Chapter 9

She was in the shower again in the morning when she sensed something amiss in her rooms. Rinsing away the last of the soap, Vellena stepped out of the device and wrapped a thick white towel around her form. She narrowed her eyes, seemingly staring at the bathroom door. She could feel the presence of another person in the main room of her apartments. Unerringly, she knew that presence was Grimmjow. Was this what he meant about reiatsu?

Tying the towel to free up her hands, she pushed the door open and strode out.

"What is it." She statement-demanded, ignoring the glitter of his intense blue eyes as he ogled her silently. She inwardly cursed the fact that her clothing (and armour, and weapons) were in her bedroom.

"Nice dress," he smirked. She was thankful for the added control over her expressions that being dead brought.

"You still have not said why you are here." She stated.

"Get your shit on." He fingered the hilt of his sword. Ah, so he wanted to spar. Well, she was up for that. Wordlessly, she pushed past him to the bedroom. Armouring herself was a quick process – years of doing it on her own had made her swift and efficient, and her armour had been significantly enhanced with magic – ease of donning was a nice side benefit of increased strength, decreased weight, and the ability to move freely while wearing it. She buckled on the paired swords and went back to the sitting room. Seeing her armed and armoured, he made a grunting noise which she thought might be approval, and opened that passageway again.

Vellena was starting to think she might be able to replicate that technique soon.

This time the passageway spat her out onto sand, instead of the sparring room that she had expected. She looked around, seeing the massive white walls of Las Noches rising a few yards away, and the endless white dunes of Hueco Mundo extending off in every other direction. Grimmjow stepped out of the gaping hole in reality, and it slid shut.

Why had he brought her here? She turned towards him, ready to demand an answer, when he charged at her, sword in hand, blazing with intent. Within a split second her own blades were out and she blocked his strike. Sand sprayed around them at the impact.

So he wanted to play, did he? She would play. Her lips curled in the hint of a smile.

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She hadn't disappointed him at least. As he'd hoped, she had met his surprise attack in time and kept him from slicing her to pieces. He blocked her repartee with his left hand, ignoring the pain as her blade cut into his palm. Biting cold clawed all the way to his elbow. Disregarding it, he kicked out at her, pushing aside her other blade with Pantera. She stumbled backwards at the force of his hit.

She recovered quickly, digging her boots into the shifting sand and launching herself at him. He could see a shimmering green along the edge of her blades. Pretty sure he didn't want that to hit, he used sonido to sidestep, swatting at her backside with the flat of his blade. It struck without damage against her heavy armour, clanging. A hit intended to humiliate, not to wound. He thought he could detect a glint of annoyance in her frigid gaze as she turned to face him. He grinned back at her, raising Pantera in a mocking salute.

She chose that moment to strike, flowing forward like a snake, right blade extended and left blade back for balance. He almost didn't dodge it in time. On second thought… he felt an uncomfortable burning sensation along his left flank and realized he hadn't dodged it all.

First blood and second blood were hers. It was Grimmjow's turn.

Ignoring the pain along his ribs, he feinted, attempting to trick her into parrying low with her right. She took the bait, and he turned on his heel to avoid the left-handed strike he'd figured she would return with. Shifting weight quickly, the Sexto swept his booted foot to her legs. The impact of his foot against her armoured legs wasn't fun, but it threw her balance. Vellena proved her agility by not ending up on her ass, but he managed to get a strike in while she was recovering. He slipped his blade deftly into the joint of her cuirass and faulds, continuing past her, rotating to face her. Pantera came back with a small amount of black liquid on the edge. Third blood was his. He licked his lips.

She raised a hand, mouth twisted in a demon's grin (it was the first real expression he'd seen on her face), but before she could follow through with whatever it was she was going to do, he used sonido to appear behind her. Her parry this time was incomplete, and the grinding sound of Pantera striking her armour rang in his ears. His hilt-guard tangled on a spike, and she jerked her body with a grin, her strength and the unexpected motion pulling his zanpakotō from his grip. Leaping backwards, he raised his hand.

The first cero washed over her, doing very little damage as she shielded herself somehow. The second one, coming on the tail of the first, she had to dodge. Grimmjow used that opportunity to retrieve Pantera, and then began a series of sonido hops and slashes, punctuated by the occasional bala, cero, or even stray left hook as he commenced a strafing attack, laughing like a madman. The speed was too much for her to avoid all the attacks, and she was on the defensive instead of the offensive. Her armour prevented him from scoring much more than trivial hits, but he was wearing her down.

Then his foot came down into something sludgy, and he stumbled in the sticky, boiling circle of blood and sand that surrounded the night elf. He could feel where the liquid was eating through his uniform, etching his skin. It stung. He swirled his reiryoku around his feet like a tide, yanking his feet free from the mire and stepping back into the air. He backed out of the bubbling muck, bringing Pantera into a guard position in front of him. She was still smiling.

She grasped out at him, and he had a moment to recognize her move from yesterday when he was yanked roughly back down to earth. Grimmjow had an inkling what was coming, enough to deflect one of her attacks. The Death Knight's right-handed strike landed, cutting open his hierro at his left shoulder. That hurt, he thought with a feral grin. But it afforded him the opportunity to slide his zanpakutō down her left-hand blade, twisting his sword to hook her guard with the crook of Pantera. An outward push, delivering another low strike with his foot, and her sword sailed out of her hands to landed tip down in the bloody sand, standing at a slight angle.

Ignoring his shoulder, which hurt far more than it should for such a relatively unimportant wound, he decked her with his left fist, firing a bala at her at the moment of impact. His opponent flew several yards backwards before slamming into the wall of Las Noches. A quick sonido step brought him up against her before she could sag down the wall.

With his bloody left hand, he grabbed her wrist before she could recover and attack, slamming her gauntleted hand back against the wall. Grimmjow hid a wince as she grabbed him with a searing cold fist, and succeeded in deflecting the armoured knee to his groin with his own knee. Somehow he managed to capture both her hands and hold them out of the way, which was no easy task. She was his height or better, and had his reach. And he was moving a little slower than he would have liked – the effects of her frost attacks. But he managed it all the same, and laid Pantera's edge along her throat.

Vellena's teeth were bared in something that might have even been a clench-jawed grin, exposing animalistic canines. Her eyes blazed with bloodlust. It was difficult to keep his own killing drive from pushing him into decapitating her. That had been an excellent fight. It had, unfortunately, done nothing to diminish his desire to have her. Showing his own razor teeth, he rumbled with deceptive softness; "Gonna push it?"

Her sword clattered to the sand as she released it. He could see the anger behind her frozen orbs. "I yield," she grated.

Not releasing her wrists, he sheathed Pantera with a fluid movement, pinioning her with his eyes. "Good," he purred, disregarding his wounds and her heavy, spiked armour as he pressed her into the wall, fixing his demanding mouth on hers.