a forth scraped along his ribs and tore flesh. Even as he threw up his sword to block, he was thrown from the river and pinned against one of the solid trees that lined it. The barbed spikes dug into the bark, pinning him in place while he writhed, pained sounds stuttering from his lungs.

Thick, blue-black blood bubbled from the many wounds, dripping in turgid drops down his colorless flesh. Inky wings snapped out to the sides defensively, instinctively. Sickly, tar-like ichor pattered the trees and foliage around the pinned angel as he thrashed and squirmed and tried to escape the trap one of them had triggered. His black nails scraped and tore at the wooden projectiles impaling him but he did little damage and his sword was trapped between spikes, held close to his body where he couldn't put it to use.

Grimmjow surged from the river in a quick dash of motion but his vivid gaze scanned the forest and the opposite bank as he searched for who could have possibly built a trap strong and fast enough to capture and injure angels. He drew his own sword as he neared his prone companion, intending to cut the creature free, but before he could level his sword, Shiro's golden gaze snapped over his shoulder as the pale angel's features lifted, nostrils flared.

Grimmjow too took a deep breath, scenting the air for what his partner had detected. It was barely there, barely a hint swirling in the air and very nearly masked by the smell of decay and sulfur, but the traces of a lingering predator could be found.

Pinned in place before the bigger creature, Shiro let out a watery growl as he bared his aggression sharpened teeth. Grimmjow spun around at nearly the same time the other angel's voice rose in warning. He raised his sword just in time to intercept what would have been a debilitating attack. The thing that snarled back at him could never have been human. Certainly a demon and not an angel, it still radiated power and malevolence.

Drool dripped from it's skinless jaws in blood and rot tinted strings of slime. Sharp teeth snapped closed around steel, tightening even as the edge of Grimmjow's sword sliced through its gums and drew blood. It snarled and growled mindless hatred as it attempted to viciously shake its big head back and forth. The sword was very nearly pulled from Grimmjow's hands.

Behind him and helpless to either join in or -if the need arose- flee, Shiro grunted as he released the handle of his heavy blade and braced pale hands against the support beam of the wooden frame holding the spikes. He pushed against it with all his mighty strength. It shuttered where it was lodged and he could feel as wooden pikes grated against the tree behind him, but still it didn't budge.

Struggling with the monster, Grimmjow finally dragged his sword from its jaws. The creature hardly seemed to realize as the side of its face was mangled from the sharp blade slicing through the inside of its cheek on the back swing. It bellowed a roar, swiping a heavy, clawed paw and Grimmjow jumped backward to avoid it.

The creature instead hit the wooden frame of the device still trapping Shiro against the tree. The structure groaned in protest and a strained sound crept from Shiro's throat, even as he bared his teeth at the beast. It snarled and roared back at him in response, but it wasn't given time to attack the immobile angel as the blue haired one closed in, driving his sword in a cruel arc. The blade sank into the flesh of the demon's back, halting as it ground against the structure of its spine.

Attention sufficiently drawn from the trapped creature, it spun back on Grimmjow. The wooden trap shifted as the beast's heavy paw was pulled away. The low, grating grind of wood on wood could be heard from behind Shiro. He clenched his jaw and pushed against the frame once more. The entire thing shuddered before the pikes were finally freed of the tree's bole. Shiro staggered under its weight, nearly dragged to his knees before the wooden spikes finally pulled back through his body and trap thudded to the ground in front of him.

Panting and shaking, as much from the physical strain and trauma as from rage, his nostrils flared from the ordeal, Shirosaki turned madness widened eyes upon the beast his companion fought against. He snagged his sword from where it'd fallen, throwing himself into motion.

The monster put up a good fight. It snarled and fought and even drew the blood of the two higher creatures, but it was still just a demon and it stood little chance against two fallen gods. Working together without the need to coordinate aloud, it didn't matter that the two were fallen, that they were freshly reborn and still weakened, they were a formidable pair. Standing on either side of the beast and forcing it to divert its attention between them, Grimmjow and Shirosaki ended up cutting it in half as they both swung at the same time.

The top half of the demon made a pitiful attempt to crawl away, leaving its back legs behind and trailing its innards between it. Grimmjow stepped up to the still living half and drove the point of his sword down, through its skull. It twitched and fell still, and the sword was unceremoniously yanked free again.

The two stood silent and still for a few heartbeats, listening to the forest over the small sounds that accompanied Shiro's quick and painful breaths. Grimmjow turned to him, letting his swirling, impossibly blue eyes trail the injured angel's body, taking in the multiple stab wounds and the thick, sticky blue that dribbled from them. "Will you be up for another fight soon?" He questioned.

Shiro curled his lip and arched a brow, but nodded. His black wings spread out in a stretching motion behind him, before once more folding to settle close to his body. "Painful, but not debilitating." He told his fellow fallen, a smirk slowly curling his ghostly features. "S'cute you're worried though."

The bigger angel snorted and rolled blue eyes, but nodded and again turned to scan their surroundings. "That demon couldn't have been the one to set the trap."

"No. We've stumbled inta another's territory." Shiro agreed, serious again. The trap may have been crude and simple, but the beast they'd just killed was far too base, far too unintelligent to build and set a trap. The black, smokey feathers of his wings bristled, easily enough expressing his lack of desire for a repeat performance.

"The demon. Coincidence, you think?" Grimmjow asked, though he already had his own thoughts on the matter. He led the way back toward the river, but hesitated to step within the slimy, greenish waters again. There could be more traps and he held no wish to experience them first hand.

"Hm. Could have been drawn by my scent." Pale fingers swiped across one of the gaping holes in colorless flesh. Shiro looked at the blueish blood slicking his fingertips, squishing it between his thumb and fingers before bringing it closer to his feature for a sniff of his own. "But it got here awfully quick for followin' the smell a somethin' that doesn't give off much scent."

Grimmjow nodded. "I was thinking the same."

Without warning given, the two decided upon the same course of action and kicked off the ground to once more soar through the heavy, overcast skies. Before they could get very far or very high, a high pitched, furious roar shook the tops of the trees that crowded around the winding river.

A dark shape launched from the sickly branches and Grimmjow grunted as something heavy and moving crashed into him. The sharp edges of his feathers sliced through oily skin like thousands of small blades, but it didn't seem to deter the thing as it wrapped hands around the angel's throat, legs wrapping around Grimmjow's waist.

Reaching up, the blue haired angel snagged hold of boney wrists. His harsh grip drew a pained snarl, but didn't deter his attacker. The thing squirmed, using its body weight to throw the angel off balance as he tried to stay aloft.

Having little choice, Grimmjow made a hasty, rough landing. He splashed into the river, the swift current flowing at waist level and soaking him as his knees and body automatically bent with the strain. Spitting stagnant, putrid water, he bared his teeth and reached over his head to grab at whatever was attacking him. His hands fisted in filthy, stringy hair and he yanked, throwing the monstrosity forward and from his back.

It hit the water a little too streamline, sinking below the surface to disappear.

Grimmjow paused, searching the murky surface, before reaching out below the water in the effort to find and grab hold of whatever it had been.

Still hovering in the air, wings working in slow but powerful undulations to hold him aloft on the current-less winds, Shiro called down to his companion. "Outta the water! Get out!"

The blue eyed male looked up with a frown, regarding his companion, before shouting a startled sound as something caught hold of his legs and yanked him from his feet. He plunged below the surface, wings automatically folding close to his body. The dark surface bubbled and frothed with the underwater struggle. Minutes ticked by before Grimmjow finally broke the surface with a gasping breath and snarl. Surging to his feet, he spun in circles, his attention aimed on the water rushing around him. His blue hair hung across his forehead in wet strands and murky, disgusting water muddied his tanned skin, but his focus was more on finding the thing lurking under the water.

Realizing Shiro had been wise in his advise, Grimmjow began making his way toward the shore, still looking for the creature. "Can you see it?" He asked his still airborne partner.

"No..." Golden eyes roamed the surface as Shiro pulled his sword free from where it settled across his back, between his outstretched wings. "Think maybe it went ta deeper water."

"What the hell is it?" It certainly didn't seem like a demon. True, some of them were smarter than others, but this beast was cunning, strategic almost, in the way it had chosen its timing and used the water to its advantage.

"An angel, I assume." Shiro answered, "Though an ugly one." No sooner had the muttered words left his pale lips, then had the creature showed itself again. Shiro bent his wings back and rocketed through the air to swoop around behind Grimmjow. He landed in shallow waters at the river's bank, bringing his sword around in the same motion as his landing.

The blue haired angel ducked the backswing, turning to see that his companion had placed himself between Grimmjow and the attacking creature, where it had risen from the waters at Grimmjow's unguarded back.

True to what Shiro had thought, it was an angel, though had clearly seen better days. Living alone in the harsh wilds of hell, it had slowly been driven mad. Thin and boney, its features looked almost skeletal. Its fingers were too long, ending in claws and its legs had an extra joint, making its movements look more accustomed to jumping. It had no wings, but a single fin of nearly transparent membrane ran the length of its back.

Before Shiro's sword could connect, the attacking creature leapt into the air and over the sword. It landed in nearly the same spot it'd appeared in as Shiro's swing was on the follow through, leaving him open.

Just as the thing's feet disappeared below the water's surface, Grimmjow pivoted his stance and readied for an attack of his own. "Down." He rumbled to the angel between his sword and their attacker.

Shiro didn't hesitate, wings flattening out of the way as he dropped low. The thin but deadly blade whistled over his head. The creature made the effort to back pedal out of the way, but was still in the process of replanting its feet and so had little leverage. The blade swiped through the blackening flesh of its stomach with a shredding rip.

The thing shrieked a hissing, bubbly sound, falling backward to splash into water that had barely reached its knees while standing. It slowly sank below the surface anyway, despite how shallow the river was so near the bank, and disappeared again.

Shirosaki hissed a sound of his own as he straightened again, green-black water streaming down his lithe body and streaking his colorless skin. It made his smokey black feathers clump together uncomfortably, but a swift snap of muscle as he opened them wide in a quick jerk sprayed most of the water off. Pulling them in close again, he spun a slow circle, looking for their opponent.

Grimmjow mimicked his motions, searching out the odd angel and waiting for another attack. To the surprise of the both, the next assault came in the form of words.

From out towards deeper water, an oddly female voice called to them. They spun to face the creature as little more than her skeletal visage peeked out above the water. She bobbed slightly with the rippling of the water, making it obvious that she floated and wasn't actually touching the river bottom. Her nostrils flared as if in deep breath as she spoke, "With all that wonderful smelling blood in the water, it wont take long to attract sharks."

Grimmjow and Shiro frowned. Then blue eyes coasted over towards the paler of the two, as Shiro's golden eyes glanced downward at himself to see dark, watered down blue trickling from his wounds and drifting in the water around him.

"And now you've added mine to the water as well." The female continued, "Though yours is far more potent then mine. Such power is a rarity here."

"You were the one to set the trap." Grimmjow's rumbling voice was less of a question than his wording suggested.

"I was." The woman angel slowly rose higher in the water, until it settled around her midriff, despite that she couldn't have possibly been touching the bottom so far out. "And there are more. Beware your step."

Both males stiffened, casting wary gazes around themselves, but of course they found nothing. It wasn't long until the smell of fresh, powerful blood in the water did exactly what the woman angel said it would. Shiro backed up another step toward the bank as something large and nearly the color of the water began drifting in an almost lazy way towards him. Mostly obscured by the water it swam in, only the boney ridge of its spine cut above the surface, but it was enough to suggest something serpentine and mean.

Before the first creature even made it close enough to the pale angel to begin crawling through the shallow waters and fully reveal itself, another appeared, and still a third. They slithered through the water, what was visible of their bodies looking streamline and undulating from side to side as they swam not unlike snakes. An unholy stench wafted from them, like rotting meat and the putrid water they apparently lived in.

Grimmjow growled a deep rumble, his blue eyes like ice as he watched them for a moment before his gaze shot back to the water angel. She'd yet to move, floating with the water. The creatures paid little heed to her, like she wasn't even there. "Call them off." He demanded in a truly fear inspiring voice, like a god used to leading the charge into battle.

The female tilted her grotesque, skeletal head. "I cannot. These ones are not mine, unfortunately."

The big angel pulled his sword into a ready hold, a sneer on his handsome features. The feathers of his majestic, grey-blue wings bristled sharply. "Then you wont mind when we kill them."

"On the contrary," The woman said, "you would be doing me a great service."

"Wonderful. Allow us ta reward you for attackin' us." Shirosaki muttered sarcastically. Still folded out behind him, he held his wings crooked and high, ready should he find he needed the extra mobility of quick flight.

The moment the first creature swam too near for the pale angel's comfort, Shiro pounced. His swift movements sent the three creatures into a frenzy as large, almost crocodilian maws rose above the water line, row upon row of shark-like, recurved teeth snapped for the taste of undead yet fresh and lively flesh. Their bodies were armored like a crocodile's, but the heavenly weapons the angels carried still carved vicious wounds into reptilian flesh.

When a quiet but familiar snick caught Grimmjow's attention, he called out a warning and he and his partner quickly extracted themselves, unwilling to have a repeat of what had originally assaulted Shiro. One of the monsters attacking them wasn't so lucky and the sharp, carefully carved pikes rose from the water with almost impossible speed. The triggered trap impaled the creature, throwing it to the bank where it pinned it to the muddy, slimy ground. It writhed and thrashed in agony, long tail curling around the wooden projections, but remained trapped in place.

Grimmjow and Shiro disposed of the remaining two monstrosities as quickly as possible. The river bottom they tread upon, pivoting and bracing as they fought, churned and muddied the already grotesque river. The blood of the creatures was quickly added and they didn't need to be told by the watching angel that the extra blood would attract more attention.

Sitting safely and comfortably in his castle like abode, Urahara pushed a good natured frown across his features as he watched his two would-be commanders extract themselves. The short lived scuffle, despite the odds, couldn't have been called a battle.

"Well that was no fun." He mused, but was rather satisfied with what he'd seen from the two thus far. They were strong and mighty, confident but not overly so. They were intelligent enough to know when to extract themselves from an oncoming fight that was otherwise unnecessary. And they worked together in tandem like no other freshly fallen he'd ever seen. Usually fallen gods had a hard time adapting to fighting and working alongside others, since as gods they tended to avoid each other. Perhaps it was because of the nature of their deaths, because they had died fighting side by side, but these two had no such problems. They were a formidable and potentially devastating pair.

They were exactly what the god of hell had been waiting for.

The two were allowed to roam the vast realm for months while Urahara idly and unobtrusively kept tabs on them. They clashed with other occupants, but rarely did the resulting fights end in either of the two angels being seriously harmed. Even when one or the other was injured, the still healthy male was protective of his injured companion in an almost oddly obsessive way while the wounds healed. Strong beyond what anyone other than Urahara knew, the few injuries they ever received were quick to heal, and so the god remained unworried.

Occasionally they would part ways, going about and exploring on their own. Sometimes for days at a time, but they inevitably met up again as if drawn to one another. It was little wonder. They were two of the very most powerful creatures in the realm they occupied and they were only growing stronger as they recuperated from their fall and rebirth.

Urahara quickly noticed as the two developed a stronger bond. It wasn't lascivious or anything more than a deep partnership, but it was still present in his two angels, where as in all others he'd ever met or reigned over it was not. Aside from the odd lack of aggression toward one another, and the odd draw toward each other, it was quickly noted that they slept together. There was nothing sexual in the act for a long time and perhaps that's what made it seem so strange. But on the nights where they settled long enough to bed down and gain real sleep rather than the waking rest they normally allowed themselves, they slept near one another. And they only ever truly slept when both were present. On the occasions when they would part ways, neither truly slept, nor even bedded down. They would both remain awake for days at a time and in near constant motion until they were once more in the company of each other. It was as if the presence of one instinctively made the other feel safe, secure enough to take rest. Their closeness was unprecedented as far as fallen gods went.

It was simply another trait that made them stand out among the rest of the devil's garrison. But the softness shown towards one another was not to be mistaken for a weakness. On the contrary; their bond made them dangerous. The creatures that dared challenge them were given no warnings, no hints from the two silent angels as they cut the enemy down in tandem.

As the months passed, Grimmjow and Shiro had to continue wondering just what was expected of them. They were fallen, they were angels to another god now, and a very powerful, old god at that. Yet the lord of hell had not so much as uttered a single command to them. He could simply tell them what to do, they would have been helpless to disobey, yet he let them be. He had let them leave and, despite obviously knowing they were no longer in his abode after all this time, had continued to let them do as they pleased.

They couldn't leave, and the god knew that. Reduced to angels, they couldn't create tears through realms on their own quite yet and even if they managed to find a usable one, they would have needed their god's express permission. Perhaps that explained some of the god's leniency and patience, but still it was an odd thing.

Soon enough, as they grew bored with their surroundings and realized the strange king wouldn't be coming after them, they started to think that maybe there was more to what the odd man had said. He was a god, after all, and gods always had an agenda all of their own. Gods were sneaky, shadowy things. They never spoke so straight forward and simply.

Perched high up on a cliff of crumbling rock and half fossilized bone, the two overlooked the forest that never seemed to change and yet seemed always in motion in ways trees weren't supposed to be. As had become the norm, Grimmjow stood while they idly surveyed the area, his dusky wings folded behind him and out of his way and only making him look all the more regal. Like the shifting trees far below, he was almost always in restless motion, even when idle; too much pent up energy in the body of an angel with no purpose or outlet. The native creatures and demons had long given up attempting them harm on a regular basis and, the more the two regained their strength, the less of a challenge the demons could provide.

Not far off, Shirosaki sat on the very edge of the cliff's high peak, legs dangling precariously, not that a fall would ever be able to really harm him even should he, for some unforeseeable reason, be unable to simply fly. His white hair flowed down his back to rest between his shoulder blades, in the space where his wings met the rest of his body. It stood out in stark contrast to the inky, void like color of his feathers and the tattered membrane below. He kept his right wing folded neatly, much the way Grimmjow carried his though angled because of his seated position, but his left was kept loose and relaxed, arcing down so that the second joint settled on the ground and the wingtip folded back to cross behind him, much the way it would had he been in the air and diving.

"This is gettin' old." The pale angel finally muttered, rolling his shoulders back and making his wings shift.

Somewhere behind and off to the side, Grimmjow grunted an agreeable sound. "I'm beginning to wonder if we shouldn't aid him simply for the lack of anything else to do." He drawled after a moment.

Shiro snorted a laugh, "Maybe that was his plan; ta bore us into agreein'."

Grimmjow cracked a dry grin, his brilliantly colored eyes panning toward his companion as he walked toward the cliff's edge. His steps were confident and calm, despite the shifting of loose, crumbling stone below his feet. "It's working." Bending his knees, he kicked up and off, his powerful wings snapping open to catch the air.

Shiro snorted again, "Yep." and sighed as he planted his feet against the sheer rock face below where he'd been sitting. He too pushed off, leaving his wings folded so he dropped into an almost harsh dive, only opening them to level off once he soared mere meters above the tree line.

Inevitably, their flight brought them through the realm and toward their god's abode, soaring high above the ground. They soared at a pace far faster than any bird's or flying thing known to man, yet it was leisurely and unhurried for themselves. Their feet only touched down on land again when the lord's monastery-like mansion came into view.

The undead guards posted along the wide staircase of the entrance turned as they approached and hefted massive weapons. The angels, out of trained reflex, stiffened and readied themselves, but continued at a wary pace.

Behind the guards, the massive doors were thrown open with a resounding thud that echoed through the trees all around. As if shut down, the guards robotically turned back to their original positions. Standing in the doorway, the once-barbarian god Kenpachi, stood in silence for a moment, taking in the two creatures as they studied him in return.

Finally, after a few minutes dragged by in silence, he spoke, "Urahara does not wish his guards 'ripped asunder', as he says. Come." and he led the two into the god's abode once more.

Urahara awaited them, and this meeting was near identical to the first.

"Welcome again," The strange creature greeted. A careless motion of his hand dispelled the odd fan he carried, and he leaned forward as he brought his hands before him. Under his crossed palms, a cane appeared to take his weight and keep his balance. "Finally ready to hear me out, are you?"

Gold on black eyes narrowed, pale lips thinning. At Shiro's side, Grimmjow rumbled a low, rough sound in the back of his throat. But neither made to disagree and after only a moment, very slight nods brought a smile to Urahara's features.

Fate had chosen them, they were told, and so Grimmjow and Shiro were granted freewill and given purpose once more. They were given an army of angels, of creatures that were both dead and alive, of creatures that were more monster than they were man. And they commanded that army knowing that every last one of their soldiers would die again, that they would once more fall to God and his followers, that the two would have to stand by and watch history repeat. Urahara told them all of this.

It was a necessary sacrifice, he said, like he could see the future and the fates spoke to him and only him. What he didn't tell them was that they too were fated to fall again, but this time they would be too powerful to be killed and that was one step closer to winning the war Urahara waged, the war against a being that would call himself God of gods.

And so Grimmjow and Shiro fought. They did what they did best and when their army was spent, when what was left of their soldiers lay dead and dying, they rose to the challenge.

It was a battle that lasted days, weeks even. The two creatures were nearly tireless. But only nearly. Not all of God's armies were strong in body and when the two landed in the human realm, seeking out God himself, they found not a god at all, and more than angels or even demons. Like before, they found humans; thousands upon thousands of them. They found pitiful, weak bodies and small minds. They found iron will and enslaved found weapons that weren't swords or blades, but powerful in compelling, horrifying ways.

Fate had already been decided and the outcome was inevitable as the fighting finally came to a head.

All around them, people crowded in. The few angel commanders God threw at them and what was left of their very few soldiers attacked with mindless, fanatical hatred. Grimmjow and Shirosaki snarled and fought on. When a chanting sang through the dark, night air, both jerked to a sudden and frightening halt, before struggling through the words.

Grimmjow threw up his sword just in time to block a downward swing, hardly fighting through the spell in time. At his back, his pale partner snarled an almost desperate sound. This battle was feeling far too familiar, too much like the one they'd been killed and reduced to angels during. But the humans around them couldn't possibly kill them and the few angels God had thrown to the pitifully low race were weak in comparison to Grimmjow and Shiro. The only reason the two struggled now was because of the human standing in the shadows, reading by fire light from a book of binding spells. Prayers, he called them.

The smaller angel's watery voice shrieked out again, but it was less of a snarl as words wrapped around the creature's mind, burning like cold fire. The heavy sword he'd been wielding faded away like he'd dispelled it and gold on black eyes went wide as Shiro was left unexpectedly defenseless. The enemy that had been attacking him, keeping his sword from biting human flesh, lowered its weapon and watched in silence as the powerful creature was wrapped in binding spell-work.

Shiro hissed and growled, writhing as words alone dragged him to the ground. The archaic cadence seemed to thrum through his body, catching into muscle and severing nerves. They bit into flesh and pulled tight like barbed wire. By the time the pale creature's knees struck the ground, Shiro's previously aggressive sounds were more pained and desperate.

His partner didn't fair much better. Grimmjow struggled against another voice singing through the air, the words and spells just as sharp as those that had dragged Shiro down. His sword clashed with another angel's but there was little force behind his swing. The sharp blade was deflected with ease and enough force to throw the big angel's balance off.

Grimmjow stumbled to the side. Then, as if yanked by a heavy weight around his throat, he was dragged to his knees as well. Something crashed down around him with the rattle of chains and the biting chill of razor sharp steel, but no blood was drawn. It was all in his head as the words circled round.

Unwilling to simply give up in their struggle, the two pulled against the invisible bindings with enough force to physically stagger the two spell-casters. But the power God had given his chosen humans was strong and potent. Another finally stepped from the small crowd, a priest of sorts. He walked right up to stand before the two kneeling angels and looked their bowed bodies over with an appraising gaze.

They were powerful indeed, far beyond what a mortal person could kill, but God had warned him of these two, and so he knew just how to take care of the issue. The man held out his hand and a heavy, leather-bound book was brought to him, black like a lightless room, like the creature's who's eyes he met. The thick, vellum pages were blank as he opened it up.

He held it out to the smaller of the two overpowering creatures, letting the hissing, snarling things see it, smell it, before he closed the book and turned it so the cover faced up. Inverted, hellish eyes flew wide as a single word began slowly, precisely etching it's way across the supple leather. Written in careful, silver inlaid script, Shirosaki's name appeared.

"No... No!" Shiro struggled in vain, attempting to jerk away from the binding book the priest held. Black nails clawed frantically at the ground, digging furrows through the dirt. His massive blacks wings snapped out to the sides, arcing high into the air and causing a collective gasp to ripple through the gathered humans. The sound of stretching rope accompanied the movement, despite that no physical rope was present. His body trembled with the strain and desperation that had freed his wings. "I'll kill ya myself, mortal!" Shiro seethed in a hissing, watery voice through sharp, bared teeth.

Forced to kneel not far away, Grimmjow watched with wide blue eyes as the priest grabbed hold of his partner's wrist. He bared his teeth in a vicious snarl, leaning forward and attempting to aid his companion, but for all his straining muscle and determination, he didn't make it more than a few mere, skidding inches across the ground. Soon enough, he had trouble of his own to worry about.

Another priest approached the blue haired angel, but this one didn't carry a book. Instead, he carried Grimmjow's dropped sword. Blue brows furrowed in confusion and anger. His sword hummed an unhappy sound in his mind. More chanted words from the spell-casters and Grimmjow gasped a pained, surprised sound as invisible iron spikes were driven through the tips of his wings, very near where the bone lay beneath feathers and flesh. His wings, untouched by human hand, were dragged open and to the ground, forcing him to further collapse. Knees already firmly planted in dirt, his hands braced his weight as his back bowed under the pressure. He growled and fought to rise, but the spear points impaling his wings were driven into the ground, stretching them out to either side and holding them still, as well as keeping Grimmjow immobile.

Still struggling against the priest forcing a quill pen into his hand, Shiro growled and threatened. He cursed the human in a thousand languages, words that the human tongue couldn't even pronounce. But it was all for not, and betraying himself, he began scrawling his name on the first blank page of the book. The first letter was all it took for Shiro to begin feeling the bind. By the second, he was trembling. With the third, every touch to the book made his body ache.

An agonized scream from his side jerked his horrified attention away from the dripping ink and elegant cursive staining the page before him. His gaze snapped over to see the second hacking of his companion's sword against the base of the first dusky, blue wing. Grimmjow cried out again, his voice rising in pure torment and anguish. Shiro had never heard such a sound come from his partner.

Blood stained the ground below where Grimmjow was pinned. It coated his back and shoulder, dripping down his chest and abdomen to puddle below him. It ran in thick, spurting rivulets between his feathers, matting them and smearing them until they looked less blue and more black. The feathers bristled against the onslaught, Grimmjow's sword tore through them with ease.

There was no word for the excruciating pain Grimmjow was in. It lit his mind with a cold rush of fire, and the howl that tore his throat raw as the first wing was finally cut free of his body to fall limp and dead beside him shattered the glass vile of ink sitting near Shiro.

Shirosaki watched in horror, his cursing and threatening falling silent in shock so great the creature forgot to breathe. The priest controlling his movements seemed content to let him watch the suffering of his partner.

By the time the second wing was finally torn asunder and fell to the ground, Grimmjow was shaking violently. Blood pooled in his mouth and dripped down his chin. An unhealthy, glazed look dulled normally brilliant blue eyes and he panted in weak, gasping breaths. He saw nothing that sat around him. He heard nothing, not even as his partner tried to call his name. He simply knelt on the ground in a pool of his own blood, still and shivering, as his mind began to break apart.

The priest that had been wielding the angel's sword plunged the point into the ground and grabbed the mighty creature, hooking fingers under Grimmjow's chin. It took him barely any effort at all to guide the once monstrous angel from his crouched, hunched over position. He didn't even blink as another man brought forward a red hot branch, freshly pulled from the fire near by.

The smell of burning flesh wafted through the air as the twin wounds upon the backs of Grimmjow's shoulder blades were cauterized shut in the hopes that it would keep the wings from growing back. The dead wings were dragged away and set on fire, burned until nothing but ash remained.

Shiro cringed, turning away and unable to watch as his once powerful partner was reduced to a shell, to a plaything that could be manipulated, a living, breathing doll for the clergy to play with until they figured out what to do with the creature. The humans couldn't kill angels, but there were far worse things then death.

The pale angel was forced to finish scrawling his name in the book. Shiro watched in silent dread as latin phrases began to write themselves below his name; the entire story of what he was, what he had been, and all that the humans had planned for him. Page after page after page. With each new paragraph, it felt as though another barb was driven into his body, finding meat, muscle, sinew, bone, to hook into before pulling taught. By the time the last page was being filled, Shiro had been dragged upright, his feet barely touching the ground and his shoulders hunched. His arms hung limply at his sides and no amount of effort on the angel's part would get them to respond to his wishes. His head lolled forward, a weak and pitiful sneer curling his lip to bare sharp fangs but the only sound he uttered were tiny, barely there grunts and gasps of pain.

The binding complete, the priest pulled the open book from the ground. He held it up, where the bound angel could see, and slowly closed it. Shiro's form flickered as black smoke curled around his pale flesh. Then he was gone and the leather bound book in the human's hands frosted over.

The priest moved over to stand before his other captured angel. He pulled Grimmjow's hand out and placed the frozen book in the creature's palm. Riding on instinct alone, Grimmjow pulled it close and shivered from its temperature as he was led away from the clearing, his blue eyes unseeing and his movements almost mechanical.

••••••

"Sir." The massive guardian known as Kenpachi bowed slightly as he neared his lord and god. When next he spoke, his voice was a dry rasp. "Your angels have been captured."

"Yes." Urahara sat upon his throne, crown low and shadowing his sparkling eyes. He hid a grin with his odd fan, those intelligent orbs trained unerringly upon the portal he looked through. There was not a trace of surprise, nor worry in his voice, no hint of panic, no fear of failure. He knew what only the ancient god of hell and the fates themselves could possibly know.

"They have failed," The guardian rumbled. "and God lives on."

Urahara lowered his fan, showing off a widening, sly grin. Mischief shown in his grey eyes and the air seemed to swirl around him. He had yet to lay his final card on the table and through the portal, he looked centuries into the future. What fate showed him brought him uncrushable hope and closure. A boy on the verge of manhood smiled shyly but with doubtless excitement as he looked upon the looming form of an old church. Around his throat hung a petite, silver cross of God, but in the boy's heart, the object was less about faith and more about the memory of another. As the boy walked up the imposing, low staircase that led to the massive, barred doors that held the devil's angels at bay, the sun caught brilliant, orange hair and fathomless brown eyes in a halo too pure to be of God's doing.

"Patience, Kenpachi. Patience." We are not yet done.

---

Your thoughts?

For those interested, a few drabbles from this AU can be found on my tumblr (shadowthorne . tumblr . com) tagged under TLK, as well as plenty of other shenanigans and the occasional drabble, wip or drawing.