Chapter Seven
All in the Presentation
It was a beautiful day outside. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and the temperature was a lovely and mild warmth that invited one to come outside and enjoy nature.
In fact, if someone happened upon a certain clearing within the bounds of Squad Two, one with a circle of cherry blossom trees within, they could easily mistake the happenings there as a picnic for two; the stereotypical checkered blanket and wicker basket, accompanied by what appeared to be a young man and woman taking their ease in the afternoon light.
They would have been wrong, though.
His name was Anrak Ushii, and he was currently being tormented.
"Open wide…"
The brown-haired Captain of Division Thirteen breathed a sigh through his nose as he crossed his arms and pointedly ignored the seductress hovering her instruments before his face.
"Now, don't be stubborn…just take it…"
Anrak merely stared off into the distance.
The object began poking the corner of his mouth. "Heeeere comes the train…choo-choooooo…"
He moved his head, only to find the thing following his movement.
"Anrak Ushii, if you don't open your mouth this instant…!"
The Captain suppressed a smile, determined not to give her any motivation.
"Captain Ushii, I hereby order you to open your mouth and eat this calamari!"
Amused, the Soul Reaper glanced over at the beauty holding the squid in chopsticks toward him. "Under," he said, ducking an attempt to take advantage of his opened jaw, "whose authority?"
Neliel tu Odelschvanck-Ushii maneuvered the chopsticks again, brow furrowed in concentration. "My authority, mister!"
"Remind me again, who's the Captain here?"
Nel pouted at him. "And you remind me, which one of us is your wife?"
Oh, god, please make her shut up about that, already…
Anrak ignored the deceptively-sultry voice echoing in his head and grabbed Neliel's wrist, drawing her squealing into his lap. "Well, if you're my wife, then that must mean I'm your husband, right?"
The Arrancar smiled at his little game and fluttered her eyelashes. "I certainly hope so…or else I'd have to file for harassment, with all these liberties you're taking!"
I'll take some liberties, you irritating little twit…
"Liberties…like…this?" Anrak leaned in close and closed his eyes, anticipating the smooth, plush softness of her lips that he had become addicted to…
And instead found himself nearly choking on squid.
"HA!" Neliel crowed, green curls flying with the wind as she pumped a fist into the air. "I win!"
An chewed and swallowed before sucking the seafood down the wrong tube; then, in lieu of remarking on her declaration of victory, he wrapped his arms around her and claimed her smiling mouth with his own, leaning backwards to fall with her onto the blanket.
Oh, for Pete's sake…will you two lay off it already?! You're acting like a couple of horny teenagers…
Somewhere in a more analytical, less in-love part of his mind, Anrak took note of Kage Shitsukoi's irritation, and promptly filed it under the "Things To Be Ignored" category. There was always time to sort things out with her later; right now, he had his arms full of beautiful and loving woman who was in desperate need of his attentions…
Thank God, the cavalry's here…
This caught Anrak's attention a bit more than her last comment, for it seemed as though she was remarking upon—
"Am I interrupting something?"
And, as usual, the Universe and whatever gods old and dark commanded it decided to intrude on the Ushii family's private time. Reluctantly pulling away from Neliel's fervent demand of his time, Anrak looked up to see a very familiar face.
"Renji…hey. How's it going?"
Renji Abarai, Captain of Division Five, smirked down at the couple. "Oh, I'm fine. How about you?"
Anrak crand his head around, taking stock of his situation. "Well, let's see…the sun's shining, the breeze is blowing, and I've got some good food…that's about it. I'm fine."
"A-hem."
Glancing down at his bride's mock scowl, he looked back at his friend. "Oh, and some attractive company."
Nel propped herself up. "Just 'attractive'?"
Not even that, you soul-chomping bi—
"Okay, okay, fine." Anrak pulled her back down, tucking her masked head under his chin. "The most beautiful, patient, sweet, and kind woman in all the Realms."
A slender finger came up and booped him on the nose. "And don't you forget it, mister!"
Renji chuckled. "Alright, you two, tone it down. Seriously, I might get jealous."
Neliel giggled airily and slid off of Anrak, allowing him to sit up. "So, Renji, what brings you this way?" She fished around in a small cooler and tossed Anrak two sodas.
"Yeah, what brings you out here ruining what would be just another carefree day off?" An flipped one of the cans toward his fellow Captain, who snagged it out of mid-air. "Don't think I can't see that file folder in your shihakushou…"
Renji popped the tab one-handed and brandished the manila folder. "What, this? No, don't worry, it's for Neliel." He took a long, slurping gulp. "Took me a while to track all that down, let me tell you!"
Anrak frowned. "Renji, I don't mind her helping you out here or there, but this is our day off…our we're lucky if it even happens day off…seriously, if your workload is that bad—"
"Don't you start chewing my ass about that, too…" grumbled the red-haired Captain. "If you people gave Sui-Feng half as much grief as you did me…"
"Now, now, you two, calm down." Neliel shuffled over on her knees and held out her hand. "This isn't work, An; I asked Renji if he could go to the Archives and dig something up for me."
Renji Abarai held the folder out to her. "Yeah, and let me tell you, it wasn't easy to find."
As Nel opened the file, Anrak glanced between them, confused. "What did you need from the Archives?"
Renji sat down at the edge of the blanket, sipping at his cola. "Well, you remember that guy who's standing in for Sui-Feng as her Lieutenant?"
"How could I forget? It's not often that somebody just barges in like that…"
"And not get arrested." Renji motioned toward Nel, who was busily flipping through pages, a small frown on her face. "Well, the lady here got to have some face-to-face with him at the only Lieutenant's meeting he's attended so far."
"He looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place it, so I asked Renji to do some research for me," interrupted Neliel. She flipped through the last few pages. "He's more used to the Archives than I am—"
"And I told her that I had run into the name 'Tatter de Malion' back when I was looking for evidence of some missing Soul Reaper or Captain who saved our hash back here at home during the last battle of the Winter War." Renji gave his friend a wry grin. "The true identity of said Soul Reaper shall remain unnamed."
Anrak gave a small, theatrical bow. "And he thanks you."
Everyone knows, you moron…
"Like I was saying, I remembered seeing the name, but the synopsis on the file didn't match the description I was looking for, so I ignored it. Forgot about it until Nel asked me to do a search. Anyway, those are the results…for what good they are."
Neliel looked up from the papers, brow wrinkled in confusion. "Renji…almost everything in here is blacked out."
He nodded. "Exactly. I had to get Nanao Ise into the Archives just to help me look; if you look in the normal rosters, there are no results. I expected that, what with him being a Lost Agent and Black Ops and all, but what I didn't expect was exactly how classified his records are. We Captains," and he motioned between himself and Anrak, "can access all but the most heavily-protected records. Lieutenants can as well, to an extent, and so on down the line. But this guy?
"Almost every file was guarded by at least three Kido spells that required two proofs that I was actually a Captain to even get it off the shelf, or else it summoned the nearest Ninth Division platoon to try and apprehend us for questioning." Renji shifted awkwardly. "That got a little hairy for a while, but I managed to sort it out with them…eventually…
"We retrieved all the files we could find, and then we found out that we couldn't even open most of them; we'd need Onmitsukidō clearance, and I wasn't about to bother with even trying to talk Sui-Feng into giving it. The only one we could get into," and he pointed to Nel's hands and their contents, "was that one."
Neliel sighed, a moue of dissatisfaction on her face. "That's disappointing…" She opened the file again. "It's got a picture, some basic information like height, weight, blood type, and Zanpakutō name…but that's it." Looking to her friend, she passed the file back to him. "There's nothing else? Anything?"
Anrak looked at her. "Nel…why is this so important? What do you need to know for?"
"I…don't know…" the woman confessed. "It just…I…" She sighed, eyes becoming faraway. "I just feel like it's important…I know some things from my time in Hueco Mundo are a bit…fuzzy…but I don't remember him from there…but I do remember him...he feels important, somehow…"
Did you try to eat him?
Renji sighed, leaning back on one hand as he took another sip. "Well, I'm sorry that the Archives didn't work out, Nel…but I did do some asking around with some of the older Soul Reapers, you know, the higher seats that've been around for a while."
Anrak, interested despite himself, shifted closer to his wife, draping an arm over her. "Alright…and what'd they say?"
"Most of those guys are functioning drunks, good old-fashioned alcoholics; buy them a drink, and they'll tell you whatever you want to know. When I got them lubed up enough, they started spilling all sorts of stories about this guy. Now, I normally don't trust a man when he's soused, but I wanted to explore whatever nook and cranny I could find before coming back."
Nel brightened up a bit. "Well? What'd you hear?"
Renji leaned forward. "Now, like I said, a drunk usually isn't all that reliable, but when they all agree on something, it's usually at least mostly true, and I managed to piece most of the parts that made sense together. The first thing they said was that he was old…like, Shunsui Kyoraku-level old. He pops in every twenty years or so to submit a report, stays a few days, maybe a few weeks, and then leaves.
"They said that he fought in the First Quincy War after some sort of massacre they had in an old fortress outside of the Rukongai, off to the north. They killed everybody there, women and children too, down to the last man, except for him. After the first War was done, he became a Quincy hunter, and that's what he's been doing ever since. Almost everything we know about fighting Quincies, he found out.
"He's strong, he's smart, and he's good. The Captain-Commander actually tried to get him to be Captain of the Ninth Division some two-hundred years ago. Three days later, the Second Quincy War was declared, and he quit right then, just walked out of the Captain's Meeting and left the haori on the ground. I asked them about that, and they said that he didn't want to be tied to a Captain's desk, wanted to fight by his own rules.
"If you look through Human Realm history for the last millennium, you see traces of him; unsolved disappearances, random assassinations, acts of sabotage, mysterious outbreaks of violence…anywhere there's been a hint of Quincy activity, he's been there, hunting them down." He shook his head. "You hear how everybody likes to play up the Eleventh and the Onmitsukidō like they're killers? Well, this guy's the real deal. And if half of the stories those old farts were telling me are true, then he isn't somebody to mess with."
Nel nodded. "That answers some questions…but not why I feel like I know him…"
Anrak squeezed her a bit. "Don't worry…we'll figure it out." He looked up, taking note of the sun. "It's about time to pack things up; if we're going to make our dinner reservations in Karakura, we'd better get moving."
"At least you remembered to make reservations for this one," Nel muttered, giving him a playful nudge as she stood. "We'll have to make sure Don Kanonji's in town, just in case…"
Oh, will you just let that go already?! It wasn't that funny!
As he watched Nel jog off to chase down some napkins that had blown astray (and ignored Kagi), Anrak leaned in close to Renji. "Do you think," he asked, voice low, "that he was involved in that one war you and Enjeru were telling me about? You remember, with that…"
"You mean the Kurotsuchi thing?" Renji shrugged. "More than likely…from what I hear, there were a whole lot of Quincies involved…"
Anrak Ushii nodded, a grim look on his face. He watched his beautiful, kind wife, the gentlest creature he had ever met, Arrancar or no, bend over and gather the loose trash into her hands. She straightened, and seeing him watching her, waved, smiling brightly at him.
Anrak smiled and waved back.
"That's what I was afraid of…" he murmured. "That's what I was afraid of…"
=Z7=
Sui-Feng found herself mildly awed at fate and its circular ways. Everything, she decided, ran in a cycle, from birth to climax to death and then rebirth. Everything followed this format, from the smallest bacteria to the largest behemoth.
And so, apparently, did events.
"This place again…"
Sui-Feng looked out from the bamboo thicket at the broken-down old hut in the clearing, the same bamboo thicket and broken-down old hut in which she had watched Kisuke Urahara single-handedly subdue a large group of malcontents some one-hundred-odd years ago.
Black eyes observant, she snorted derisively.
Time had not been kind to the little building, already half-demolished by the completely undisciplined surge of spiritual pressure Urahara had used to beat the deserters into submission.
However, this was still an apparent meeting-place for those who sought to break their oath to the Court Guard Squads, even with the roof caving in and the large hole in the wall, still a breeding ground for treacherous maggots with a mind for desertion.
She made a mental note to destroy it as soon as convenience allowed, and looked to the figure lying prone nearby.
Richard Martinez was Second Divisions Tenth Seat, and as such was the leader of her main recon squad; a Westerner who had somehow ended up dying in an accident in Japan, he had proven himself quite capable of meeting the job requirements, and she had snatched him from Ninth Division at the first opportunity. His released Zanpakuto, which took the form of a very large firearm called a "rifle", was nestled in the crook of his right shoulder, and he was bending his neck to look through the little device attached to its barrel at the ramshackle cabin in the clearing some 200 yards away.
When she had questioned him about the device, he had called it a scope, and it was used to target far-away objects so he could shoot them, and would the Captain please move herself behind the tree a bit more, she was casting a shadow over his line of sight.
Sui-Feng allowed a small twitch of her mouth, the closest she ever came to a smile on a mission. Martinez, or "Gunny" as he liked to be called, was one of her more interesting prospects, a consummate professional who did what he was told without being told twice and wasn't afraid to tell anyone (even if he was intensely respectful about it) when they were being an interference, something he said was left over from his days in the USMC.
Whatever that was. Sui-Feng didn't much care, as long as her underlings did their jobs, and Gunny did his and did it well.
Returning her focus to the space behind her, she allowed her eyes to rest on the lone figure some feet away, and bit back a scowl.
Lieutenant Tatter de Malion (Gods, that was a ridiculous name…) stood leaning against the trunk of one of the thicker bamboo shoots in the forest surrounding the cabin, arms crossed beneath his drawn tentoken and eyes lazily staring a hole into the undergrowth, not moving save for the odd blink.
'I guess he thinks he's too good to stand with his Captain.'
The uncharitable thought gave her a small sense of dark satisfaction, and she opened her mouth to call her subordinate on his divisive behavior…
"…Captain…"
Immediately, she sank to a knee beside Martinez. The scout did not look up at her, opting to continue his observations. "What do you see, Tenth?" she hissed, looking out at the cabin.
Gunny allowed Calavera, his Zanpakuto, to pivot slightly as he panned the building, the long barrel resting on a small stand near the end of the barrel. "We got 'em alright, Captain," he murmured, his voice accented with a slow drawl. "I counted twelve, and Callie here says there's another three to the rear wall."
Sui-Feng opened her mouth when the swish of cloth caught her ears, and she looked up to see Tatter de Malion on the other side of Martinez.
"Can you see where they are in the house?" The hoarse voice of the Butcher was barely more than a whisper as Martinez shook his head.
"Negative, sir. I got six from the window here. Recon says no other points of observation or entry but the main door and the windows."
"I could've told you that," Sui-Feng grumbled. "Second Division cased this site over a century ago, when Lady Yoruichi was Captain."
Crimson eyes met hers over the head of the sniper. "Things change, Captain."
She grit her teeth, her anger stemming from the fact that he was right and there wasn't much she could say to him in response.
"Captain, I've got movement."
Immediately, she tore her gaze back to the cabin. Even at the distance they were, she could see two forms in Soul Reaper black step out and sit down on the small series of steps leading into the main room of the house. "What are they doing, Tenth?"
"Gimme a sec…gotta focus…" Martinez panned Calavera again, this time resting her sights on the duo outside. "Uh…smoking, Captain."
Sui-Feng scoffed under her breath. These oath-breakers, she had been told, were from Seventh Division and under the auspices of Sajin Komamura, whose old Lieutenant, Tetsuzaemon Iba, had been obsessed with appearances, going so far as to convince the dog-headed Captain to allow his subordinates to smoke on duty.
'Disgusting habit.' It made the body dependent upon nicotine, stained the teeth and breath, and robbed the lungs of air. Such nonsense shouldn't be allowed, particularly when the strength of the individual Soul Reaper depended on the health of the body.
But, she surmised, that was what happened when you let those with weak wills become Captains and Lieutenants.
Of course, she didn't even allow any recreational drugs, not even tobacco or alcohol, within her Division boundaries.
If her men wanted to make asses of themselves, they were not going to do it and shame her Division, no sir. That's why they had their days off, and they'd better show up for duty the next day, hangover be damned.
Which reminded her, she needed to go ahead and remind them that there was going to be no Hallowe'en party this year; just because the Old Man was easing up on such frivolity didn't mean she—
"Not seeing any other movement, Captain," Martinez said softly. "Just two guys smoking out there. Movement in the windows, but nothing that says they're making a run for it."
Sui-Feng nodded. "Good. Stay here and maintain observation." She rose slightly and, turning around, looked into the seemingly-empty shadows, and made an apparently meaningless series of flutterings with the fingers of her left hand.
Immediately, the group of black-clad operatives melted from the darkness and gathered around her, crouching low.
A small upward twitch of her lips betrayed the feeling of satisfaction within her. Sui-Feng had many, many troops at her disposal, many warm bodies to throw at her enemies, at the enemies of the peace and order of the Soul Society. However…
However, only the elite members of her Punishment Force were known to her as "her boys".
These, the battle-hardened, silent, experienced executioners of the Onmitsukido, a mixture of blood relations from her own clan, black sheep from numerous families both common and noble, and the most deadly, cold-hearted bastards that could be dredged up from the seedy underbelly of the Rukon, were her professional pride and joy. Each had been taken in, broken, melted down, and recast into the most efficient and feared force within the Gotei Thirteen. Each was a steel-hard near-sociopath with no regard for life save what regard she ordered them to have. Each would slit the throat of their own mother if she was plotting against the Seireitei.
Sui-Feng would order it done, and they would do it without hesitation.
And both she and they knew it.
They all looked to her, masks completely hiding their faces save for a narrow opening just big enough for their eyes to be seen. Green, blue, brown, black, all spectrums stared at her from fifteen pairs.
Sui-Feng knew each and every one of them, even without seeing their features. She knew each one's fears, strengths, weaknesses, habits…and she was proud of each of them.
"Gather 'round." Clearing some dead bamboo stalks from the ground, the Captain took one and began drawing in the dirt. "This," and an "X" was drawn, "is the target. We have fifteen deserters within, none of them greater than Tenth Seat power levels. No," she said before the question was asked, "Komamura's Seated officers did not desert."
She had long held disdain for the man…dog…thing's penchant for awarding Seats based on more intangible traits, like honor and mercy, over power and ability (even going so far as to encourage nepotism with Iba's successor, Enjeru Masamune). However, it seemed that it may have served him well in this case, as those who were Seated seemed to have an unswerving loyalty to him.
"Just fifteen?"
She looked up at her Lieutenant, who had stolen up on her and was eying the diagram on the ground. "Aren't fifteen enough?" she hissed, glaring at him darkly. It had taken her all of the half-hour she had allotted to go to her little home and clean up, and her braids still weren't dry from her impromptu dunking in the hot spring. Granted, she had to give him his due; this was an assignment that she certainly wished to oversee personally, and he had shown remarkable initiative, given his apathetic attitude
Even so, he was still on her personal list of "People Whose Existence I Want To Destroy Any Trace Of" list, and he was slowly but surely working his way to the top. His lateness, even though they had all started from the 2nd Division grounds simultaneously, only quickened his rise.
He gave a noncommittal shrug, and Sui-Feng suppressed a snarl, choosing instead to redirect her attention back to the sketch.
"We are to maintain observation for the next ten minutes. Just because these lowlifes are unseated deserters doesn't mean we can afford to take them lightly. Either they are confident enough in their strength to aid in their escape, they think that their absence has gone unnoticed, or they're stupid enough to think that they won't be pursued." She paused to smirk. "Of course, no matter what they think, they're probably stupid anyway."
Her men made no sound, but the narrowing of their eyes made their amusement clear.
"And then what?"
Sui-Feng fought the urge to lash out at the man, remembering Retsu's little talking-to. "What do you mean, De Malion?"
The Butcher had knelt beside her, eyes on the diagram. "We observe, and then what? Rush, breach, stun them with light-and-noise Kido, and execute them?"
The Captain allowed herself to feel a moment of appreciation for her Lieutenant's lack of squeamishness for summary execution, even as she shook her head. "No. The Captain-Commander has a standing order regarding deserters. We capture them, take them in for interrogation, decide punishment afterward."
He stared at her. "…you have got to be kidding. Desertion means execution."
"Seventy-five years ago, the Central Forty Six ruled that such harsh punishment was not necessary in order to maintain loyalty, and the Captain-Commander agreed," the Captain said with a smirk, finally having corrected the man. "Now we apprehend them and, depending on the circumstances, publicly discipline them, usually with a good caning on the feet or flogging, and then set them to drudge work for a few months; if the situation calls for it, public execution. If they resist too much, of course…" She shrugged.
The crimson eyes bore holes in her, and then Tatter de Malion shook his head, face a mask of disdain. "Oh," he said sarcastically, "I see. How nice we've gotten." He stepped back, muttering. "Used to be we just brought the heads back. No wonder Aizen was able to play all of you for fools…"
Sui-Feng narrowed her eyes, watching him go to stand next to Martinez, and then returned to the group. Resolving to deal with her wayward Lieutenant later, she reached out to elaborate the details on her plan.
"Min, Hao, you two will…
Taking a knee next to Martinez, de Malion squinted across the clearing. "Any changes, Gunny?"
"Negative, sir." The dark-haired head shook itself and returned to the scope. "Those two idjits are just pulling cig after cig, and no real movement inside the house. Guess they think they can lay low for the night."
Tatter grunted. "More than likely." He and the sniper sat there for a moment in silence, and then Gunny turned his head.
"Lieutenant? Permission to speak freely?"
Tatter nodded his assent.
"Why are you giving the Captain such a hard time?"
De Malion eyed his subordinate impassively. "Not doing it on purpose. Just a clash of wills. She's a bit too uptight about some things that I'm fairly loose on, and I've picked up some…habits…over the years that she finds irritating. Nothing personal."
"Ah, you mean like the fly thing?"
"Heard about that, huh?"
"Kinda hard not to. It was all that shift of the guard could talk about, that and you smelling…uh…Midori's…" A hand waved in the air. "Lady Time…"
"Yeah."
"Well…just so you know, she's a good Captain. She's got a massive case of the ass with everything that breathes, but she's good, and she puts up with a lot. Y'catch my meaning?"
Tatter de Malion nodded. Richard Martinez was telling him that the men were watching their Lieutenant and Captain rub each other wrong, and didn't like what they were seeing. In other words…
'Lay off the boss, new guy.'
"Got it."
Martinez nodded, and bent back down to Calavera's scope. "Okay…sorry if I was interfering or anything…just don't want you to end up like Yumichika."
"…who?"
"The guy before you. He subbed for a bit a few months before you got here. It didn't end well."
"Oh."
A few more minutes of silence passed, and Tatter looked up at the reddening sky and then over his shoulder impatiently. "How long is she planning to take?"
"Captain likes to make sure everyone knows the plan inside and out. Less mistakes that way."
"I see." De Malion sighed. "Well, then." He got up.
Gunny looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Uh…Lieutenant…"
"Martinez, I don't know about you, but I want to sleep in my own bed tonight."
"…what are you going to do, sir?"
De Malion glanced back at the group. Sui-Feng was still expounding her plan to the rest of the squad, who were watching her with the rapt attention of the faithful to a sermon.
He looked down at Martinez. "Watch this."
And in a blur of Shunpo, he disappeared.
Immediately, Martinez pressed his eye to the scope, panning frantically to find his Lieutenant. A sudden presence landed beside him, and a voice strained with fury rasped in his ear.
"Where," Sui-Feng strangled the words, "the hell did he go?!"
"Hang on, I got him…" Gunny froze. "Oh, fuck…"
"WHAT DID HE DO?!"
Gunny looked up at her, face pale. "He just took out the sentries."
The Captain wasted no time, surging to her feet, and waving an arm in the air, even as she started sprinting toward the house, stealth be damned. "MOVE OUT, NOW!"
Her legs pumping furiously, Sui-Feng resisted the urge to enter Flash Step herself, even as the dark shapes behind her bounded into action. Angry as she was, she realized that there might be a silver lining to this debacle.
It was improbable, but maybe Tatter de Malion would get slaughtered by the deserters. And in the likely event he survived…well, that left room for her to murder him, now didn't it?
=Z7=
I probably had a good twenty-five seconds to get this over with before she caught up.
As Tatter de Malion exited Shunpo, the deserters sitting on the front stoop froze.
The two idiots in front of me didn't know what hit them.
Of course, that's kind of what I was going for. In every situation I've been in over the last ten centuries, in almost every raid I've pulled, every attack I've led, every battle I've fought in, I always strike first. You take the initiative, you strike fast and hard, you win.
Striding forward, the Lieutenant took a place well within their reach, rendering their efforts to draw steel clumsy. He grabbed their robe fronts in each hand and brought their heads together with a sickening crack. As they slumped, senseless, he threw them aside, and stalked up the stairs.
Twenty-two seconds.
I don't prepare myself for what might happen if I fail in my initial strike. I simply don't allow for failure. Envision yourself succeeding, and you succeed.
Which isn't to say I haven't failed. I have, and each time, someone innocent died. Someone I could've saved, someone with friends, family. A brother, a sister, a mother, a father, a daughter, a son.
Those I protected, those I've failed, were all people.
So I don't do my best to win. I just do my best not to fail.
Inside the threshold, he paused, freezing in place. The place reeked of sake and mildew, and dirty tatami mats lay broken on the floor.
Tatter stared around him coolly.
Thirteen faces stared dumbly back.
The Butcher nodded at them. "Good evening, gentlemen."
Seventeen seconds. Thirteen men. Odds were not looking good.
Part of a good first strike is presentation. Flair, panache, pizazz, razzle-dazzle, call it what you will, but it is very important, in or out of battle.
It served the kings and emperors of old well. Alexander, Napoleon, Xerxes, Temujin…all knew the importance of presentation, winning entire cities without blood being shed.
Project yourself as all-powerful, all-knowing, everywhere at once, and utterly at-ease in the current circumstance.. Intimidation is the name of the game. Even if you are none of these things, the impression will make your enemy think you are.
And then the battle is, at the very least, half-won.
Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, the man immediately to his left sprang up, Zanpakuto in hand. A wild overhead swing slashed the air, the edge of the blade seeking Tatter's head.
In an almost lazy motion, he threw back his cloak and raised his left fist in a block, the man's wrist landing across his arm.
It broke with the snapping of dry twigs.
Fourteen seconds. Twelve to go. Odds remained roughly the same.
Another all-important thing is knowing what to do when first impression, by its very nature a fleeting thing, fails.
That's where my own natural abilities kick in.
I've been in the midst of countless battles and wars throughout the years, and when one does that, one learns how to hone their reflexes to an almost razor-sharp accuracy.
These fools moved in slow motion to me, and I moved like a striking snake.
The hoarse bellowing of their fellow's pain snapped the rest from their stupor, and they leapt to their feet, steel singing as twelve Zanpakuto were drawn from their scabbards.
They descended en masse, blades raised high.
But they only saw an empty tentoken falling to the ground, for Tatter de Malion was no longer on the threshold. He was suddenly directly in front of them, body low to the ground as he drove forward, fists sinking into the bellies of two more unfortunates.
Eleven seconds. Ten to go. Odds were looking worse.
Strike first. Envision victory. Intimidation. Natural Ability. And then Variety.
The greatest weakness of the average Soul Reaper is the lack of variety in their lives. They go to the same Division every day, they eat the same food, they dress the same way.
And they all learn and practice the same Hakuda, Ho-Ho, Kido, and Zanjutsu.
Why? For the very simple fact that they are not expected to fight against an intelligent opponent who might know a trick or two they don't. Most Basic Hollows are stupid, and so the average Soul Reaper just needs to be slightly more intelligent…or slightly less stupid.
Even as the two gagging men fell back, Tatter de Malion allowed his own momentum to carry him forward into, of all things, a handstand.
The deserters who had managed to stop had a split second to wonder at this oddity, and then the feet suspended in the air erupted into a whirlwind of motion, following the revolutions of the braced hands.
Another four dropped, their minds sinking into the black as booted heels found their chins.
Eight seconds. Seven down, six to go. Things were not looking good.
My case in point made here. Capoeira, a very flashy martial art that is very difficult to use, originally used as dancing moves by slaves in the Caribs. The technique I employed was slow and inefficient, but because they didn't know what I was doing, they were taken out with barely any effort from me.
The Lieutenant sprang from his hands, spinning around in the air to land in a crouch, facing his opponents.
The six Shinigami looked around at their fellows, and at each other.
Tatter de Malion did not give them the chance to strategize. In another flash of Shunpo, he was suddenly upon them; two were down with elbows to the temples before they could blink.
Five seconds. Last six. It was over.
Finally, one must learn to press the advantage. Never give an opponent room to breathe, to recover, to figure out how to strike back. Only when they beg for mercy, only when they stop breathing, do you stop.
And that is how you wage war for a thousand years.
The first fell to a knee in the crotch, followed closely by another oathbreaker as Tatter de Malion slammed a palm into his chest. He flew backward into the wall
And then through it, helped along by an ally who came within reach of the Lieutenant's iron-hard grasp.
Spinning around, de Malion wrapped his hand about the wrist of the large, sweaty man who had thought he had an opening while the grim warrior was distracted.
He was used as a flail to flatten the second-to-last of the traitors.
The final man proved extraordinarily easy to beat. His face ran into the sole of Tatter's quickly-raised boot as he lunged forward in an attempt to run de Malion through with his blade.
The scarred face turned, looking at the thirteen men on the floor, a combination of the unconscious, winded, and wounded.
None left to fight, and the Captain hadn't arrived yet.
RattleclatterRATTLERATTLECLACK
"Thank you. I thought I did well, myse—"
"FREEZE, YOU BASTARDS!" Sui-Feng's strident voice rang through the door as she jumped over the threshold. "SECOND SQUAD, NOBODY—"
She looked around, face frozen in shock. "What the…"
And then she saw the Butcher standing in the wreckage.
He nodded to her. "Captain. You're just in time for the cleanup."
Sui-Feng's face turned beet red.
=Z7=
It was seven p.m., and Tatsuki Arisawa was pissed.
She did not usually use this word to describe her blacker moods, what with it being very unladylike and all (or so her aunt constantly had to remind her about, because it was very important for the second-strongest woman in Japan to be ladylike for some godforsaken reason), instead opting to use words such as "vexed", or "annoyed".
However, here in her dojo, she was King (not Queen—Queens were prissy and spoiled, not to mention the unfortunate correlation the name had between her own functionalist appearance and those guys who insisted on denying the existence of their own testicles in order to play with mommy's makeup), and she was goddamned-shitfucking-cocksucking-ballbusting pissed off.
Now, since that is out if the way, one may go ahead and ask the reason why she was so irritated.
Simple; that green-eyed jackass, Ulquiorra Cifer, was making her already-splitting migraines even worse, and she couldn't even punch him hard enough to really hurt him, thanks to his Gigai being about three or four times as powerful as she was.
So she took her infuriatingly impotent rage out on the practice dummy, here in the after-hours of the practice hall.
As she sent another one of her patented Dragon Knees into the rapidly-splintering thing, Tatsuki focused on the good, reassuring stinging in her limbs, the ache of her knuckles and joints as she sent them crashing into wood over and over again.
It was clean pain, pure pain, friendly and reassuring pain, pain she welcomed as pain that she was causing herself in order to become better, safe in that she knew just where to stop before truly injuring her body and being forced to take it easy for a while.
'Take it easy for a while...' At this thought, Tatsuki Arisawa gritted her teeth, planted her feet, and sent a thunderous Dragon Palm (trademark pending) into the center of the dummy.
It cracked (the dummy, not her hand), and she hopped backwards a step, quickly balancing herself as she whipped a leg around and caught the inside of her foot on the thing in a Dragon Crescent (royalties monthly).
The poor dummy splintered off its base and fell to the floor.
Tatsuki clapped her hands to her sides and brought her heels together, bowing deeply at the waist to the honored and defeated enemy. Sweat dripped in her eyes as she straightened, and she paused to wipe it away—
"Agh...god damn it..."
—only to flinch as her migraine lovingly raked its claws against her brain, gently and tenderly reminding her that it despised her existence in the most fundamental way possible and that it wanted her to suffer for it.
The black-haired girl pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, grateful for the fact that no one, let alone that pale bastard, was here to see her in her moment of weakness.
That, of course, was why she was so mad in the first place; Tatsuki had been visiting Orihime and talking about her odd distress when he had shown up, in that infuriatingly quiet way he had, and horned in on the conversation, actually suggesting to her that she take things easy for a while.
Growling a little to herself, she stalked over to the foot of the stairs. Like she needed to take it easy! Her best friends were running around with swords and everything, not to mention the fact that apparently Orihime was naive enough to let the same...thing...that kidnapped her in the first place actually take up residence in her own house, Karakura had almost been spiritually vaporized, and she was supposed to take it easy?
She made it to her chambers, and, entering her bathroom, she stripped off her gi and leaned against the wall, resting the back of her head against the cool tile.
It helped a bit. Not much, but a bit.
It wasn't like that weirdo even cared, really. She knew Ulquiorra Cifer (sorta), and the most likely reason he had even said anything was because Orihime had fretted to him about it.
That or he knew 'Hime well enough to try and head said fretting off at the metaphorical pass, but the point stood.
Another hiss of pain as her headache rammed a rusty nail file through her brain. Irritably, Tatsuki shucked the rest of her clothing and tossed it onto the pile, stepped over it, and got into the shower.
Turning the tap to just above the "Hot Enough To Scald My Balls Off If I Had Any" line (she had marked it as such in permanent ink), she grabbed a bar of soap and rag and furiously scrubbed the sweat and grime away from her body.
As the steam rose and seemed to clear away some of the pain her head was experiencing, Tatsuki Arisawa allowed herself the first smile she'd had all day, let good and pure thoughts roam her mind.
She really didn't have much of a reason to complain, in reality; she was twenty years old, in her prime and as physically fit as she could be (while still looking somewhat feminine, that is), had her own, well-paying job as a security guard at Karakura General, spent most of her time as assistant master of her childhood dojo (with the added perk of an apartment above the studio, rent-free as long as she kept the dojo in good standing), with a nice little nest-egg of many, many tournaments' worth of prize money in case she decided to go to college or whatever (unlikely—the economy was stable and she enjoyed what she did, not to mention a possibility of succeeding her current master).
Yep, she surmised as she rinsed her hair of shampoo. Life was good. Suddenly, she flinched, rubbing a slippery finger on her temple.
'Except for these damned migraines…'
Allowing herself another few minutes beneath the scalding-hot water and steam, she reached a wet arm out and snagged a towel from the rack. Rubbing herself vigorously, she snatched her bathrobe from the hook on the door and exited the bathroom.
Her home was a rather plain little place, barring the trophy shelves and elaborate display for her old belts. It was a studio apartment, the bedroom and kitchen and den all in one open space. The television sat on a small table, the bed was a combination sofa/futon, and her desk (why she still had that old thing, she'd never know) sat in the corner, next to her dresser.
Tatsuki took a container full of some teriyaki beef and fried rice from the night before out of the fridge, zapped it in the nuker, and flopped down with it on her futon, simultaneously breaking her chopsticks and stabbing the power button on the remote with them. The set activated, and a small feeling of satisfaction welled up in her (it had taken her three days to master that little bit of dexterity) as the bleached-out glow of mindless primetime programming bathed her in its light.
Tatsuki sighed as she reclined and took her ease, mistress of all she surveyed. Rapidly tapping the clicker with a spare stick, the volume rose accordingly, and the logo of the local news station spun across the screen.
"—porting live from Shibuya Conference Hall, Michiko Taramaki."
Tatsuki paused a moment, jaw in mid-chew as she gave her full attention to the program. If they were coming from Shibuya…
"Thank you, Tohru. I am currently standing outside of the Conference Center, where, as the viewers may remember, the body of world-renowned founder and CEO of the Lux Corporation, Gerard Henne, was found dead some six months ago. The death was quickly ruled a homicide, simply due to the gruesome state of the corpse, necessitating a closed-casket funeral as well as an immediate and thorough investigation of the crime. Shibuya police, as well as several government officials…"
Tatsuki rolled her eyes. Yeah, she remembered this crap alright; some foreign business jackass had come to the area for a dinner or something and had wound up fucked over the evening before. It had pissed her off no end, at first; she had been convinced one of Orihime's new friends had snapped or something, like that blue-haired one with all the bachelor cats (he was definitely screwloose). Luckily for them, Orihime had managed to convince Tatsuki of their innocence, particularly when it had turned out Grimbob, or whatever his name was, had been spending some time in the local lock-up anyway.
Something about public urination on a rosebush…
Her attention went back to the news.
"—ficially calling off the investigation, due to a lack of leads, and no true explanation for any of the pieces of evidence, what few were found, including the spots on the floor and walls where the tile and granite had apparently melted, and the fact that Mr. Henne's arms were completely separated from the body. Authorities do say that the instrument used was almost certainly a long, edged weapon, possibly even a sword—"
'Now that,' Tatsuki Arisawa thought as she swallowed, 'seems unlikely.' The only things that she could think of that could kill a human and not leave much evidence behind was a Hollow, and she had seen one or two (now that she could see them, that is) whose claws certainly could be used for swords.
The only other possibility was a Shinigami, and that was patently ridiculous.
Growing bored of the news, she began flipping through the channels again; Doraemon was for kids, Dragonball Z was repetitive, Sword Art Online got stupid after the first season, and no way in hell was she watching Kamen Rider.
Maybe there was an old Godzilla movie on; they were always good for a boring evening…
And then her forgotten headache returned with full force, causing her to hiss in pain as her hands flew to her head—
Hurtshurtshurtscan'tbreathecan'tbreathehelpmehelpme
—and suddenly she found herself leaning out of her window, gasping in the rapidly-cooling evening air, a warm mess of rice coating her robe front.
Shaking, she blinked rapidly, surprised at the burning of tears in her eyes as she dragged in breath after breath. What the hell was that about?
Gulping, Tatsuki braced herself against the sill, willing her jangling nerves to be still. She hadn't had a panic attack like that since she had been very small; it had been part of the reason she had begun karate, in the hopes that the focus it gave would help her fight them. It had worked, too, for some sixteen or so years now…
Gaining mastery of herself once more, she backed away from the open window, grimacing as she glanced down at her front. A nice, lumpy, greasy mess of fast-food takeout now soaked into her robe.
The headache, not nearly as bad now, pulsed in her head like a sore tooth being probed with a straw.
Tatsuki growled as she stalked over to the kitchenette to grab some cleaning supplies. If it wasn't one thing lately, it was another; first Ulquiorra being a pain in her ass, and now this whole unceasing migraine for the last three weeks…
Taking the paper towel roll in hand, her cell phone caught her eye, and Tatsuki suddenly felt very small and alone, for some odd reason.
She looked from the mess on her futon and front, to the paper towels, and back to her phone…and she put the napkins down and picked up her phone, pressing the button that was Orihime's speed-dial.
Ring-ring-ring-ri"Hey, Tatsuki!"
At her best friend's bubbly voice, Tatsuki Arisawa couldn't help but crack a grin. "Hey, Orihime. Doing ok?"
"You know I am! Is everything all right? You didn't leave anything here, did you?"
"No…but, um…hey, can I ask a favor?"
"Sure!"
"Can I crash at your place tonight? I know it's a bit short notice—"
"Oh, hush, Tatsuki! You're always welcome here! I was about to start making dinner, too, so it's a good thing you called! Want me to save you a plate? It's Nine Bean Natto Ni~ght!"
Tatsuki's grin turned a bit brittle. "Uh…actually, I just ate…"
"Oh, you did? Oh, well, more for me and Ulqui! I'll have him set up a spare bedroll for you, mmkay?"
"Yeah, 'Hime, thanks. See you in an hour or so?"
A brief pause. "Tatsuki? What's wrong?"
"…you remember those panic attacks I had when I was a kid, right?"
"…yeah…but you haven't had one in years, have you?"
"Well…I just did…and it was just like the ones from back then."
"…Oh."
"Yeah…"
"…Tatsuki? Take the bus, okay? I want you here as soon as possible."
She rolled her eyes and nodded, though her friend couldn't see her. "Yes, mom. I'll get home as soon as I can, mom."
"I'm serious, Tatsuki…I want to make sure you're okay."
"…I know, Orihime. I'm sorry for making fun of you."
"Oh, that's okay! Besides, you know the best part of you coming here?"
"…Nine Bean Natto Night?"
"Nope! You can tell Ulqui about your panic attacks and he can give you advice!"
The headache pulsed once again. "Oh, yeah, that's…that's great…"
"Yep! See you when you get here!"
And with a click, the sweetest little airhead in the world hung up.
Tatsuki stared at her phone for a moment, dreading what she was about to get into, and then went to go change and pack.