I hope you find this chapter to your liking. Perhaps I screwed up on the payoff, but…be patient. Reviews are as always appreciated.

Disclaimer: BLEACH! Is not of my ownership. Only the members of Canopus and the plot itself. Thank you.

And now, the story continues…

Chapter 10: The Lion and The Unicorn, part 1

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August 12th, Mid-Afternoon…

Ichigo Kurosaki forced a yelp out as he jumped out of the way, thanking the blessings of his speed as another oversized fist aimed and missed his head. The evasive measures seemed repetitive, to him. As a school-yard scrapper, fights took a practical and scientific outlook that he was practically unaware of. If a fist came at him, he would dodge and clobber his foe with his own. However, as he swung his zan-pakuto at his burly adversary, the blade failed to cut through flesh and bone, so unlike the damage done to hollows in the past. Instead, it bounced and reverberated, despite multiple attempts, as if striking potent armor.

He just managed to duck a sweeping arm, thankful for its painful slowness, while again doggedly thrusting his blade at the giant, known only as Ortiz. Again, Zangetsu met stark resistance, bouncing off and making metallic clamor, while opening him again.

The giant guffawed at his opening, and reared another arm back, but Ichigo was saved by a war cry and a flying body: It was Ikkaku Madarame, who intervened on his behalf, greedily sating his lust for combat with a truly strong, seemingly indestructible adversary.

Ichigo could only huff, and voice his frustrations aloud. "What is this guy?! Made of metal or something?!"

Ichigo found no answer, given either by earthly council, divine messenger, or hellish pierrot. Only a ringing encouragment from his partner Rukia, and the mountain of a man in front of him, pulled him back into the fray, assisting the bald Soul Reaper in spite of his dangerous glare.

About twenty minutes had passed since Ortiz the brute entered the fray, boldly challenging all seven of the gathered combatants before him. While Ichigo was experienced in his fair share of fights, he knew that it was unlikely the galoot in the trench coat could take them all on. Having experience in scraps where he was at a disadvantage, Ichigo had looked at his allies, and felt confident that it would only be ten seconds to end it. After all, these were soul reapers and psychics, each blessed with an above-average capacity of spiritual pressure. Surely, with seven high tides against a single tree, that had no spiritual pressure to begin with…Ichigo's self-assurance was understandable.

Then, it came to the point where he defended against the brief attacks of Ishida, Matsumoto, Ayasegawa, and now exclusively Ikkaku, Chad, and himself. Of the three melee specialists, none of them had so much as slowed him down, or even knocked him off his feet. He shrugged off the blows as if the giant was fighting a bitter gale…and he kept coming at them with bone-crushing magnitude.

Ichigo could easily spot the damage done at the ends of those mitten-covered fists. It was fortunate of the three that Ortiz had yet to hit them in a vital area. Each time he missed, pummeling either part of a building or part of the street, he would withdraw his arm, revealing a little crater in either the asphalt or the masonry of where his knuckles had been. The fact the warrior could do this time after time, and not gain any fatigue or pain shocked and reviled the young Soul Reaper. More than once his eyes probed the shrouded abyss that was the monstrous brute's face, and wondered if that slick accent was as real as the craters impromptu made.

Again, he was saved by his greater speed. Though he was not challenged by Ortiz's pummeling fists directly, a projectile in the form of Ikkaku Madarame pitched at him with stark suddenness, forcing the orange-haired soul reaper to eat the asphalt or else eat bald head. The 'bald head' flew over him, bouncing off of a parked car, and amazingly he heard a laugh from the maniacal Soul Reaper. Removed from the fight, Ichigo turned his attention back to the giant, prepared for his slow but destructive onslaught.

"C'mon, kiddo. We're gonna hava kicking like ya neva seen." He beckoned with his damning hand, assuming then a boxer's stance. His demeanor reflected a playful confidence, as if he was less interested in killing him and more interested in this lackadaisical action.

"Why don't you take off your hat, if you're having so much fun?" Ichigo challenged.

"Nah. Might rain. Forecast said sunny, but I doan trust de weatherman, hey?" The brute broke his stance to shrug offhandedly, but adjusted his hat to better suit his pugilist stance.

The next moment, the giant surprisingly ducked and rushed forward, his fists reared back for a combination worthy of the ring. Ichigo yelped in surprise, and jumped high with the aid of shun-po, just in time to avoid a three-fist combo that reduced the car behind him to-politely stated-damaged goods in the motor, and greatly told the lie of his close-up game.

Ichigo, now having created some greatly needed distance between him and the giant, looked at shock. It was brief, a factor he could only allow momentarily, less either Rukia field-goal kicked him, or the giant crushed his internal organs much like that car engine. He gained another reprieve, as the hard-bodied Ikkaku jumped from the broken window of said car, landing on the giant and slashing at his front. Amazing, the hat escaped destruction, but the brute backed up, grabbing with those engulfing hands, and hurling the 3rd seat from his body once again.

"Kiddo, ya need uh lot more training."

"Ah, shut up!" Ichigo shouted, trying to suppress his own hot-headed revulsion.

"'Uh'gain? Sheesh."

This time, the giant did not try a parry, but merely raised his arms up in a defensive cross, allowing the cleaver-blade to eat into his forearms. Amazingly, not even the fabric on the trench coat was singed by his edge, instead halted by his mighty arms. Ichigo imagined the brute was grinning under his wide-brimmed hat, confidence bordering on arrogance, as he stayed shaking in renewed disbelief. Quickly reminded of his proximity, Ichigo jumped back, attempting to find another kink to exploit.

"Ya know, its only uh matter'a time befor' I get ya. Ya got no stamina, kiddo." Ortiz stated, his fists clenching within their threadbare fabrics, before again assuming his boxing stance.

Ichigo again could feel himself grimace, before gathering energy in his shikai-ed blade. It was going to be a troublesome fight, that was obvious. The fact that he was already breathing heavy, and the giant barely seemed to be exerting himself. Enjoying himself seemed to be the best term.

"Huh. Alright." Ichigo said to himself. The battle was becoming an obvious strain, but even with the unsure future, he had his blade.

"'At's right, kiddo. We got all day!"

Ichigo finally had his fill of the brash giant. His cleaver-style zan-pakuto heaved over his head, he jumped at the giant with a sudden initiative, intending to catch him flat-footed.

Instead, the giant, not even moving from his space, intercepted the blade with his wrist, grabbed Ichigo's kimono, and promptly ending the counter with a slam to the dismantled car behind him.

"Damn, kiddo. 'At wuz too fast." The giant, not relenting on his grip, hoisted the Kurosaki scion up by the neck, tossing him stumbling to his feet, and leaving him open to another destructive combination. Again, however, Ichigo was saved by his own reflexes, as well as the lackluster speed of Ortiz. A gut punch intending to dismantle his intestines, sailed forward, but in a rather desperate dodge, Ichigo hopped on his oversized arm, and landed a Isshin-practiced dropkick to the giant's head.

The question of his mysterious durability vibrated from his feet to his head with contact. His head felt like it was made of solid steel, and Ichigo could swear he heard a clang as he jumped back. His feet barked as dogs from the pain, but he recovered, again putting a sizable distance between him and the oversized pugilist.

"Darn it, Darn it! What the heck are you made of?!" Ichigo vented his surprised frustration again.

"Hehe…I guess tuffer stuff 'an you, eh?" The giant Ortiz boasted, rotating his arm as he spoke. "C'here. I'll show ya uh thing or two."

"No. It'll be me that teaches you!"

Ichigo found his words a bit stronger than his interior mind. The fatigue evident in his body was not lost in his mind.

Again, they-the Karakura coalition and these unusual invaders from the organization of Canopus-had been fighting for about twenty-five minutes (Ichigo wasn't truly sure: Fighting a guy like Ortiz seemed to prevent one from staring at the clock) and each had broken off to their own skirmishes. Ichigo and Ikkaku, as both melee naturals and battle maniacs, sought to neutralize the fighting power of the powerhouse Ortiz, though whether they were making any progress was like saying that the moon was getting fatter: It was indecipherable to the eye, even when on top of it. However, while Ichigo had originally expected Ortiz to be the only threat, as he so gaily boasted, it quickly became clear that the meathead had some military savvy up his engulfing sleeves. No sooner had they all sought to engage him, than did four more spiritual pressures descended into their midst, unfamiliar to them, and obvious allies to the disguised brute. While Ichigo and Ikkaku, and Rukia in their corner for support, tried to push the giant into submission, distancing themselves from the rest, the wielder of Zangetsu caught a glimpse of both the other fighters and his own compatriots engaging with them. One fighter proved not to be a fighter at all, but a non-combatant, sated on his own dignity, with almost girly hot-pink locks, simple clothing, and a conservative movement that Ichigo related to Hanataro Yamada. Rather than pick a fight, this weirdo merely sat next to the embroidered black box, taking a meditative stance, and seemed to chant with his small face. He did not cast an combative nature: In fact, Ichigo could've sworn this guy detested conflict. However, Ichigo never got the chance to ask, due to his own occupation.

Others, that were combatants, caught his attention, each bearing a blade of their choosing to the Karakura coalition's detriment. They carried a youthful disposition matching Ichigo's, varying only by a few years perhaps, but far younger, the smarter-than-average punk suspected, than the indomitable Ortiz. One fought with an indifference that Ichigo could envy and use, if in school, as he stepped in with headphones on his head, blasting rock music so loudly that the group surely could hear the disturbed lyrics filtering out of his headphones. He had a rather outspoken vest, but the rest of him appeared rather dowdy in appearance. What was noticed was the gilded bastard sword gripped between his fingers, which shined a sunny gold as he brought it to bear against his designated opponent. Ichigo couldn't help but smile as the shabby dressed swords-boy (which he vaguely heard as Sum Mannus) engaged with a much more experienced Rangiku Matsumoto, whose fiery-ash Hai-neko countered his bastard sword, and pressed him back.

Another combatant, who appeared certainly not as fit but young as his rugged companions, with a bubbly, rotund size that indicated more eating and less training. The rotund youth rushed at Uryu Ishida, who had to run and dodge from the surprisingly fast, black-skinned sword bearer. Ichigo got a glance at him, and could note of his baldness, his ebony adiposity, his voluminous jacket, opened to reveal his girth and a tattoo of some red star, and his shorts, cut still to reveal large, flabby but powerful legs. He appeared about Uryu's height, interestingly, but bounded at the geeky-looking Quincy with a war club, notched with cracks in the side that matched his own smile. Ichigo recalled that this man was known as Garm, though 'fatty' perhaps was a more appropriate.

The fourth and final participant undoubtedly on the side of Canopus was a woman, very much a match for voluptuous beauty as Matsumoto is (Ichigo could feel his nose stifle blood as he chanced a glance). Unlike Matsumoto, who flaunted her assets (a factor which again stroke nerves into the substitute Soul Reaper), this woman covered herself in a demure dress of purple, embroidered in a way that would not advise combat, but cultivated carousing. Hair of a simple brown, a waspish, shy figure, and an epee in hand, this woman (whose name Ichigo believed to be Oracion) did not look to hold a combative nature, even with the intervening blade in lithe hand. She curled a smile into confidence, and chased after Yumichika, who Ichigo was sure, was trading salon info along with parried thrusts.

Chad, unfortunately had been removed from combat, forcing Orihime to action rather than support. Again, Ichigo saw first hand the furious power in cased in Ortiz's punches. Chad, enjoying a stand-up game as much as the giant, tried to engage his own large fists with the giant, successfully beaming the trench coat-wearing brute multiple times in the gut. However, even with each clashing punch, the giant reeled, but he did not stagger from his standing position. Dwarfing Chad in his stature, the giant weathered the oversized student's onslaught of fists, shrugging them off momentarily, and then happily returning the favor with a combination of four punches, striking in the temple, chin, abdomen, and nose in succession. Chad, though an durable lad for his age, could not withstand a pair of fists that would later turn a car engine to mulch, and he promptly collapsed, forgotten by Ortiz the moment he crumbled to the ground.

That started Ichigo's futile but furious attack, supplemented by Ikkaku and his Hozukimaru.

Due to Chad's injury (Ichigo did not know the limits of his damage, but the fact he did not move after getting struck the fourth time told bad news for the Mexican-descendant), Orihime took it into account like a nurse maid. Calling upon her own abilities, her fairy-like spirits tended to their healing abilities. Fortunately, they were ignored, for Orihime, while capable of battle, was still vulnerable to attack when dealing with her healing skills. Hanataro, though also a medic, did not tend to helping Chad, though this was not of callousness. Rather, it was due to his own occupation with the pink-haired non-combatant. He did not engage the pink-haired stranger, as Hanataro was no combatant himself, but merely stood in his way, preparing to counter him as best he could, should the situation present itself.

As such, they all ventured away from the front of the bank, each embroiled in their own conflict of life and death. How the others were doing, Ichigo couldn't hazard a guess. Not that he could not take a peek around him, to observe his friends and his comrades, but rather that doing such an act would only invite an attack of opportunity to the lumbering lummox. Ortiz may have been limited by his speed, but when he got a hit in, every blow counted. Chad's prone form was proof of that.

He turned his attention back to the burly beast in front of him, who seemed to adopt a more favorable strategy. Rather than come to him, Ichigo noticed that Ortiz simply edged closer, more or less awaiting the orange-haired soul reaper to close the distance, attack, and perhaps contact with evilly-effective counter jabs that would doom his jaw. Aware of this plan, Ichigo inched back, his sword up for protection, but not taking any measures to close the distance.

"Ichigo! What are you doing?" Rukia, a good distance away from the melee, called out at his self-assured repulsion.

"Trying not to get killed!"

"And how are you going to fight that way? Are you a coward?"

"……" Ichigo did not like taking blows to his pride, and Rukia's cutting words did just that. However, he could not see a way to counter his adversary, and was saved from immediate engagement by a recovered Ikkaku, who seemed to enjoy his pain as much as the fight itself. Wordlessly, and lacking a face to go on, the giant stepped back suddenly, not evading the slashes of Hozukimaru, but apparently uninjured. The blade cut into the belt conspicuously holding the trench-coat shut, sending it flapping open in the summer heat. For the briefest of moments, Ichigo believed he spotted some armor on his legs, as the ends of the trench coat flapped out. However, the substitute did not get much of a chase to see, as Ortiz proved his inexhaustible strength by hoisting Ikkaku again off his feet, and now leveling a number of controlled punches at his side.

"Darn it Ichigo! Get in there!" Rukia shouted, not supplying a means to resolving the fact that this guy still wasn't taking damage, as so much as threatening him with an itchy-foot trigger. Ever the slave to the whims of his partner, Ichigo only cursed under his breath, and rushed again.

His charge was halted promptly when the giant hurled Ikkaku from his hold, forcing a collision between the two soul reapers. Both saw stars. Both muttered swearwords under their breath. Both struggled to their feet, their zan-pakutos at the bat, and leered at the giant, whose back was turned to them still, an enormous mitt clasping his cut trench coat belt.

"Heh. Damn it. 'is screws me up pretty clean." He tossed his wasted belt to the side, and removed a cigar from his cavernous pockets, not taking the time to light it, but stuffing it into his mouth apparently. "I'm not presentable wit'out 'is coat, kiddos."

"Hey. Thank your luck I didn't slice your face off." Ikkaku warned.

"Ga ha ha…Ya cain't, kiddo. My body's madda tuffer stuff, afta all. But I cun still fight wit' 'is on. Question. Ya played baseball?"

"…hey. What's baseball?" Ikkaku asked.

Ichigo gestured to drop the question, unsure exactly what that question would be posed in the first place.

"Nah? Ya haven't?" Ortiz drawled, the metallic echo again stingily apparent in his bass. "Well…ready or not, its batta up time!"

The two Soul Reapers failed to take into account the environment, and the real reason the brute in the wide-brimmed had his back to his adversaries. Another car, unmarred like the other, remained in park behind Ortiz, and with a startling suddenness, the giant hoisted the entire car over his head, barely voicing more than a grunt.

"He're's 'e pitch, kiddos!"

With continued shocking strength, the disguised giant heaved back and tossed the car (which was a Tiburon) at the soul reaper pair, intending to crush them wholly. Both bald and orange-haired reaper felt their eyes widen, as the car came at them with lethal force lacking of a machine, but this moment of surprise was short-lived. Quickly in passing, Ikkaku and Ichigo rolled to the side, narrowly evading being crushed by a speeding car. The car smashed to pieces, and yet only the eyes of three, and not the oblivious pedestrians, heard or even reacted to the impact. For the projectile itself, another engine was smashed by the unforgiving asphalt. Ichigo was just grateful to escape without broken bones.

"Damn! What the heck are you?!" Ichigo found his voice.

"Ichigo! If you want to find out so badly, cut his coat to pieces, then!" Rukia muttered, trying to fit her role as second.

"I wouldn't rec-co-mend that, missy. Ya doan wanna see what I look like under 'is coat. Ya ever heard of da Somme? Well, look no further for 'e horrors. Now, Lets go!"

Ichigo puffed himself up, trying to gather his temerity for this fight, while at the same time aware that he needed some tactical advantage over this guy. His blade was not harming the giant, that much was certain. Resuming his lackadaisical boxing stance, the giant stomped forward, brimming confidence evident in each concrete-shattering step. Ichigo raised his blade again, hoping the metal of his Zangetsu could provide a barrier against his destroying fists.

"I'll pay you back for hurting Chad."

"Lets see ya try, kiddo. I woan even havta, meself."

The giant for once took the initiative, hurling a vicious straight at Ichigo's heart. Again credited with his painful slowness, Ichigo raised up his cleaver to guard his important organ, blocking effectively but shaking him to his soles. Ichigo reared back from a second punch from the other hand, allowing Ortiz to make his mistake. His weight had long been accounted for, and as he leaned in on his punch, the lumbering lummox leaned a bit too far, losing his balance. Finally, Ichigo found his advantage, and brought the sword on his head perfectly.

A long clang, the type of noise one hears when metal cracks on metal, erupted through the air, so loud that even the ignorant civilians flinched to. The blade did eat something, but Ichigo couldn't help but wonder exactly what it was that Zangetsu bit into. As a part-time assistant to a medical institution, Ichigo knew the sound of knifes penetrating into skin, bone, and other tissues. He knew how head wounds would bleed profusely, even if minimal in fatalistic probability. He also knew that a knife would always cut into flesh and bone, and that only a metal of equal or greater durability could halt its probing advance. The strike bisected his wide-brimmed hat perfectly, and the giant was shaken by the suddenness and potency of the blow, heightened further by his off-kilter stance.

But he did not collapse in the structure of death. If anything, Ichigo's furious blow only dropped him to a knee, his blade acting more as a bludgeon than a splitting edge.

However, Ichigo made a rookie error, and exposed himself. Treating him as a snake with its head cut off, Ichigo did not brace himself for Ortiz's swatting arm. The massive arm forced the orange-haired adolescent back, his impromptu flight halted by a newspaper dispenser, which he bowled over from sheer force.

Yet his removal did not go unavenged, though not by the wiles and persistence of Ikkaku Madarame. Instead, Rukia herself stepped into the fight, placing her petite frame between Ichigo and the monstrous giant, and chanted her own incantation. With quick words, a black of kido enveloped the still-downed the giant, forcing him back from the magic force, and ensnaring his clothing, his trench coat and mittens, in a venomous black fire.

"Ichigo! Get your butt up here! I can't hold him off for long without my Soul Reaper powers!" Rukia called out to her fallen partner. Rocked as he was, despite his durability, the single swat from the brute did more damage than the collision into the newspaper dispenser. He found it a chore to breathe for a moment, each breath painfully crawling into his body.

If he had been quicker, perhaps he could've halted the next action.

A combination of anticipated lethargy and Rukia's attention on Ichigo prompted them both being caught flat-footed, unaware in the least of the bull rushing them, his clothes still on fire from the Hado blast. Rukia turned just in time to feel a cold, bony hand wrap around her throat, immediately choking the respiratory capabilities of her gigai, and effortlessly hoisting her in the air, to the arm's full reach. With ease she was elevated, her pelvis now parallel to the giant's head, and she struggled with her disciplinary feet, kicking with all the force she could muster. Against a normal foe, such powerful kicks would humble even the stoutest man, leveled at his cranium as they were. But this brute was not normal. She kicked four times, motivated by panic and fueled by adrenaline, and it was not until the fourth kick that Rukia Kuchiki felt her foot contort in jarring pains. Each kick made a sound comparable to when a youth kicks a trashcan or a car door. The clangor of metal was again ever present, and Rukia felt her hands groping at the small, bony finger that held her throat.

They were not flesh and bone. No, no…these surprisingly gaunt fingers, hidden exclusively by the enveloping mitten that was now burned to ashes, were cold, lacking the human warmth or even the glabrous skin tissue of a normal hand. Instead, as Rukia cast her eyes down, before they rolled into the back of her head from lack of breath, she saw that they were more rounded, but skeletal-like as well, lacking the bulk of meat and blood and skin, and instead replaced not with dry bone…but cold, blackish-blue metal. A skeletal hand of metal, with an almost hydraulic grip, fastened to her petite windpipe, and it slowly, mechanically, tightened around her throat.

"Aw dang it. Now ya gon'n pissed me off. Whatever. It wuz bound t'happen." Again came that carefree accent, and that was the second to last thing Rukia knew for the day.

The last thing she knew was the grip tightening further, and she losing consciousness because of lack of air.

Ichigo found his legs then, and jumped up, running to Rukia's inert form as the giant, now lacking his protective clothing, released her. Motioning to Orihime, Ichigo grabbed his partner and fled for the time, his creed of protection more important than a skirmish. But he did get a glance at the giant, as he looked down on him, his face now more obvious and all the more hideous for it.

Ichigo now understood why his Zangetsu could not penetrate the giant's body, as if he was wearing some sort of armor. It wasn't that simple, but rather academic. The giant's body was the armor. The giant's girth was a carapace of blackish-blue metal, shimmering in the lazy afternoon sun, now broached on the horizon. Holding only a bipedal stance and a humanoid structure to label himself as sapien-like, without the hat, the trench coat, and the mittens to hide his repugnant form, the monstrous appearance was all the more enhanced and emblazoned for show and tell. His head was mostly encased in a jagged, junky metal collection, bisected down the middle, which the left had a softer, gentler, smoother appearance, almost framing a head, while the other side had a more polygon-like outlook, as if messily collected together in a mortar of glue and fire. His body, hulking in ridiculously humongous proportions, expanded out to be at least two men wide, from shoulder to shoulder, with an apparent armament perched on his back: On his right shoulder there was a rectangular like prism, with a series of openings at the front, while the other side had a more triangulated opening on the metal box, akin to jaws, that pointed upward. The galoot's body continued its shimmering armor all the way to his rather blocky legs, which seemed more a collection of scrap parts. The knees looked as diamond-shaped athletic pads, bisecting the upper and lower legs as rectangular prisms vaguely resembling thighs and calves, each adorned with yellow lights. The feet, that bore his weight and broke the earth, were of a diamond pattern as well, colored grey and mingled with almost turtloid shellings. Lastly, however, were his arms: Asymmetrical in design, and singularly dangerous. The left, the one which he choked Rukia to unconsciousness, was ectomorphic in size all the way to the elbow, which gained more mass and a curious four-blades at where the bicep would be. The other, however, was much larger, though still holding a skeletal thinness at the hand. Beyond the wrist, a metallic covering encased the arm, stopping at the right bicep, which revealed a curious cylinder a fifth of the way inserted into this casing.

From the neck down the man looked more like a machine. And thus Ichigo, a Soul Reaper, had to wonder…how does a machine even interact with a Soul Reaper?!

As Ichigo set down Rukia, shooting Orihime a pleading glance, The mechanical muscle named Ortiz turned his full attention to the substitute Soul Reaper, his invulnerability now fully explained. Ichigo saw Chad, now recovered, propping himself up to assist. Ikkaku, having been in the wings earlier, only positioned himself on the other side of the giant, his spear zan-pakuto armed and his smile all the more and indicator to spill shrapnel.

With the three-on-one scenario apparent, if Ortiz was bothered he didn't show it. He turned his face partially to meet Ichigo, to see him out of the right side of his face, and Ichigo reeled at what he saw. He had expected to see a light, indicating further the descent into robotics. Instead, it was a normal, human eye, just like his own, colored a pale sky blue.

He also got a good look at his face, and saw even that was not human. Instead, it was more resembling of a big cat, like a lion or something…just without the mane.

"Dag'nabit." The machine-monster muttered, distaste obvious in words as he moved a mechanical mandible to speak. "I doan like prancing' in 'e nude! But I guess I doan need clothes anymore…hehe…"

The giant lacked the alien comparison that befitted his metallic appearance. He fished for a cigar out of his burning trench coat, and lit it from the flames, before placing it in his feline mouth.

"Get outta my way, kiddo. I'm gonna crush 'at girl's head t'bits for 'is."

"Over my dead body, freak."

"Freak? Did ya call me freak!? Did ya call me FREAK?!" The metallic echo rose to equivocate the giant's anger, and his burly right arm raised itself in challenge. "'at's it. Ferget wha' Kokoro said. Who cares if ya jus' keelled Oracion!? I'm keeling every friggin' onaya. I'll friggin' show ya 'e terror of 'e SOMME!!"

Aware of the difficulty of this upcoming fight, Ichigo and Chad could only brace themselves. The giant, picking up speed for the first time, and abandoning his lazy apathy for intolerant rage, rushed with earthquake causing footsteps at Ichigo, his arms raised up to enshroud them.

Ichigo grimaced. It was time for round two.

--

August 12th, mid-afternoon…

For the umpteenth time Karin Kurosaki found herself glancing over at her friend Toshiro Hitsugaya, as if expectant of some crafty plan to help them out of the mess they were in. As a reputed captain of the Gotei 13, she surely expected one as experienced as him to have some plan, some trick, to get them out of there. To say they were in paradise, accentuated further by the iron-maiden lock of their hands together, would be a bald-face lie.

When you have a gentleman psychopath guiding you around by the neck, with a switchblade complex all the more, you tend not to label it as paradise.

She did not know how he found them: The Seven-Sealed Devil seemed to pop out of nowhere, or some place more sinister, with each passing. Interestingly, they almost lost him, as he noticed them only by bumping into them first, and then realizing who it was he bumped into. Toshiro, having fought and nearly gotten killed twice, instantly knew who it was on a second glance, and had made to run away as quietly as one might. However, so too did the Devil, and he easily caught up to them. Karin couldn't tell whose frustration was greater, hers or Toshiro's.

Alas, she could not allow herself to dig her own defeat. She wasn't going to walk into the jaws of death. By no means would she. But she found the dude's smile…creepy.

They had been walking for several minutes, maybe five or six, traversing various neighborhoods and quaint houses, before the pallid man stopped them, and raised himself to his full height. Karin was able to get another look at him, and he wanted to blanch at his attire. After all, what sort of dude did you have to be to wear that kind of get-up? A suit and tie of darkest color in this weather? She took note of his attention to apparel: His hat dipped again low, to hide the upper portion of his face, while exposing the lower part of his face with a pallid, small smile. Small hints of ebony black hair propped out from the rear of his hat, and Karin noticed again how the majority of his skin was hidden, as if exposing to the sun would blemish him. However, his step, even with his hands restrained, remained pompous to a degree. It annoyed her intimately, to be held as such by a mockery of a man, but she dared not to move…not yet. She did not forget the surprise in his hands, and Toshiro had not made a move either. Perhaps he had a plan.

Perhaps not.

She could not help but find it odd, surreally odd, how the man had no scar tissue on his face…Had not his face been smashed by Toshiro? And what about that parcel, tucked under his arm?

Answers would be forthcoming.

The trio-the dandy and his captives, found a destination, though whether this was intended or not was still up for grabs. The dandy directed the pair of preteens, towards a decrepit fence, withered by time and lack of maintenance, behind of which lied a simple lot. It was vacant of anything save the gazing grass, enclosed within a pair of silent, observant buildings. Whether they had anything inside of them is unknown, but the innocence and the complete absence of innocence simultaneously was there, unruffled by the disquiet in the lot.

"Enter, would you kindly?"

The dandy was as pompous as before in his emotionless words. Karin still found his mannerisms disturbing, how one could put on such a show of gentility and yet have absolute indifference with the timbre of his terminology. He finally released his hold on their necks, and motioned through the decayed gate. Toshiro did not let go of her hand as he took lead, aware perhaps of how pointless it would be to run, with The Seven-Sealed Devil's unnatural speed freshly remembered in their minds. Karin wondered why no one was moving to stop them, but then again, would a cop be able to? Briefly, she realized that there was a candy store on the other side of the street, though she was unable to see anyone inside.

The lot appeared as dissolute and in desperate need of repair as any lot left to the raking winds of nature. It was unlike the lot Karin visited so often, positioned with its soccer goals and kept clean, if not by her and her friends, then by the city itself. This one, lack of trash notwithstanding, had clearly been ignored by passersby, and left to rot at its own leisure. Though the grass was still green for the most part, places still beheld patches of surly brown, a sign of potency of the withering sun. Karin again looked at the two anxious buildings beside them, melded with brick mostly, and wondered if anyone was looking down, observing them as the trio walked to the center of the lot.

"Ha. Ha. Like ratas in a maze, tu look for an exit vainly. Ha. Ha. Amusing." The detached tenor of the Seven-Sealed Devil crept into their ears, as he stood, one arm inert at his side, clutching his cardboard package, while the other found itself on its gloved perch, resting comfortably on his sable fedora.

"I really getting tired of you, Bloodswerth." Toshiro growled, frustration infinite and anger ready to boil. He lacked a weapon, as per before, and Karin started looking around the lot for some sort of item they could use to defend themselves. Toshiro didn't have his Hyourinmaru, but he did have skills.

"Interesting. You know my name?" The surprise was suppressed due in part to the complete apathy in his voice, but his smile dropped slightly.

"How could I not? Janus Bloodswerth, the Seven-Sealed Devil: Robber of my powers! I've met you twice before! Once I killed you. The second time I maimed you. Did I hit you so hard that you lost your memory?" Toshiro all but shouted. His face was losing its gentle gleam, contorting into a gargoyle from uncharacteristic anger. Karin noticed briefly, as she listened in, that the 10th company captain actually stepped in front of her, as if shielding her from something subconsciously.

"I beg your pardon. I only arrived in Japan two days ago, dragon pequeno. You, according to my employer, have been here since…July 30th, if not longer. I could not have dueled you, or any soul reaper before. You are supposedly the first soul reaper that I'll get the privilege of dueling."

Toshiro's voice gained more of a glacial edge as he heard this lie. "You-! What do you take me for?! Just because I look like a child doesn't mean I am to be treated as one! I have fought you before!"

"Are you a telepath?"

"No!"

The dandy's mouth curled in confusion, as if he himself could not find an adequate answer. "How strange. I have been in my home of Spain up until two days ago. There is no way you and I could have met, and yet so strongly you vouch that we have…even to the point that you know my name, and you claim I robbed your powers. How desconocido. But amusing."

Karin could obviously see how this was affecting him: Anger was shaking his legs to a vindictive beat. However, she still needed his rationale, and so she placed a calming hand on his shoulder. His head turned sharply, and then upon realizing who it was, his teal eyes softened, and he calmed down, effectively.

"Oh well. I do not care how you know me. If anything, this will make it more entertaining. Its been a long time since I fought an opponent that could read my mind, and so needed castigo for his lies." He reached into his pockets, and produced a small phone-shaped device, pressing buttons in a languid monotony.

Finally, Karin spoke for herself, remembering something from their last confrontation.

"Uh, hey, Bloodbat or something."

The pallid man looked up, the lower part of his pale complexion indicating attention.

"I gotta question for you." Karin stated. She remembered how, due perhaps to his gentlemanly adherence, the man agreed to answer three questions before the fight. Maybe, as she readjusted her baseball cap to seem confident, she could get some more information.

"……Why waste my breathe on peasants? Why waste my breathe on the arm candy of un capitan? You are going to die with your captain anyway, as soon as I…Ah. What do you know. Maybe it is worth speaking to you, little girl."

Karin's eyebrows furrowed, as if failing to understand what he was getting at. Toshiro also noticed this, his own face melding from a state of quiet rage to blowing bemusement.

"This is amusing. El capitan is you, Toshiro Hitsugaya, but the one with the higher spiritual pressure is tu, Niña pequena. Ha. Ha. Amusing. What a boon presented to me."

Toshiro looked back at her, a grimace concealing his own fear at his baseball capped friend. Clearly, he knew what was coming, and Karin's thoughts reflected that.

Ah, don't tell me…

"My employer told me el dragon pequeno is very…arrogante. He would refuse to summon his espada due to his burdensome arrogancia, and therefore will not provide me with sport. At least yet, according to the good doctor. But I see a possible…bargain in the works. I am called El Diablo sellado siete for a reason, and perhaps this once, I can be like El Diablo. You, Hansel and Gretel, want information. I want entertainment. Supply me with the entertainment that defines mi existencia, and I will happily sell out my comrades."

"You mean Canopus?" Toshiro barked. His hold on Karin's hand was becoming more like a python's with each passing moment, and Karin could feel the circulation draining out of her hand.

Again there was that look of genuine puzzlement. "Canopus? What is that? A star? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with an organization. I only have had contact with my employer, who said to remove you, dragon pequeno."

My Gawd! Karin felt herself shout internally, what the heck is going on?

"Can you at least tell us who your employer is?" Toshiro asked again.

"I suppose I could. His name is Dr. Kokoro Kiiromori. Now, are we done talking? Yo Quero luchar."

As if to emphasize that desire, the pallid stranger cast aside his black cloth gloves, revealing hands that were at best, vitamin-D deficient. The almost ghostly white texture of his lithe hands bugged Karin, for it added to the strangeness of the man named Bloodswerth. His hands reached again into his pocket, and this time produced a tape recorder, very much like the one they acquired when the man was accosted the second time.

"Entertain me, Niños. Entertain me. Thrill me. Chill me. Delight me. Excite me. And from my freezing corpse…you can claim this, your premio. This is all you need to know, about Dr. Kiiromori, and El Voz detras el puerta rojo. A fair trade, don't you agree? All the information, and all you have to do is kindly kill me. But killing me, is easier hablado than hacedo. Wouldn't you agree?"

Toshiro stepped forward at this, for this was obviously the challenge, the throwing of the gauntlet. As a Soul Reaper, Karin suspected, the snow-haired captain couldn't avoid a confrontation, even with his lack of power, even with his supposed 'arrogancia', though, Karin supposed, he could be a little uptight at times. Even so, he had been brave to stand against the Seven-Sealed Devil before, without his powers and all. But in this environment, he could not send her to safety, as he did before. The lot was compact, and lacked any sort of suitable barricades for an eleven-year old girl. If the narcissus went all out, as he so wanted his adversaries to do, then she would likely be caught in the crossfire.

She noticed the dandy's pasty hands rise, and his mouth mutter an incantation:

"Combinan, Sellos Segundo y Quinto: Electric Sky Fence."

Almost as if by magic, a series of five bars manifested in front of Toshiro, no sooner than his fifth step was taken. The bars were of pure energy, radiating almost electrical properties, and hovering over her Soul Reaper friend. Grimacing at the uninvited intrusion, he made to move around it, but found that the 'fence' moved with him, halting his progress like a linebacker.

"I do want to fight you, dragon pequeno, but I have been informed of your arrogance. You refuse to fight at you best, simply because all others beneath do not deserve to see your power. How such an arrogant, reptilian reaper as yourself landed himself in the Gotei 13, an honorable company, is beyond me. Kiiromori told me how you act around you fights, how you refuse to besmirch your dainty honor with your espada. So I will make you want to draw out the dragon. I will make you lust for it."

Toshiro paid no heed to the monologue of the Seven-Sealed Devil, again caught in another surprise from the fedora-wearing dandy. He reached a hand to shove the 'fence' back, but recoiled in pain quickly. A burn mark adorned the finger that grazed the energy fence.

"Ha. Ha. How hideous is your arrogancia. The Electric Sky Fence connects to nerves. Any place on your body that touches it will activate your pain receptors. What point is conditioning when you get shocked so effortlessly?"

"So then, Bloodswerth…if you intend to keep me caged, where's your entertainment? I'm your enemy! Fight me!"

"No, no, no…" The Seven-Sealed Devil responded, his smile expanding with each negative. "I want you at your best. Your arrogancia prevents that, no matter how much you say you want to fight me. Arrogancia es un pecado, just as my hedonism. I will exorcise it. They say a dragon loves nothing more than its tesoro, after all…"

At this, one of his hands jerked, and again the blood-curdling scream of his flesh preluded them. From his left hand came a tizona, this time coming graciously swifter, still caked in his own gore, but otherwise a strong metal blade. His healing palm grasped the saber, and with its full length he pointed it…at Karin's nose.

"Yo estoy Janus Bloodswerth. I challenge you, companion and esclava of the dragon."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"You have to the count of three, or else I will cut you to ribbons." There was no flaw, no fluctuation, and no dissonance in his tone. He very well could have talked about the weather with the same detached voice he used now, so soberly threatening her death. "You are a peasant girl, and so your name is irrelevante. Hurry. You have some power in you. Summon it, as I do."

At this, being put on the spot, Karin realized fully how serious Bloodswerth truly was. Lacking emotion in his voice as he was, Karin could see, with the saber's tip inches from her nose, and the phantom smile curling on his face. He looked poised to gallop and strike, but courteously waiting for her to ready herself.

"Uh…but I don't have a blade."

"Nonsense. Must you, the esclava, bear the emulated ego of your master? No matter. I will not let you escape. Here. This should suit your tastes."

Distaste all the more apparent on his lips, The Seven-Sealed Devil produced his cardboard package, cut it open with a slice of his tizona, and hurled its contents at Karin's feet. At this, Karin eyed a small sword, which ominously struck face-down at her feet.

"Pick it up."

"No!"

The response turned into a slap of his saber, as the tuxedoed dandy slashed at her with the dull end of his sword.

"Pick it up."

"No!"

This time his bare hand slapped her, but she tried to strike back, her foot lunging for his body. Effortlessly he moved back, and reached his hand out to slap her again. She flinched again, and she felt the tingling on her skin from the contact.

"Pick it up."

Karin looked stubbornly at the man, whose pallid face twisted more and more into a warped smile, accursed all the more due to his obvious irritation. He pointed his sword at her, and her response again was non-verbal, yet all the more vocal: With all her strength, she kicked the tip of the tizona up and back into his face, forcing him back from them.

"I said no! I'm not playing your stupid game! You wanna play with swords, go join a kendo clud or something! Or better yet, go to the psycho-ward!"

"Oh dear. It looks like I must open my Sello Septimo. How demeaning it is…to lower myself to touching a peasant…"

Karin ignored his words, but his next action could not be ignored. Indeed, how can one ignore when a hand reaches out, and clasps itself on one's forehead? Karin's hands reached out briefly, attempting to pry off his fingers, while simultaneously trying to kick at his shins.

"If you won't show me your power…then I will force it out of you. There in lies a fragmented power: Even one without a sixth sense as myself can sense it. I hunger for it, so produce your espada." His tone became more edged, and a divergence from his normal coldness-perhaps anger- could be detected in his timbre. "Kiiromori told me you had a monster inside of you, esclava. I will force it out."

Toshiro rushed at the fence holding him back, and with his powerful Hyourinmaru, the Electric Sky Fence would have been obliterated before its icy brilliance. But denuded from his full potential, and armed only with borrowed flesh, the 10th company captain recoiled again, his body unable to plow through a conjured fence of high voltage. Karin, meanwhile, felt her brain go on high. She related the feeling not to pain, but to the adrenaline-pumped aftershock of a long soccer game. She felt exhilarated, and energized with each second, the tingling jittering throughout her nervous system. She felt a weight in her hand, a weight that simply just appeared out of mid-air, and Karin felt more emboldened, confident…powerful.

"Karin!" Toshiro called out. "That hand cost me my powers! Don't let him hold you for too long!"

"Ignore him. Indulge yourself, esclava, as you would in that dragon's embrace. You have untapped potential for a peasant. Let it be unplumbed. Ah…you have already drawn a weapon…though it is not yours…"

Karin looked down, and her eyes raised themselves in a euphoric amusement. A large sword, shaped like a katana, now rested in her hand, colored a dull grey to emphasize its hardness, one may guess. This was a zan-pakuto, but Karin noticed immediately how unbalanced it felt in her hand. Another thing she noticed about the blade, was that it was dripping grey droplets at the very edge. Its pommel also felt too big, as if meant for larger hands.

"Ah…ha. Ha. Ha. Kiiromori was right. You have acquired one of those needles…ha. Ha. Ha. To think, I get to confront a zan-pakuto in the hands of the living. Ha."

Karin felt him remove his hand gently, mimicking the grace of a blessing pope. Then the attitude changed, with the deranged nutcase swinging his thin tizona at the raven-haired football fanatic's head. Hearing Toshiro's call of warning, Karin just raised her blade in time, halting the severing blade from reaching her face.

"Ah. See. You can luchar. Fantastico. Be careful now, little girl. For I will kill you, if you offer me the chance. But I will kill you anyway. You haven't the heart to kill me, nor the discipline." Bloodswerth stated firmly. A sign of his lack of seriousness in this fight was evident, as he still only had one sword out.

"I don't need to do that! All I need to do is kick your butt!" Karin announced.

"Oh? With a sword that belongs to another soul reaper? With a spirit that does not recognize you as its master? Ha. Ha. A peasant to the dragon, and a peasant to the zan-pakuto Yousenkawa. You cannot hear it, and it will not speak to you. You have no skill, power, or conviction. You are just a means to an end."

Karin was going to boast, but the man rushed her unexpectedly, catching her rear. She rolled out of the way, as he slashed his sword, trying to strike but only half-heartedly.

"Repeat: Surge, Yousenkawa."

The dandy pushed off with a kick, trying to damage her face, but missing slightly. Karin slid under her opponent's feet, using her soccer skills to good use. Toshiro, still barred behind the electric fence, paced like a lion, unable to do anything, again.

"I said, repeat: Surge, Yousenkawa."

This time the dandy came at a more elaborate combination, twirling his blade with parries and thrusts, forcing her heavy katana back with each strike. Her focus on defense, admirable as it was, did not hinder his efforts, as he pushed her zan-pakuto aside, and pointed the tip of his sword at her neck.

"You're beginning to bore me. Repeat: Surge, Yousenkawa."

Karin raised her katana up, but her lack of training resulted in some rather awkward movements. She tried to emulate some of Toshiro's movements, but the Seven-Sealed Devil simply moved out of the way, sidestepping each telegraphed step.

"You can never beat me with defense alone. For God's sake, attack me. Say it: Surge, Yousenkawa."

It was Toshiro's heroic voice that pulled her out. "Darnit Karin! Say it or throw the damn thing to me!"

"Shiro-Chan! Shut up!"

The frustration of both was palpable, but as Karin peered at the smiling narcissus, she only could shrug. What else did she have to lose?

"Surge, Yousenkawa!!" She shouted, her voice empowered as if by a trumpet. A flash if light overtook the area, and Karin felt the weight lift itself somewhat, as she stood now, her new, shikai-ed blade in hand…

His tizona clashed onto her blade…and the smell of melting steel pilfered both their nostrils on contact.

"What?" He said.

"Ah yeah. I got you now!"

The battle was not over, merely equalized. Now, round two could clearly commence.

--

End Chapter.

Translations:

-Quero­-I want

-Luchar-To fight

­-Esclava­-Slave, in the female sense

-premio-prize

-El Voz detras el puerta rojo- The voice behind the red door

-Hacedo-To do, in past tense

­-desconocido-strange

­-Yousenkawa- Should be literally, "Molten Iron River" in Japanese

-pecado-sin