Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, but all OCs belong to me. That includes Saiu.


DEVIL'S SWAY


Chapter 9


The Warlord of Hell, leader of Akki Yokujin, leaned back in his chair and watched the demoness pace the room. Her kimono swirled about her in charming flutters, but her otherworldly grace was marred by her rigid stance and the blood staining her garments. He'd never seen her injured before. He was actually distinctly pleased by the sight, even if that meant her purpose had not been achieved.

"Mewling brats!" she hissed as she passed him. She kept both hands pressed to her chest where a long cut sliced her from collarbone to navel. "How dare they?"

He cleared his throat. "Haha-ue," he said softly. "It is not important. You found out enough. I can take care of the rest."

"I don't need you to take care of anything for me, Mejiro," she snapped, whirling to face him. "I am just as keen as you to find Saiu-dono. Who knows what condition he might be in? Those Shinigami fools don't know the first thing about our kind. What if they are deliberately keeping him weak? What if that is why he hasn't returned?"

"His brothers have yet to return either," he pointed out. She hissed and spun back to pace more quick, agitated circles around and around the room.

He sighed, watching her pace. Anger still burned him after hearing Tsuibosana's story: those two Shinigami had lied to him. He would be paying the young Captain a visit when this was all over. He hadn't actually thought Saiu would go to them, or he would have caught the lie the moment it was spoken. He'd figured it a long shot at best. Why would Saiu have chosen to trust Shinigami with his safety? It made no sense. Desperation was the only reason the Warlord had asked Tsuibosana to visit the Shinigami and see what information her charms—or claws—might pull from them.

"Haha-ue," he said again, hoping the formal, respectful address would soothe her. He rarely thought of Tsuibosana as his dam, nor did she think of him as son, but it pleased her to be reminded of her ties to him and the consequent elevation in rank and respect it earned her. Not that she lacked influence in the court.

Her twin sister, Massatsusana, had ensnared the King of Hell himself with her charms. Tsuibosana was her equal in beauty and charm, but she possessed an arrogance and thirst for adoration that hampered her ambitions. She hadn't managed to lure Shiose or Aranami into accepting her as a consort, and Saiu was even less interested in the attentions of his dam's sister.

Not that bonds of bloodline held any sway over demons' bedroom pursuits. After all, beauty was beauty and sex was sex. Unintentional reproduction with a blood relative didn't concern them, because both parties had to be willing in order for fertility to occur. But Tsuibosana was among the last of the transcendently beautiful, high-ranking demonesses—and it was for that very reason she failed to attract any lovers among the demon princes or lords.

Unlike male demons, all demonesses possessed the exact same aura effect: a power that prevented males from attacking them. It was a survival technique developed at the beginning of time. Not even the princes could hurt Tsuibosana while within the sphere of her aura's influence. There was nothing, on the other hand, that stopped her from attacking them. Unlike the King of Hell, who'd been so powerful as to be invincible, no demon lord would easily put his life in a demoness' claws for pleasure alone. None of them wanted a blade in the ribs the moment they found themselves distracted—and demonesses were very good at distracting males.

The Warlord had found great pleasure in the beds of a number of less powerful demonesses. It was true he couldn't hurt them, but they weren't strong enough to present any real threat to him either. He could escape them easily if they turned on him. Tsuibosana, on the other hand, he wasn't as sure on. Neither, it seemed, were any of the princes.

Tsuibosana was one of the last of the truly powerful demonesses because most of the others had been killed many millennia ago. Just because the male demons couldn't attack a demoness while in the range of her aura didn't mean they hadn't found ways to kill them. When the survival of their race started to become a question—too few females meant too few offspring—it had been decreed that any male who killed a demoness would be tortured to death, no exceptions. And so the killing spree had ended.

But the demoness habit of seducing, using, and killing male demons had never abated. So no one would play the bedroom games with Tsuibosana.

The demoness in question turned toward him, her eyelids lowering suggestively. "Mejiro, my heart, what do we do now? Those Shinigami have hidden Saiu-dono. Should I track the young Shinigami Captain and wait until he's alone?"

The Warlord frowned at her. He knew she could easily shadow the Shinigami Captain; demonesses were superb hunters. He'd lost more than a few of his Yokujin to them in times past. One demoness in particular had developed such a taste for his soldiers that he'd asked Saiu to intervene for him.

He hadn't seen that demoness since. 'Forbidden' didn't always hold true when it came to the princes.

"Perhaps not, haha-ue," he replied. "Even if it was just a fluke, that Shinigami is a danger to you."

She fluttered one hand in a dismissive gesture. "I miscalculated, that is all. I was trying to keep my reiatsu hidden, and sacrificed too much power for secrecy." Her lips plumped out in a pout. "It would have been better had he and the other Shinigami boy not been so blind to me. Otherwise I could have taken them both when I first revealed myself."

The Warlord raised his eyebrows. "They're both virgins?"

"Yes," she sighed. "As you know, some aspects of my aura are limited in boys whose maleness still sleeps. They do not yet know the pleasures of a female body."

A slow smile curved his lips. "Then perhaps you should open the young Captain's eyes and awaken his senses, haha-ue."

Her eyes widened with insult. "He is but a boy," she sneered furiously. "I—the most powerful demoness in the court—lower myself to seducing a child when I can command the hunger of the greatest demons of Hell, thousands of years old in their lust and—" She broke off, blinking. "Oh. I see."

He suppressed a snort of disdain. It was no wonder the King had chosen Massatsusana over Tsuibosana. The creature was blinded by her pride.

"But if I am to take one of them, I would rather the older one," she said. "He was more responsive to me, and his power is greater. As well, he is the one who holds a bond with Saiu-dono. It would be better to hold him under my sway than the Captain."

"As you said, the human boy holds a bond with Saiu-dono. Do you think it wise to break his pet? If Saiu-dono wanted the boy in that kind of condition, he could easily have done it himself."

She reluctantly nodded her agreement.

"The Captain may seem younger in body, but he is far older in soul. He will suffice just as well."

"You are right, of course, my dearest. Sometimes I forget why my miyasama continues to choose you as his confidant and general."

The Warlord ignored the insult in her words. "Be careful, haha-ue. The female Shinigami Captains will be able to harm you. I don't wish to see such a thing."

She smiled at him, sharp and cutting as though she could hear the lie in his last statement. "Fear not for me, Mejiro. I will break the young Captain and bring you a willing slave to answer your every query."

She swept out of the room, leaving the Warlord alone in his office. His lips curled in distaste. He felt no remorse for setting Tsuibosana on the lying Shinigami Captain, but he knew what to expect. Young males who took a demoness as their first woman never came away from the bed with their minds intact. Only experience could harden a man against the potency of a demoness' pleasure—and pain. If you could handle it, there was no comparison to any other experience. But virgins could never handle it.

He rose from his seat. Either way, he would have the answers he wanted from the Shinigami Captain. And if he was in a good mood afterward, he might even put the boy out of his misery before Tsuibosana could really go to work on him.


. o : O : o .


Tōshirō faced the closed door and concentrated on breathing. Slow. Steady. He ignored the minutes ticking by as he carefully and methodically quieted his emotions and tucked them deep down inside him where he could deal with them later. This wasn't a time for emotions. If ever he'd needed a clear head, this was it.

When he was as calm and collected as he was going to get, he tapped lightly on the door and slid it open.

The room on the other side was a simple waiting room. A low table sat in the center, surrounded by blue kneeling cushions. Bright azure flowers bloomed in a narrow vase in the center of the table, adding a spot of warmth and welcome to the bare space. It was a functional room, used for meetings and—occasionally—interrogations of people the Gotei 13 weren't quite sure they wanted to offend. The business-oriented setting was a balm of Tōshirō's nerves, helping him keep a strict focus on his purpose. It was the ideal space for his task.

Except the room was empty.

He stood stupidly in the doorway, staring at the lack of any life in the room for a long moment before giving himself a mental shake. Had he gone to the wrong room? Letting his eyelids hood his eyes, he tuned into his sixth sense. Yes, he could feel a trace of reiatsu in the room. Familiar—but not.

At the other end of the room, a sliding door with a pale paper screen stood partway open. He walked around the table and stepped out of the room. A wooden walkway ran around a large courtyard, and the early morning sunlight warmed the riot of flowers spread through the landscaped space. In the center, a small pond glittered, blooming lily pads drifting lazily across its surface. At the edge of the pond, a small wooden gazebo could be reached by a path of flat stepping stones.

A petite, feminine figure was kneeling in the gazebo, her back to the walkway as she gazed at the pond. Dark red hair was twisted into an elegant knot at the back of her head, with just a few loose strands brushing the shoulders of a kimono patterned dramatically in splashes of white, red, and black. A white obi accented by red ribbons hugged her waist, the long ends draped over the wooden floor behind her.

With another deep breath, Tōshirō stepped off the walkway and onto the stepping stones. The woman didn't move as he came to stand beside her. Her eyes were trained on the pond, her manner serene. Feeling awkward, he lowered himself to his knees beside her and settled as comfortably as he could, politely waiting.

Only once he became still did she turn.

She tilted her head toward him, face turning just enough to bring him into her line of vision. She'd let her bangs grow out from the straight, severe cut she'd worn them in two years ago, and now they swept diagonally across her forehead and framed her face, almost entirely hiding the aggressive black tattoo on one cheekbone.

For just a second, Tōshirō's breath caught in his throat. The hard planes of her face were now soft and gentle. The harsh lines of anger and bitterness around her mouth had faded, and she seemed to radiate a placid beauty. Her eyes were large and liquid, framed by dark lashes, unlined by the weight of any worries.

Then their stares met, and he recoiled slightly as her gaze pierced him, sharp and coolly assessing. The illusion of serenity shattered as her mouth quirked and those dark, wine-coloured eyes narrowed. Her tranquil mediation was just a cover for the shrewd patience of a hunting leopard.

"You must be Hitsugaya Tōshirō," she said, her voice soft but without the slightest hint of warmth. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

His mouth opened but no sound came out. In spite of himself, his gaze searched hers, desperate for some sign—but all he could see was that calculating assessment combined with irritable impatience. If any part of her recognized him, he couldn't tell.

"I was delayed," he finally replied.

"I see," she said flatly. Her face turned back toward the pond. "Why was I brought here? No one has answered any of my questions."

"We appreciate your cooperation, Matsuo-san," he said politely, forcing his thoughts back on track. "It is a security matter that brought us to contact you."

Her eyes snapped toward his, spearing him with her disbelief, before she returned her attention to the water. "And what makes you think I would know anything regarding the security of Soul Society?"

He frowned at her profile, mentally scrambling. Most souls were only too obsequious in the presence of a Shinigami. And to have one's presence personally requested by a Captain—most souls would be falling all over themselves to answer his every question. Not that he preferred to be fawned over, but it did make questioning someone easier. He should have known. Matsuo Nakita, memories or no memories, had never fawned over anyone.

"How long have you been in Soul Society, Matsuo-san?" he asked.

"Five and a half months."

"How has your experience been thus far?"

Her gaze flicked toward him, her eyebrows coming together as she tried to determine the purpose behind his questions. "It has gone well for me. My first few weeks were . . . difficult, but I'm adjusting fine now."

"How were they difficult?"

She looked at him out of the corner of one eye. "Because I have no memory of my past life—as I'm sure you know, because your lackeys asked me that question at least a dozen times in different ways already. I am not the only soul with death amnesia. Others told me within hours of first waking up here that at least half the souls don't remember their lives from before they died."

He was going to have some pointed remarks for Matsumoto. Why had his squad members been questioning her at all? Someone hadn't been following orders.

"They are Shinigami," he said in a quiet, firm voice. "Not lackeys." He didn't point out how disrespectful her choice of language was; it was clearly implied.

Her eyebrows rose. "Ah, I see. So I can disrespect you—but not your underlings. Fair enough."

He frowned at her.

She smiled sweetly back. "Would you care to tell me why I'm here, Shinigami-taichō-san?"

His frown deepened into a scowl. Now she was mocking him. "As a matter of fact, I don't tolerate disrespect on either count."

Her chin lifted. "Discourtesy earns disrespect. I have done everything asked of me by the Shinigami, but you won't tell me what you want."

"Then I'll get to the point: Do you remember anything from your past life?"

She didn't look surprised by the question; her quick logic, along with her lack of respect for authority, were undiminished.

"I woke up remembering my name. I know I don't like pickled foods, children irritate me, and I enjoy the sun on my face. I can speak fluently and feed myself without drooling or spilling all down my front. I'm left-handed, and I can even walk and talk at the same time!" The look she shot him was pure venom. "In other words, I don't remember anything except my name. But the body remembers things the mind doesn't, and I've learned to listen to what my body remembers."

A tiny spark of hope. "What else does your body remember?"

She eyes snapped down him and back up to his face. Her lips curled. "Not that."

He stared at her for a moment, his mind blank. Then—"That's not what I meant!"

She snorted indelicately. "Right. What did you mean then? Obviously you're angling around to something in particular."

"Have you happened to pick up any weapons since arriving in Soul Society?"

"What, are you recruiting for the Gotei 13?" She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling of the gazebo. "I clobbered one man with a borrowed sword in my second month, but if I ever knew how to handle one before, I don't anymore. I didn't even manage to stab him properly."

He swallowed a sigh. "I see."

"So what do you think I knew in my past life that you're hoping I might remember?"

His eyes shot toward her, wide and startled. She chuffed impatiently.

"You look so shocked." She brushed her long bangs away from her eyes. "It's not that hard to fit the pieces together. Why else would you be asking me these things? So what is it?"

He studied her for a long moment. "May I have your promise of discretion?"

Her eyes widened. "You're actually going to tell me?"

"You've answered my questions willingly—if not very patiently," he added under his breath. "It's only appropriate." When she nodded her agreement, he said, "Soul Society is facing a threat from an outside source, and we're having difficulty locating the infiltrators. We thought you might remember something of how to track these—"

"You mean demons, don't you," she interrupted. "I heard other souls talking about them. Why would I know about demons?"

He shrugged. "We know of some souls who have had certain—experiences—with the beasts, but they tend to suffer the death amnesia when they arrive here. It's difficult to tell which souls might know something," he added, hoping she would jump to the incorrect conclusion that she was not one of those souls.

"I see," she replied. Her eyes were narrowed with thought, her gaze too cutting for his comfort. Ascension hadn't dulled her mind in the slightest, and he knew he'd been a fool to come into this interview without preparing himself for a verbal battle. She was too clever for her own good.

After a long minute, she relaxed and faced the pond again. "Well, Hitsugaya-san, I'm afraid I honestly don't remember anything that might help you with this demon threat. I don't remember anything at all. You could have saved us both a lot of time if you'd just explained all that from the start."

"Some people lie," he said simply. "I wanted to get a sense of you first."

Her eyes angled toward him. "And what's your sense?"

"You're telling the truth."

Ire flashed in her gaze before she snapped it back to the water. "I can tell you didn't suffer death amnesia. You don't have any idea. If I remembered anything, I would have told you immediately. I would have—" She closed her eyes for a moment. "Not remembering is such a terrible thing, I would not even pretend it."

His breath caught. He watched pain flicker across her delicate features.

"It's a horror I can't even explain," she said softly. "Not knowing myself. Not knowing who I am. Why am I here? What do I want? What are my dreams, my goals, my purpose? I don't know. I walk through Rukongai and watch people going through the motions of life and wonder why they bother. To simply exist is a waste of the worst kind. I want to live, not exist. But I don't remember what I should be living for. Why am I here?"

She shook her head slightly. "It is a terribly lonely state. I don't know anyone. I have no family, no friends, no connections. I don't even have myself for company. Who am I? I don't know." Suddenly, she straightened, blinking. She glanced briefly at him and a hint of pink tinted her cheeks. "Listen to me ramble. Now I am wasting your time, though I suppose turnabout is fair play."

He pressed his lips together to hold back his response. She wouldn't understand if he said she hadn't wasted his time. His heart ached for her loneliness and confusion. She had escaped the torment of Hell, but it seemed she still hadn't found peace.

"With or without memories, we all lost hold of our dreams when we came to be here," he said softly. "Many choose to search for new dreams instead of chasing the old ones."

Her lips parted in surprise, her eyes considering as she met his gaze. After a moment, she nodded.

"I must prevail upon your patience for just a while longer," he said, rising to his feet. "One of the other Captains has a simple test to perform, just to be sure you have no dormant memories he could awaken, and then you'll be free to go." He frowned slightly, not pleased that Captain Kurotsuchi of the Research and Development Institute had caught wind of his search for Matsuo and insisted he get to test her for lost memories. Because of the threat to Soul Society, Tōshirō couldn't reasonably refuse.

"If I must," she said sourly as she rose with him, but she didn't seem entirely opposed—maybe she was hoping she really did have some suppressed memories buried deep down.

He paused before turning, a thought occurring to him. "Just one more question, if you please," he murmured, reaching over his shoulder to grasp Hyōrinmaru's hilt. He unsheathed the sword and set its point against the wooden floor, the flat of the blade turned toward her. She watched him with curiosity, not the slightest bit intimidated by a Shinigami Captain drawing his Zanpakutō in front of her. As fearless as ever.

With a quick mental prod, he brought Hiren out of her restless slumber. Red symbols flashed down the silvery length of blade. Nakita's eyes went wide.

"Does anything here seem at all familiar?" he asked.

She shook her head, her gaze riveted on the glowing design. "What is it?" she breathed.

Carefully, he stretched his senses toward her. He could feel her reiatsu—and it no longer bore much of a resemblance at all to the reiatsu he felt from Hiren. Nakita didn't feel like a Demon Hunter anymore. If anything, her reiatsu was closer to that of a budding Shinigami; in a few years, he wouldn't be surprised if she was invited to try out for the Shinō Academy. Perhaps being reborn had regenerated some of her ability to hold power.

Hiren, to his senses, still felt like Nakita's old reiatsu signature; the Akkihasaiki hadn't assimilated into his reiatsu at all. Either way, he couldn't sense any kind of bond between the piece of soul in his sword and the soul standing in front of him. His last hope was the bitter taste of ash on his tongue.

Stifling a sigh, he quieted Hiren's power and returned his sword to his back. "It is nothing important," he told her, resuming his path away from the gazebo.

She followed him across the stones, her steps silent behind him. When they reached the walkway, one of Kurotsuchi's assistants bowed slightly from where he waited a dozen paces down from them.

"With him, I suppose?" she said. Her eyes slid back to Tōshirō even as she turned away. "It was nice to meet you, Hitsugaya-san. I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Thank you," he said. He watched her step away, battling internally with himself. He exhaled sharply. "Nakita," he said abruptly.

She stopped and turned, her eyebrows shooting up at the familiar mode of address.

He forced himself to meet her eyes. "We've met before," he told her. "I wanted you to know that . . . Even if you don't remember, you're not alone here."

He turned quickly and strode away, leaving her standing in the walkway, staring after him. He didn't know what the look in her eyes meant. He didn't want to know. His head and heart ached with the strain of holding himself aloof throughout their conversation, and he didn't know if telling her they'd met before had been a good idea or not.

All he knew was the thought of her suffering the months to come in heart-crushing loneliness was even worse.


. o : O : o .