STORY STATUS: 15,817 words, 33 pages, 1 arc.
A/N: Whoo... I may have been somewhat overambitious (read: insanely overoptimistic) when I decided to finish this. But it WILL be finished. I've finished plotting out the entire story (14 story arcs, including Avant L'Heureusement and Before The Pendulum). So... this might take a while, but it will be done.
On a side note, before anyone asks, a deva is, roughly speaking, an angel, except minus the white robes, haloes, harps and ethereal singing. Also, the only deva with white wings are albinos. They were originally created to protect the Spirit King. However, some of them became corrupted over time, becoming fallen deva (relatively intelligent and still mainly human in appearance) or demons (closer to hollows, with little intelligence and inhuman in appearance, although powerful). Those that became corrupt were imprisoned in Hell in the hope that it might be possible to redeem them some day. However, over time the purpose of Hell and the deva changed to deal with human souls that have sinned greatly as well as the fallen.
Probably nobody was even going to ask, but still... just in case.
Miska glared at the white tower as if it had mortally offended her.
"Damn shinigami," she muttered, giving it a dark look. "Damn arrancar. Damn whatever-it-is-they-are-these-days."
"Oba-san, where are we going?"
She looked down at Ari. He wasn't really related to her, but then most people in Rukongai weren't, even before the Winter War began. You looked out for one another, especially then, with hollow and aberrations and demons and Kami-knew-what invading Old Seireitei. It was a nightmare, all over again.
Or at least it had been up until the Crimson Guard came along, building itself upon the ruins of the Gotei 13. Nobody was entirely sure about the identity of each one of its members, except that they kept the peace, in a manner of speaking.
Even so, she still didn't trust them. Oh, some of them were fine, like that nice young man who'd been the youngest captain back in the day, or – her heart gave a little flutter at the thought – Kyoraku Shunsui, but they were shinigami. It was entirely different when the matter was the same people who'd been working with Aizen, and when those people were part-hollow or whatever it was they were.
"Back inside," she muttered, glancing up at the sunset. "It isn't safe after sundown, we're running late as it is." Miska glanced back down the street. It was mainly empty, with the sole exception of a white-clad figure running –
Running into her, causing her to spill her purchases and fall over.
"I'm sorry! Are you hurt? I was in a rush and – "
"You hurt Oba-san!" yelled Ari as he reached to help her up.
"Sorry!" The mysterious person reached for the shopping, gathering it up hastily in his arms to hand to the now-standing Miska. She noticed quite quickly that said person was quite young in appearance, maybe fifteen or sixteen outwardly.
A boy.
A boy with the crimson sash and white-and-red uniform of the Guard, and a sword and badge secured to it.
"What's your name?" she asked, bluntly.
"Ah…" He looked up at her. "Hanataro Yamada."
"Hanataro Yamada? Really?!" Ari asked excitedly. "You're the guy that saved Kurosaki from the evil Lord Aizen when he went to Hueco Mundo?"
Hanataro winced at the mangling of the event. "Actually… that wasn't quite what happened - "
"You're my hero!"
Oops. He turned to the older woman instead. "Oba-san, I apolo-"
He was intercepted by a smack over the head. "Don't you have a job to do?"
"Yes!" He desperately held on to that thought. "Oba-san, have you seen – "
There was a rumbling noise, followed by a higher-pitched screech. Hanataro turned around slowly to face what he knew, with utter certainty from past experience, would be standing there.
One of the Fallen. Not Raito-kun; his presence would have been considerably more welcome, even if he was slightly creepy and had red eyes.
No, this was definitely baaaad news.
"What the hell is that?!"
"Language, Ari!"
"Oba-san… you might want to leave now," Hanataro said quietly, as he reached for his zanpakuto.
"Mortal… I hope you're ready for death." The humanoid figure leant down, the tattered greying scraps of its uniform fluttering to reveal the deep scars on its back, still weeping. The creature looked as if it had come straight from Hell, skeletal and overstretched on a torture rack, which was, in fact, a correct assumption.
It wasn't really one that helped things much, though.
"Not really… I don't like fighting all that much." Absent-mindedly, Hanataro noted that at least the other two were moving back to the closest house. Good.
"Oh?" The fallen deva breathed out in Hanataro's face, its breath rank. It lifted up a single fist, which began to crackle with electricity.
"Then that's most unfortunate for you."
The fist swung downwards towards him, and impacted with a considerable amount of force, generating a shockwave and, in theory, pulping the shinigami into the floor.
"Your back looks really painful."
The fallen deva turned round to see Hanataro, unscathed and sword drawn, just in time to catch him make a lunge.
It managed to parry the blows with its arms, knocking Hanataro backwards before shifting into the classic stance for demon art.
"Hado no. 31: Shakka-hou!"
The red orb of fire swelled, before impacting explosively with the ground as the fallen deva began to ready another blast of kido before the smoke even cleared. The buildings shuddered, more than one abandoned house beginning to crumble and collapse.
Twelve lines blazed across its back, and the creature whipped round to bring down overlong nails and a rusty blade upon the shinigami, now holding a scalpel in his hand. It almost laughed at the pathetic excuse for a weapon, just as its back exploded with an unbearable itch.
"What is this?!"
"It's my zanpakuto's power. Healing… well, sort of."
Severed muscle and bone regrew from the fallen deva's back, knitting into dark-feathered wings once more, which lifted into the air. As this happened, a butterfly fluttered down, its black wings edged with red and gold. It hesitated before settling on Hanataro's shoulder, waiting to deliver its message.
"My wings…" it muttered, before frowning down at Hanataro again.
"It must have hurt a lot when they got cut off, right?"
"You…" The fallen deva shrugged its wings. "Shinigami, it seems you did me a favour. In return for that, I'll make your death painless." It raised the sword above its head with bony arms. "Farewell, shinigami."
Just as it brought down the blade, the red glow on Akeiro Hisagomaru's bar intensified, before crimson light shot out of the scalpel's blade, devouring the creature's body entirely as it screamed.
"Sorry… but if I heal wounds, I have to inflict them as well." Hanataro dropped his scalpel, returning it to its normal form and resheathing it once more. The smoke cleared, revealing the blackened form of the fallen deva, which disintegrated into ash.
The butterfly fluttered into the air once more to settle upon Hanataro's outstretched finger.
"Ho-oh-san…" Hanataro listened to the message, growing pale at its contents.
"Hanataro Yamada, 14th of the Crimson Guard. Please return as soon as all intruders in Soul Society have been eliminated for an emergency meeting, regards the departure of Ichigo Kurosaki, 1st of the Crimson Guard."
"Kurosaki-san…" Hanataro whispered. No. He can't be dead, Ichigo doesn't die so easily… right?
He lifted his face to the tower, now dark against the dusk sky.
Time to go back.
