Preparations
"All the pieces are in place, Great King; all that remains is for the fated day to arrive and you to but give the command."
Baraggan Louisenbairn sat on his throne of bones as he digested this information, his ancient face impassive as Kokutō and the rest of the court waited for him to reply. A large hand slowly raised its way up to his face and began to stroke his chin as he considered the words and the implications, considered the knowledge that virtually every soul in Hell had willfully pledged their allegiance to him.
Kokutō hated playing the part of a measly advisor subservient to some self-important fool who'd already failed to maintain control over one kingdom and now sought to control another, but it was a necessary evil; Baraggan may have been a pawn, but he was one of the most important pawns in the game and Kokutō had to keep him happy.
For now, anyway.
"Perhaps," Baraggan announced slowly, finally, "we should reschedule the uprising. I've been planning this for years now and if the Kushanāda have learned of it, they could be waiting. We need the element of surprise on our side if I am to conquer this infernal pit and bring it under my rule."
"Great King, if the guardians knew what we were planning, they would already be taking steps to prevent it," Kokutō said, straining to keep his irritation from showing; pawns weren't supposed to think, damn it, especially about rescheduling a very time-sensitive plan. "They would be massacring souls by the tens of thousands daily, shredding them into oblivion. They would be tearing Hell itself asunder to find you, Great King, and stop you. The fact they are going about business as usual means they are oblivious."
"The Kushanāda aren't known for their patience," someone else offered. "They would not wait for us to act first if they knew. It is as Kokutō says, my King; they know nothing of your plans."
Well, at least one ignorant pawn was dutifully playing his part…
"Great King, I do not think we can afford to simply reschedule the rebellion at this point," Kokutō jumped in quickly. "Many would-be rulers before you have promised great change in the past and then backed out, never to be heard from again… If you attempt to change the plans now, you will lose many of your supporters; they will assume that you lack conviction, my liege, and—"
"I lack nothing!" Baraggan declared loudly, rising from his throne in anger. Kokutō made a show of backing away and taking a knee, pretending to cower in fear of the former Espada's wrath. "I will be king of this realm and these souls will serve me! Those who do not will be punished severely once I have control of Hell and all will know that I am the one true God in this place!"
"Then, Great King, shall I assume that we will proceed as you have planned?" asked Kokutō, not daring to make eye contact to complete the illusion of being a weak, broken down soul who trembled before the might of the former God-King of Hueco Mundo.
"Yes, Kokutō; we shall proceed with the war exactly as I have planned," rumbled Baraggan as he sat back down, and Kokutō bit his tongue to keep his pride from pointing out what it was actually his plan and his alone. "In a few days, a new regime shall rule Hell."
"Then I shall pass the word along to your loyal followers to make ready for war."
"Good," was Baraggan's pompous reply as he dismissed Kokutō with a wave of his hand. The scarred Togabito bowed humbly before Baraggan once more, slowly backing away and exiting the cave that had become Baraggan's makeshift throne room.
Arrogant fool, thought Kokutō disdainfully. If Baraggan wasn't so necessary to the plan, he'd happily tear his head from his fat body and personally feed it to the hell beasts that lived in the deeper pits.
"Did you have a good meeting with our beloved king?" asked a mocking voice as Kokutō exited the cave, prompting him to scowl deeply as he cast a glance over at the tall, slender man leaning against the rock wall.
"Be silent, you fool!" hissed Kokutō. "We don't need someone actually loyal to Baraggan to overhear and report you for your insolent tongue."
"Ain't no one here but you, me, and my idiot servant," scoffed the taller man, slinging his massive weapon over his shoulder and falling into step beside Kokutō, the servant bringing up the rear. "You worry too much."
"I can't afford not to worry," Kokutō growled. "I've waited too long for this moment to get careless now. Remember that, if you wish to be part of the true plan."
"Oh, I'll remember, all right…" said his companion, narrowing his one good eye. "I can't wait to get out and kill those goddamned shinigami who put me here."
"Then keep your mouth shut and do your part exactly as you've been instructed," ordered Kokutō coldly. "Be careful about who you speak to and be careful of how you speak; if your petulant tongue ruins my plans, there will be no place in this infernal wasteland where I won't find you."
"Yeah, yeah; I'll be careful," promised the tall man bitterly. "I want out just as much as you do."
"No, you don't," corrected Kokutō. "No one does."
"Right… Well then, what do we do now?"
"Send your servant out to spread the word to Baraggan's loyal followers that everything is proceeding as planned and the attack remains on schedule," instructed Kokutō, and the third man who had been quietly, dutifully following along behind his master and his master's master, nodded wordlessly and broke away from the group.
"Done," said Nnoitra Gilga dismissively. "That all?"
"No…" Kokutō said, finally coming to a stop at a fork in the well-worn foot path. "I need you to go gather my loyal followers and be waiting at the usual location; we have preparations of our own to make. I'll join everyone in a few hours."
"And what will you be doing while I'm playing fetch?" asked Nnoitra irritably. The togabito flashed a malicious grin.
"Recruiting."
In the long list of annoyances that came with the rank of Captain, the seemingly-endless amounts of paperwork was easily at the top. It didn't matter how many hours were spent meticulously checking, signing, and rechecking every form because they seemed to operate like the mythological hydra; for every one form completed and turned in, two more took its place.
Of course, the fact that he was doing both his share of the paperwork and the lieutenant's could have been the real root of the issue.
And that's another problem with that green-haired wench, came the perpetually-bitchy voice of his zanpaktou, Kage Shitsukoi.
"Don't start," sighed Anrak Ushii as he pinched the bridge of his nose to try and stave off the migraine he knew to be coming.
If she were half the woman you think she is, she'd be here and—
"You're omitting the fact that I gave her the day off from her normal duties," growled the captain as he signed his name to another document and moved it over to the stack of completed forms. "She took care of everything by herself Monday when I was stuck in that infernal meeting all day, so it's only fair."
Fair? scoffed Kagi. Who cares if it's fair or not? You're the captain, you make the rules and her job, her only job, is to obey!
"You mean like you don't?" asked the captain irritably, setting his pen down and leaning back in his seat as he stretched. "If you want to make yourself useful for a change, you could try singing quietly and letting me focus on my work."
I'll sing when I feel like it, not when you feel like it, baka.
A knock at the office door mercifully interrupted Kagi's bitching and Anrak looked up in time to see Renji Abarai, captain of Squad 5, enter and unceremoniously flop down on the small couch in the corner. The redhead looked exhausted and annoyed, as if the day had been nothing but one pain in the ass after another.
Anrak could sympathize with that.
"I swear I'm going to kill them," Renji said from his spot lying on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. "I really think I mean it this time. I just want to strangle them!"
"Takk and Satsu?" guessed Anrak, referring to the twins under Renji's command. They were good kids and they meant well, but they did tend to tax one's nerves to no end.
"The entire squad," growled Renji. "They're all so worked up over the idea of throwing a party before All Hollow's Eve that they can't focus on anything else! Every time I turn around, I'm getting ambushed with questions on what's allowed, who's allowed, how long it'll be… I can't even lead them through their drills without getting bombarded with questions!"
"Bet the lieutenant is even more annoyed than you, then… He doesn't seem to play well with others."
"Which is why they're all avoiding him and pestering me!" complained Renji as he rubbed his face with his hands. "I can't take it anymore; I just had to get away before they drive me crazy."
"Er," Anrak corrected his friend with a wry smile, "crazier."
"Don't you start on me, too…" growled the tattooed shinigami. "I get enough of that crap from Ichigo and Rukia."
"Right…" grinned Anrak as he grabbed another form and began to read it. "Take some time and kick back; I don't think anyone will bother you here."
"Thanks," grunted Renji, letting out a long sigh as he relaxed. "I suppose I should just be grateful that things are so peaceful that a stupid party is the biggest concern on everyone's minds, shouldn't I?"
"That's how I'm looking at it," agreed the other captain.
Except that peace never lasts, baka.
There were countless thousands of trails snaking their way through every corner of Hell: some leading up into the volcanic mountains that sprouted up here and there, some led to small villages cobbled together from stone and bone, and others led into the pits and the deep underground, past rivers of molten lava that would sear the flesh from anyone foolish enough to get too close to them. Most of the pathways were well-worn from thousands of years of traffic of untold millions of souls, but there were a few trails that were harder to spot, even to someone with eyes as keen as Kokutō.
He was currently followed one such trail, a path less traveled than most others, knowing that at the end of it lay the single most dangerous individual in all of the afterlife. The "Old One" was spoken of throughout Hell in hushed tones, frightened whispers by the superstitious who sometimes referred to him as the true king of the underworld. By all accounts, The Old One did not seek trouble and seldom ventured outside of his chosen home, but he had been down here for ages and had shredded more of his fellow prisoners than anyone else.
The Old One, it was said, was one of the few souls that would never be pardoned. Some even said that the great guardian beasts themselves, the Kushanāda, feared him.
Kokutō hoped it was all true, that every last myth and legend about The Old One was frighteningly accurate. If such an individual could be persuaded to join the cause, then victory was assured.
The togabito stepped around a bubbling pool of magma as he followed the trail, heading deeper into the mountains and leaving the unending sound of thousands of souls screaming in torment further behind. According to legend, The Old One lived in a cave at the peak of the tallest mountain, beyond the sounds of screaming and beyond the heat of the rivers of magma. It was said that all of Hell was visible from his doorstep, that he saw everything that occurred with more clarity than even the Kushanāda.
Kokutō paused and looked out at all that stretched below him and he began to suspect that at least that part of the legend was accurate; at this altitude, even the massive guardians looked like insects as they wandered about the domain. It gave him hope that the rest of the myths were true as well, hope and a tiny shard of fear nestled deep within his being.
The Old One did not take kindly to visitors.
Supposedly, he had shredded untold thousands of souls that had come seeking him out: some had wanted to challenge him, some had wanted to ally with him, and others had simply been curious to see if he was real or not.
None had ever returned from the mountain.
Kokutō was not like the others, he knew this; he was stronger, faster, and tougher than anyone else in the pits of the damned.
Though by all accounts, The Old One was stronger still.
Some time ago, one of Kokutō's loyal followers had ventured into the mountain to try and disprove the legend, hoping to claim the cave for himself as a laboratory of sorts.
That was the last time Kokutō had seen Szayelaporro Granz, the late octava Espada in Sōsuke Aizen's grand army.
Bones littered the sides of the dirt trail now, the remains of souls who had been torn asunder, shredded into oblivion so that they would never again re-enter the great cycle of reincarnation. Some were whole while others had been broken and shattered and as he continued along the trail, Kokutō noticed that the path itself was changing. He knelt down for a closer look, running his fingers over the surface and realizing that it wasn't dirt or stone anymore.
"Bones…" he muttered.
The entire path was composed of nothing but bone fragments that had been crushed and ground into pavement underfoot, and the road of bones led deeper into the mountains still, snaking it's way up towards the peak of the tallest formation several kilometers away.
The shard of fear in his heart began to grow, but so too did his excitement.
There was nothing quite like the sight of three dozen young shinigami doing line drills. It was a simple thing, but it was one of the things that Anrak Ushii took great pleasure in. The mountain of paperwork had finally been finished and the first stop the captain had made after leaving the office was the dojo to observe his squad as they practiced.
Kiyone and Sentaro were leading the session, mercifully not arguing with each other for a change, and Anrak suspected it had more to do with the recent talk he'd had with them about their overly-competitive behavior than it did with them actually maturing on their own. Still, it was a thing of beauty to behold; the two of them in perfect sync, leading thirty-plus younger students through basic hakuda techniques.
The dojo was, in theory, large enough to accommodate up to a hundred students at once, though Anrak didn't quite think that would make for very efficient training given how little personal space each student would have to move around in for line drills. For now, though, it gave the considerably-smaller class plenty of room to practice without fear of bumping into each other. Six rows of six stood before Kiyone and Sentaro, each in a front stance with their left leg in the lead and their right in the back, dutifully mimicking their movements with absolute precision…
Well, not quite.
Anrak didn't expect them to all be perfect and he carefully walked down each row, inspecting each shinigami individually. Most were doing well enough, but he stopped in front of a nervous young man in the third row, fourth in his line, and watched him carefully for a few moments.
"Shinta, tighten your fist; if you hit someone like that, you'll break your fingers," he instructed firmly, grabbing the junior shinigami hand and forcibly molding his hands into proper position.
"Yes, Sir!" barked the younger man as Anrak stepped back and allowed him to resume practice.
Still the captain did not move on down the line.
"When you throw a front kick, pull your toes back; you need to strike with the ball of your foot, not your toes."
"Yes, Sir!"
"And I want full extension on that leg; all the way out and then back in, understood?"
"Yes, Sir!" cried Shinta, trying once more. Kick, punch, punch, and…
"Where are you aiming, Shinta?" asked Anrak. "Each time you throw a technique, you're landing them in a different spot. You need to focus on a single target."
"Yes, Sir!" answered Shinta as the captain moved to stand in front of him. Anrak held up his right hand at chest level, showing Shinta the palm.
"Right here," he instructed. "I want every technique you throw to land right here; not to either side, not above, and not below. Every strike needs to hit my palm."
"Yes, Sir!' acknowledged the shinigami. The cycle started again and the sound of Shinta's punches impacting the captain's hand could be heard throughout the dojo. Kick, punch, punch, kick, punch, punch… Anrak nodded in approval at his student and he finally stepped back to observe once more as Kiyone and Sentaro called out in unison for the group to switch feet, placing their right leg in front and the left in the rear. Kick, punch, punch, kick, punch, punch…
"Much better," Anrak praised the junior soul reaper.
"Thank you, Sir!'
With a nod to Shinta, Anrak continued his trek down the row, inspecting the others. He didn't fail to notice that several others had been watching his interactions with Shinta closely and as a result had corrected their own form to keep from being called out.
Good.
He slowly meandered through each row, correcting a handful of minor issues here and there before taking up a spot near the door. He patiently waited for Kiyone and Sentaro to look his way before giving them a nod, indicating it was time to end the line drills and move on to sparring practice.
There were four large circles marked on the dojo floor for sparring, though for today only two would be used; Kiyone and Sentaro each took a circle to supervise and began calling up students two at a time to test their mettle against one another as the captain looked on.
It was hard to resist the urge to step in sometimes and encourage them to hit each other harder, to be more aggressive with one another; while that had been the way of things during his tenure in Squad 11 and the same way Yoruichi had taught him underneath Sōkyoku Hill a century ago, it was not the way of things in Squad 13 and he didn't want to encourage his pupils to hurt one another.
Anrak stood watching them for a few minutes more before quietly exiting the dojo, unwilling to wait until old habits forced their way to the surface and demanded he push the students to fight harder. Perhaps when they were all more experienced he would teach them the way he'd been taught, but not now.
The seated officers had already gotten a small taste of it before, though he'd been careful to avoid actually hurting anyone. Of course, they were expected to be able to handle tougher drills; the young soul reapers currently in the dojo were a long way from such lofty expectations.
Sometimes he wondered if he was taking it too easy on them, if holding back was putting them at greater risk in the field.
Probably, came Kagi's voice. If you had been coddled that much, you'd have never survived the war.
"There's no need for them to hurt themselves in practice," Anrak responded as he walked down the hall, the sounds of the students fighting fading into the distance. Within moments, the only sounds he could hear were his own footfalls on the hardwood floor as he headed for the Sword Hall and the group that would be practicing their zanjutsu within.
Better for them to get hurt in practice and learn from it than to get hurt for real and die from it.
"That is true…" conceded Anrak thoughtfully. "What's the old saying? In times of war, prepare for peace; in times of peace, prepare for war?"
Exactly. Maybe you're not that stupid after all, baka.
"Thanks," said the captain sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I'll discuss toughening the regimen with the lieutenant—"
I take it back; you really are that stupid.
Anrak sighed as his zanpaktou went off on a tirade about Neliel again and tried to tune her out.
"Some things just never change…"
The trail of crushed bones ended at the mouth of a cave at the mountain's peak, an ominous black maw leading inside the mountain itself. Kokutō turned to look out across the nightmarish landscape one final time before entering the forbidding darkness. This high above the fires, not even the screams of the tormented could reach his ears and he could not feel the unbearable heat of the pits.
He turned away from the view and took a single step into the cave, determined to find The Old One.
In truth, he'd half-expected to be attacked the moment he set foot inside the cave.
When nothing happened, Kokutō took another step into the darkness, and another, and another… He strained his eyes in the pitch-black environment, wary of a possible ambush, but there was nothing. He reached his hands out cautiously for the stone walls of the cave, feeling his way along the corridor that led deep into the mountain.
Kokutō didn't know how long he'd been walking when he finally saw a light in the distance. Having finally become accustomed to the dark, the glow burned his eyes and forced him to squint, putting a hand up to shield himself from the light as he continued to move towards it. He slowly shuffled out of the black corridor into a large chamber that was softly-lit by a handful of small magma pools. Off to the far right, a narrow but steady stream of lava fell from the roof of the cave into a hole in the floor, adding to the soft orange glow of the room. It was hot, but not as uncomfortably hot as the lower pits.
There was an alcove on the far left wall some seven feet wide and at least half as tall, loaded down with what appeared to be animal skins and scraps of clothing that had no doubt been taken from shredded souls.
It was a bed, and the very presence of a bed meant that someone did indeed call this cave home.
There were a couple of openings in the back of the chamber, black tunnels leading even further into the mountain of fire. There was no one in this chamber, but surely The Old One had to be in one of those corridors…
Kokutō took a step into the chamber as he contemplated taking one of the two tunnels or simply waiting her for The Old One to return.
The Old One made the choice for him.
A double-fisted blow landed between his shoulder blades and slammed Kokutō to the unforgiving stone ground with enough force to knock every last ounce of air from his lungs. He went to push himself to his feet, sucking in air to try and explain the reason for his visit, but The Old One yanked him off the ground by the back of his neck and tossed him across the chamber like a rag doll. Kokutō hit the far wall directly between the two doorways, his head bouncing off the stone.
His white hair felt wet now and Kokutō knew it to be blood from the impact of his skull against the wall. His vision was hazy now as blood began to seep into his eyes, but he could make out a tall, muscular man with dark, scraggly hair stomping towards him.
"Wait!" Kokutō called out as he struggled to stay on his feet. "I'm not here to fight! I just want to talk!"
"I've heard that one before," growled the man. 'You just want to be friends, right? You want to stay up here with me where it's safe, don't you? Not interested."
"No!" corrected Kokutō, ducking under a powerful right that would have crushed his head. As it was, the fist shattered the stone wall where it impacted, the very location Kokutō's head had been a moment earlier. "I'm here to make a deal!"
"Not interested," the man said again. "I don't care to be part of whatever hare-brained scheme you might have to rule Hell. I don't need anything you might have to offer."
"What about freedom?" asked Kokutō, backpedaling away from the stronger soul. "You can't tell me you don't want out of here as much as anyone else."
"Escape?" laughed The Old One humorlessly. "Impossible. I've been here long enough to see tens of thousands of failed escape attempts. I'm not going to waste my time."
"There's never been an attempt like this," Kokutō pressed. "It will succeed."
"Only with my help, is that it?" sneered the man as he reached for Kokutō again. "Heard that one before, too."
"It's going to succeed with or without you," the younger soul answered, jumping back from the other man's hand. "Our chances are much better with your help, but we don't need you."
"Then why are you here? If you don't need me, why bother me?"
"Like I said, it will be easier with your help," said Kokutō. "In just a few days, I'm leaving this pit with a small army and I'm here to invite you to join us."
"A small army?" questioned The Old One, finally halting his pursuit. "You can't escape with a small army, no matter how strong you think you are; the Kushanāda will crush you."
"The guardians will be too busy crushing the ill-fated rebellion of some hundred million souls to stop us from opening the gates." Kokutō answered with a malicious grin.
That got The Old One to pause, surprise etched on his face.
"The rebellion that everyone has been whispering about… You're setting that up as a distraction?" he asked Kokutō.
"It goes beyond that," Kokutō promised. "I'm going to take those who follow me to someplace far outside of the reach of the Kushanāda. We're going to be free at long last, and I want you to join us."
"You're insane…" said the other man finally. "What you're suggesting is impossible; it can't be done. Kushanāda can be killed, but it doesn't matter; they're reborn from the fiery pits immediately. They'll crush the rebellion quickly, long before your chosen few can force the gates open."
"Except that you're wrong," Kokutō replied confidently. "We know that on one night of the year, the barrier between dimensions weakens. On that one night, the gates will be far easier to open than normal. Easy enough that a small force of strong warriors can push them open and escape."
"All Hollow's Eve… Yes, I know all about it. It changes nothing; you'll return to the world of the living for a few short moments before the Kushanāda realize what you've done and then they will find you. You forget there is absolutely nowhere in the human world where they can't reach you."
"What if I said we weren't staying in the human world?" the togabito asked. "What if I said I had bigger plans?"
"You truly are mad…" The Old One reasoned. "You seek the impossible. You will die. All who follow you will die. The countless millions who will be part of the rebellion will be shredded into oblivion."
"You're wrong, and you're throwing away your one and only chance to escape Hell," Kokutō reminded him as he inched towards the exit. "I told you, there's never been a plan like this before; it will succeed."
"And I already told you, you're insane," growled the hermit.
"You're the first murderer, the original sinner; you will never be pardoned. If you don't join me, you'll never have another chance to leave this place," Kokutō called out as he headed into the blackened corridor leading to the surface.
"I don't need you to remind me of that," spat the man bitterly. Kokuto's disembodied voice came echoing down the passageway one final time before vanishing entirely.
"Just think about my offer, Cain."
