[AliCe In Chains]
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
[Embraced By Desolation]
The night passed, and when dawn came she found herself leaving his apartment to begin the slow trek down to her own. Her steps were measured, slow, as she took in the bright rays of a new day as the sun rose. The morning air was cool, comforting against her bare shoulders and against the sweat tinged column of her neck. The wind took away the scent of her fear, of her tears- and left her feeling new, refreshed. She found that in this moment, she could think of nothing besides the echo of her foot steps against the landing. Pit Pat. She thought calmly, carefully. Pitter Patter.
He…had done nothing more to her after that. He had let her stay where she lay, shuddering and anxious, until exhaustion had thrown her into a fitful slumber. She had dreamed of nothing but darkness. But in that darkness had been the silence of an empty tomb, the cold voice of an ageless grave. When she awoke, he had been gone- leaving only a perfectly scrawled note on the empty counter for her to find.
'When you awaken, proceed about your day as normal. Return to your daily duties and obligations, and explain yourself for your absence. If you are needed, you will come.'
He had not signed his name.
Without the cold of him close to her, she could not hear the rattle of chains as she walked, only the pitter patter of her feet. She didn't know where her books were, nor her keys- probably still sitting where ever she had left them when she had…answered the call. She almost chuckled at the thought of her abandoned books looking for her- going on a journey to find her so she could get home- but the beginnings of her laughter dried up into a weary smile.
"So there is your answer."
Yes. She answered quietly, in her mind. But there was no cold ghost on the edge of it, watching…listening. It was just her, and the her she had always known. She was free now, not bound- to cry if she wanted, jump for joy, dance and laugh- if she still knew how. How could she be expected to just…be the same now? How could he expect her to just…go back to normal, at the flip of a switch? Just like that…just that easily…like a broken doll that would rise any number of times. But she got it. He thinks that now probably…finally…for once and for all he has broken me.
And…maybe he was right. Was she broken now? Since she had seen it for her own eyes, the way the very love in which she had so passionately believed had…betrayed her. It was worse than the callous cold of his hands against her, than the empty kiss he gave her, than the inhuman way he had answered her. It was colder, harsher somehow- knowing for once, finally that his words had struck her in a place from which she could never recover. And there would be no more womanly rage- unlike before, when in that single moment she had struck him across the face- for mocking her and her feelings. There would be no more righteous rage now. That well deserved strike, the girl she had been in that moment, was gone. There was nothing. Only this silent acceptance.
Because of her love…her naïveté… she had become prey. Had anything changed she wondered…truly wondered? She was practically a slave now…probably…a toy to be played with…surely any hope or love to be had…was gone. Poof, she thought, calmly, so calmly, and the birds fly away.
She stumbled down the stairs to the lobby, walking in and collapsing on the first couch she saw with a sigh she couldn't restrain. She sat, leaning back, breathing deeply and thinking of nothing. Not the time passing by, counting down to her being late for her first class. Not the anxious looks on her friend's faces, not on Tatsuki's biting words or her regret. She plopped down on the couch, listening to the rusty springs creak beneath her weight in reply. She turned, laying sideways against the old worn fabric, letting her feet dangle and her hair water fall in a sunset colored stream onto the floor.
She was tired. She wanted nothing but the empty abyss of sleep. No dreams. She didn't know if she even wanted to wake up to this- this reality. But more than that she wanted….
"…Your freedom is no longer your own."
Yeah. She thought with sadness, with emptiness. I know. But you didn't have to take it. You didn't have to take anything. It could have all been yours. It already…was yours. If you had only…She stopped the train of thought abruptly as she felt the tears begin, the cry she had never unleashed threatening to unwind her right here. Not a cry of frustration, or even sadness. After the first time those cold hands had stifled her blaze, she had cried like she hadn't since her brother died. But this was not a hard sob of mourning, of insurmountable loss. This was different. Darker. Beyond her. This was it. Building in her chest, swelling in the silence of this room. A cry of absolute defeat.
'Love….did I ever know anything? I was so certain...once. But now…' She didn't know. She didn't know anything. She only knew that this feeling was what he had been trying so hard to get out of her for so long. Would he be proud if she told him she finally understood what he meant?
"… Do you not have the object you desired, the attention of the one in whom you strove so hard to believe? …You have made countless attempts to define this 'love'. Is this not a willing compromise? ...You are free to 'love' as you wish. You will simply do so under more strict obligations."
"And you have no one to blame but yourself."
Yeah this was it, she was certain. In this moment as she lay on an old couch in a lonely lobby, listening to time sifting through her hands. This was it, she thought as the tears began to form in her eyes. Here it was, clawing at the inside of her chest, stealing her breath. Beyond redemption, with no hope of salvation. Utter Despair.
Some shit had happened- exactly what, fuck if he knew or cared, not anymore. He wasn't too much of a dumb shit to not know that two of the bastards he hated the most in the world had probably forced his hand into something he wasn't sure he would like. But he wasn't a fool either. Whenever that pink haired bastard started running his shit hole of a mouth and started telling them what to do, there was usually one probable cause- survival.
He didn't know how he felt about life- sometimes he didn't even know if he wanted it, but he damn sure didn't want to know what death felt like. And it was all so fucking stupid, so cheap- he had not fought for survival in the filth of a hundred other putrid, screaming souls to be born-only to die like some shit faced coward in some back alley hell hole. He had not shed blood, he had not spilled it- he had not fought and cursed and suffered to be snuffed out like some candle in the wind. Fuck this curse that was his existence- it could ruin as much shit as it liked, it could drive him to the edge of madness if it wanted to, and he really didn't give a fuck. But dying like a dog beneath the blade of some pompous ass was the one thing he wouldn't allow. Fuck soul society and every soul reaper out there whose sword hungered for his blood. Fucking hypocrites. They still didn't know shit about anything. They were dogs marked for death, but that didn't make it any less bitter. They didn't know shit- not about the war, the why- and why them. It was almost kind of funny, knowing that those all-knowing bastards could be so stupid about something so simple.
He walked down the street at a leisurely stroll, a fluid, languid movement that always whispered of the violence bubbling in his blood. He couldn't control it, nor did he even make an attempt. Let the mortals cower before him, let them feel the presence of the predator in their midst, let them tuck their tails and run. He'd forgotten how to do anything but snarl, a permanent smirk of violent joy always etched into the lines of his face. Even when calm his eyes were wild- and even like this- one look was enough to send mortals scattering away from his path. Fucking humans, he couldn't help but think, resisting the urge to spit by drawing heavily on the cigarette perched between his lips. The feeling of blackening smoke sliding down his lungs, choking the breath he could not draw made him smile. Then, remembering why he was ignoring the duty that was his burden made the hate come fierce and strong through his chest.
He'd let the little shits go- Ichibitch and that other undersized slut- and he damn sure didn't like the thought of it. The thought that in that single moment, he had stopped himself- for what? For the sake of a few putrid, damned lives? For survival, right? That same old bullshit. The smug look on that bastards face was one that made the rage smart in his chest, hot and raw. Him. Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, with a soul as black as night, a hole in his chest and destruction as his birthright, allowing some young, trifling piece of shit think that he was not a force to be feared, or reckoned with. If you only knew, he thought angrily, bitterly. I would gnaw that heart right out of your fucking chest. I would break every single one of those fucking limbs, I would rip out your tongue, pick my fangs with your bones, and jump rope with your spine.'
It seemed like every day he woke up pissed- angry at everyone, at everything- and what was one day going to do? Get him kicked out? He didn't give a damn if he failed with flying colors, he had seven degrees lost somewhere among the filth of his room, and he damn sure didn't need another one.
He tried to get his mind off of that dangerous tangent - if he kept fucking around with the rage he could barely contain, he would be dead before the day was out. As if anyone else would give a fuck. He'd be just another failure, just another corpse, just another dead hollow rotting in some damned state of existence between heaven and hell.
But more than that- he wondered what the hell had happened to that girl. Grey eyes and sunset hair. That stupid smile, those fucking eyes. The last he'd seen of her she had been a limp form sprawled on his living room couch- broken. After he had woken up with a hell of a headache and coughing up blood, Syazel had laughed in his face when he had asked about her, the little shit. He figured that should have been his first clue- as far as he knew he hadn't seen her at school since. But then again, hell he was usually so busy cutting class she could have easily been there. He didn't know why he still gave a damn- stupid bitch was probably fine.
"Everyone else makes you out to be this really scary, out of control monster, but you seem okay to me!"
The thought of those words now, echoing in his head in that voice like summer, bright and warm, made a shudder he didn't like roll down his back. Disgust? Stupid bitch. What the fuck would he know about that, about any of it? How could he know shit about anything? He wasn't human.
Anyone would want a bitch like that broken. In retrospect, he damn sure couldn't blame Nnoitra for it. The very existence of pure hearted idiots like her, should have pissed him off too. The very notion of self-righteous fools like her and all of her kind, should have stirred the rage stoking in his chest by default. The very thought of anyone living happily while they rotted in misery was usually more than enough to set him off. There was no finer way to bring forth the wrath of any hollow than a pure hearted soul living life well. It was spitting in their faces, it was cursing every single ounce of their putrid, sin ridden, bloodstained lives. Any self-respecting hollow would have devoured her whole and left no semblance of her pointless existence behind. Any self-respecting hollow would have wanted her broken and groveling, crawling through blood and blinded by tears. Nnoitra had only listened to his instincts- a part of it may have been his twisted sexual urges- but it was more than that. It had been that despair that marked him, whispering to him to make another human girl as miserable as he was by taking something from her she could never get back. Her dignity, her purity- something these mortals held in high regard. He'd only fucked up when he'd let that curse coerce him into following up prey he had no right taking. Other than that…hell, he hadn't been wrong.
It was only…he growled, gnawing on the end of the rapidly disappearing cigarette as he strode up the steps to their apartment complex. Stupid Bitch. They weren't human. And she damn sure shouldn't have tried to treat him like one.
He roughly kicked open the door to the lobby, and paused in the doorway. And in that single moment, he could hear the roar of the world echo in his ears. A silent scream lost in darkness, the scent of stagnant air and flowers wilting at the bottom of a well. For one moment, he felt the madness creeping along his spine so strongly that he could almost hear the rattle of chains in darkness. And he wanted to throw his head back and laugh as dim grey eyes met his.
"It won't be long now."
Emerald eyes didn't meet his, hadn't acknowledged him for some time now. He was fine with that he was- the maddening smile on his face was smug, lazy and confident. My dear Cuarto, he thought almost good-naturedly, as he listened idly for the rattle of the chains that he could not hear. He was content with just that- it had not been his bond to make. But he smiled like the cat that ate the canary, as he breathed in the scent of a beast well fed.
It took more will than he believed himself capable of, to not explode into laughter at this very moment- and risk ruining everything, risk dying at the height of his triumph. But tonight he would laugh- until the world ended, until the walls fell, he would laugh himself into oblivion, into the madness that was his namesake. Tonight he would drink. Drink to this- the chains, the victory, the girl. He would drink to that girl until he was drunk- what kind of face did she make, he wondered with a smile- when she faced the beast? Had she cried? Had she begged? Had she groveled for escape, for mercy? Or had she gone to him like a fool, poor fool, with her delusional notions of love? He wanted to know- he was dying to know what drifted behind emerald eyes.
Did it please you, dear brother, when you fed from her willing body? Did she taste of everything I thought she would? Of innocence, of purity…young, delicious and ripe?
He turned, grounding his face into his palm as he thought of her, poor fool. Was she broken now, he wondered, broken beyond repair? He wanted to see her for himself, he wanted to stare in her face and laugh at her tears. Maybe hug her close to the cold of his madness and thank her…for being such a willing sacrifice.
"Yes...it seems we miscalculated. Ichigo Kurosaki alone would have died a miserable death. But it seems he had other comrades who were able to help him send the Menos Grande back to the other side."
The man stood on the edge overlooking the city, a pale figure clothed in black and white, his hands in his pocket. Syazel could easily imagine that they were the only colors the man owned, because perhaps, subconsciously they were the only things that did not remind him of other things. Of brighter things, happier things. Of a life unlived.
And his form had always been languid, fluid- like the capable man who feared nothing. The feeling that there was something inside of him that was carefully contained, controlled and bound. The feeling that although the man could look him square in the eyes, there was nothing behind him. He could clearly remember the brief shiver of revulsion he had felt the first time he saw those emerald eyes. Emptiness.
"No." Now his voice was clearer, stronger- since he had fed. Those cold words spoke of something deeper, a clear tone of command with the promise of violence. Syazel struggled to control himself.
"Nothing has changed. Soul Society will send soul reapers to take back Rukia Kuchiki, and punish her for involving mortals. Ichigo Kurosaki, as well as his comrades, will be appropriately dealt with. Soul Society will not allow such trash to live."
"You seem certain."
-the sound of silence. The sound of silence and death and chains and emptiness. He could almost hear the echo of her screams- if he listened hard enough.
"Octavia."
He nearly bit the flesh of his palm in anticipation, as a very real tremble began to run down his spine.
"Yes?"
"Within a few days' time, the Soul Reapers will come for Rukia Kuchiki. I however, will be leaving immediately to go on a reconnaissance mission."
He drew himself together abruptly, momentarily struck by the sudden nature of the request. His face fell, and it was a moment before he caught himself from revealing the truth of his thoughts. So suddenly? So soon? But surely- the girl! There was a real bubble of a panic he could not suppress choking his words, and he stumbled to regain his calm. Had they been too late? Had he decided after all, to walk forward into the abyss? He hurried to compose himself, willing the tone of skepticism to not color his words. Challenging the man in any form at this moment could prove disastrous. He kept his voice calm, quiet, rational.
"…Ulquiorra…" he began carefully, "I do not believe that-"
"Octavia. In what you believe is irrelevant to this conversation. You will not speak to me of something as pointless as belief. I will tell you of what you must do in my absence and you will follow my orders. That is all there is to the matter."
He sucked in the words quivering on the edge of his tongue, feeling all the bitterness of a whipped dog rolling in his belly. Not even he could find any amusement in this. He held the cold bite of anger, and smothered it beneath his tongue.
"If I may Ulquiorra- I don't believe the others will approve of this."
Both those eyes were brighter now, like polished emeralds, gleaming malevolently in the shadows of mid-morning. Cutting him down to size. He nearly took a step back, startled by the promise echoing in the depths of a gaze that had only been empty before. That cold mechanical violence that had once been the only sign of his anger, of his interest, was amplified. It was no longer subtle- it was the feeling of a cold blade at his neck, whispering dangerously against his skin as he looked into those eyes.
"Then have them come and face me. I have no time to waste on such trifles. My mission is to assure our survival. If there is any number of you who disagree with my methods, they are free to leave or die by my hand. I will not waste my time on disobedient filth who refuse to adhere to my principles."
You pompous asshole! He thought suddenly, sharply, bitterly as he came to himself. Get the taste of virgin on your tongue and this is what becomes of you? He should not have been surprised- Ulquiorra had always done as he pleased, had always acted for their interests, regardless of their individual desires. But for the first time in a long time, he lamented the biting edge to those passionless words. And although he dared not speak it- shivered at that otherworldly something that he had seen lurking in the depth of Ulquiorra's eyes. As if when he had reverted, something inside of him had been freed, some sliver of something either from the man he had been or the monster that he now was. Whatever it was, he wasn't sure it had gone back in.
Perhaps the feeding had changed him in more ways than he had foreseen- although he had done this for all of them, he could not help but wonder if perhaps he had miscalculated.
"I…understand." He ground out harshly, painfully.
"Very well."
"And…there is nothing else you have to say?" He bit his tongue in the heat of his anger, not imagining the bitter tang of his blood in his mouth.
For a moment there was nothing- nothing but the chill of the morning wind in his ears. Emerald eyes stared-unblinking- into the horizon, into the light of the rising sun. He was not blinded by those golden rays, nor did they warm the deathly pale pallor of his skin. He stood motionless before the horizon, cold and untouchable like some figure carved out of ice and stone. Those emerald eyes were dark, but lit from within, as if a light were sinking into the depths of a murky sea.
But there- in there- and he almost missed it, the cold murmur of words on the wind. He felt his breath draw up in his chest.
"What…what did you say?"
Emerald eyes leveled at him- and away. Fool. He could almost hear the words, echoing in the silence between them. And then he felt the dip in the air, the heavy flavor of barely contained power. The wings unfolded, rippling from between the smooth planes of his shoulder blades, tearing through fabric as they caught on the wind- and he couldn't breathe. The tang of that reiatsu on his tongue, was heavy and deep, like drowning in tears. But those eyes remained in absolute control, even as he staggered for breath, to right himself as those dark wings unfurled. Like the wings of some great bat from hell, black as the dark between the stars against the glow of the morning light. Like some newborn beast's first flight, those wings unfurled into the wind with a whisper, stretching, testing their strength. Stronger now. Unfettered.
"Ulquiorra- what did you say?"
But those eyes ignored him, staring at some point from here to there beyond his realm of sight. Coolly, he rolled the ripped remains of his shirt from his shoulders, his chest pale and strong in the morning light as he flexed his wings.
"I do not like to repeat myself." He murmured icily, coldly as he flapped his great wings, and with a rush of wind that nearly blew the glasses from his face, launched himself towards the sky. He held back his windblown hair with a trembling hand, nearly missing the moment when the void opened for him like some dark pit, a black hole in the sky that swallowed him whole. And then he was gone, and the jaws of garganta closed behind him.
They faced each other- him, with all of the barely contained ferocity of a prowling beast. Her- like something broken, something that saw death coming and reveled in it. She sat up and faced him- but nothing stirred in those dim gray eyes. She didn't say anything for a moment- silent as she watched the expressions flitting rapid fire across his face. For one moment he looked murderously angry- the next almost horrified- the last as if he wanted to break out into some horrible laughter of strife and madness, or a nightmarish mix of all three. He threw his head back abruptly, violently, and stopped, his eyes towards the ceiling, one callous hand blanketed over his eyes.
"You smell like dead weeds." He barked out, low and harsh. And then- "Why do you smell like that bastard?"
Ah. She thought suddenly, clearly, as her eyes saw the point beyond human sight, to the heart of him. And she should have known, she thought- she should have known. Everything fell into place so easily, so seamlessly that she wondered how she had been so blind before.
His eyes snapped to hers so harshly she felt as if the gaze should have startled her, should have sent her scurrying away in fear, running away from the sharp accusation in his eyes. Some distant part of herself was aware that this was the first time she had spoken to him since Ul- since he had told her that this man had been the one that had saved her.
"Ah-" she began calmly -knowing that he could not read her thoughts -with a quiet smile as she remembered. "I meant to thank you. I heard that you saved me, so I'm very grateful to you. Surely something really bad was going to happen to me but because of you nothing did so I-"
"Shut the fuck up." He snapped at her, his voice hovering on some precipice between a deathly calm and a murderous rage, his blue eyes narrowed and wild as he took a caged step towards her. Then as if he himself were wary of his own action, drew himself up short. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Who?" She asked in a curiously dead tone, her eyes wide and empty as she felt her mouth rolling over the words whispering along the corridor of her memory. "You're Grimmjow Jeagerjaques." She paused, mulling over the way her tongue rolled over the words as he took another step towards her. "The Sexta Espada."
He stopped mid step, and she did not imagine the way his narrowed eyes widened with an emotion she could not identify. She could see the muscles in his arms tense, the veins in his neck begin to pulse, and she did not imagine the barely restrained power that lay in those arms. He could snap her neck if he wanted to, she thought idly. Those rumors had been more than unfounded- they had been so close to the truth that it was laughable. They had only been able to speculate about his ferocity, whisper of his strength. But she knew it now, in this moment. How much self-control did it take she wondered, to hold back everything he was from snuffing the life out of her?
She lowered her head, noting the way her fingertips looked splayed out against the fabric of the worn couch, the cold of the tiles beneath her bare feet. "Did yours hurt too?"
"What?" He asked at her, and she wondered at the tone of his voice. It was a sharp bark of something that was not panic- but pure disbelief. She had almost rendered him- this hulking fear of a man- speechless. She supposed that if she had been in his shoes, her reaction would have been the same.
"The hole in your chest. Did it hurt when you got yours?"
And she looked up at him then, the curiously dead tone of her voice matching the dim of her eyes. And in his moment in which the harsh light of his eyes met the dim gray of hers- he knew her. He knew her like he knew Syazel that pink haired bastard's madness, like he knew Nel's insanity and Harribel's sacrifice, like he knew the filth of Nnoitra's soul and the lack of anything in others. He knew her in this moment like he knew rotting green eyes, the bleak look on her face matching one he had never been able to understand.
Holy Shit. He thought suddenly, clearly for the first time without the echo of anything close to anger. That bastard has broken her.
For a moment, there was nothing but the silence of a baited breath- and he was speechless. And then, he could feel the twinge of revulsion, of bitterness, and rage and hate rolling up from the depths of him like some wave that threatened to consume them both. He ground the heels of his palms into his face, drawing in haggard breaths as he felt his pupils begin to dilate. He nearly gnawed his tongue in two, the blood filling his mouth doing nothing to lull him back into a false sense of calm. This was it, quaking, skirting around the edge of the gaping hole in his chest, called forth by dim grey eyes. He felt his hands shake, his body wracking with a wrath so indefinable he couldn't even begin to explain it, only knew the madness of this moment. And it was all so fucking stupid It was all so fucking meaningless and nothing mattered and no one mattered Not even him and-He had enough sense to know he was reverting, but lacking any of the self-control to stop it. The madness of blooming flowers, wilting, of stagnant air and emerald eyes holding grey ones captive. The madness of that girl and the cold of that man- a madness, a deep seated anger so fierce he couldn't even begin-
'I'll fucking kill us both! The roar of that malice screamed in his mind, coaxing him to madness, to violence, to action. Staggering he saw her through blood shot eyes, his vision blurred by the sludge of black tears as he struggled to contain himself. I'll eat her fucking heart! I'll fucking kill her! And then! And then-!"
He'd kill all of them, he wouldn't leave a damn thing left. He would tear her to pieces, tear all of them to pieces- he would- he would-
Kill all of them! Don't leave a single one left!
The madness caught him in a cold fist, and dragged him to the bottom of some black pit from which he could not resurface. He struggled to fight it, but it was stronger than him in this moment, and he'd been a fool to think he could overcome it, to think he even wanted to fight it- this was his birthright, his curse- he'd known from the beginning that it would be his undoing.
Fuck! Fuck! He thought clearly, the last conscious thought he had before the dark took him.
At first, she had only thought idly that the news had disturbed him- she assumed that could only be the case, all things considered. Surely compared to them- compared to such walking gods- the thought that she was now one of them was horrifying. Or laughable. She'd thought only that he had hid his face so he could restrain himself from laughing in her face. Although Grimmjow hardly seemed like the type to consider a woman's feelings, least of all spare her torment. She should have been prepared for his mockery- but she had receded into some quiet corner, into some quiet part of herself that was smothering. She felt as if she were walking in a void, struck blind, deaf and dumb. Nothing felt real to her in this moment- not even the reality of this.
She looked up idly when she noticed the sounds, not even believing she could be surprised at what her eyes found. Grimmjow's hands were clawing at his face, hunched over and staggering on his feet. She did not even pause when she noticed the liquid black oozing from between his fingertips. And when he parted his fingers, the look in his bloodshot eyes should have ended her- it was a look of pure rage- but beyond that- it was-
Move. You have to move away.
It was- the look of a man gone mad. But it was deeper, it was stronger. It was the look on a man's face when he watched the world end, when he watched the world burn around him and he had struck the match. It was-
You have to get away! Run!
Why? She thought calmly, the idea seemed preposterous to her. Why should she want to run? Why should she want to do anything? Nothing mattered anymore. Not even this. What more could be done? What more could be taken?
He's going to kill you, you stupid girl!
Kill me? She thought slowly, carefully. But he- her eyes followed the way heavy hands grew claws. As if watching from the bottom of a well, smothering beneath the weight of chains. The way he parted his gaping mouth to reveal a row of black stained fangs. The way he rolled his head on his neck, the snap of unworked muscles, unkempt blue hair grew shaggy and wild. Some indefinable noise began in the depth of his chest, a rumble like approaching thunder, as sharp as lightning. It was-
Orihime!
Orihime!
A chorus of voices called her and she looked up at the very moment that Grimmjow lurched forward with a black grin of madness and hate, wild eyes filled with blood, a clawed hand reaching for the chain at her chest.
'Is this the extent then, Onna?'
It faced her in the smothering dark that surrounded them, as white as a ghost, like some cold spirit lingering over an empty grave. The black hole of its chest gaped and bled like an open wound, spewing filth in a heavy stream of black against the pale expanse of flesh. Real- solid- yet she knew if she felt him she would be rewarded with the feel of a winter's wind sliding through her fingers. Nothing was certain, nothing was tangible here but for that pit of black, the far off gnashing of teeth and the rattle of chains heavy in her ears. She was blinded by the white, the gloom, the dark, the gleam of amber eyes, yellow and cold, like some suffering snake.
She didn't know if any of this was real- this convoluted world existing in the remains of her shadowed psyche, this pocket of darkness spiraling in the deepest recesses of her mind. The hands she held before her eyes were pale, transparent- glowing faintly, as if she'd swallowed some fading light, gleaming mutely from beneath her skin. Wispy- as if she were nothing more than a lingering shadow of a girl once known.
She was tired, she thought. She wanted nothing but to curl up in this darkness and sleep until the end. She'd lay her head at the feet of this beast, and let him devour what was left of her. She didn't want to see him- didn't want to speak to him- didn't even- she didn't even have the right to be frustrated, to be enraged, she was only…tired.
She didn't say anything, as she lowered her hands, letting her fingers lazily intertwine with each other. Her eyes did not search the darkness- nor did she ignore the presence of the shadow. That, she was certain, would not be allowed. Only this- quiet acceptance.
'I asked you a question, Onna. Is the current course of events pleasing to you? To die alone like trash?'
She didn't say anything, not allowing her eyes to search futilely in the darkness for help that would never come. She didn't want to answer, she didn't even want to speak. She didn't want anything. Nothing but the dark to smother her away, to snuff out the light beneath her skin. To-
'Onna.'
'What would you have me say?' she whispered brokenly in the darkness, willing her eyes upwards so the shadow could see the death behind them. 'He got what you wanted. He wanted me broken. He wanted me to feel what it was like…true despair. He got his wish. If he can't be happy with anything…he can be happy with that.'
For a moment, the silence of the tomb hovered over her, nearly choking her with the scent of stagnant air, of something old and rotting, something ancient. A shiver of cold made her body tremble. Foreign. Unreal. The overwhelming sense that she was standing on the edge of some void she could not fathom. Not like before- like standing frozen on the shore as she watched the dark tide come to seep her away. This was- standing in a pool of black water, feeling the strength of it lapping at her ankles. Barely contained power, whispering in the dark. 'Tread carefully girl'-the tingle of her intuition echoed in her ears-' or you will meet your end.'
'Onna.' It said quietly, an amber gaze piercing her as it drew her back to this- a gaze that knew her like no one had known her, not like her friends, not like her brother, not even like how she knew herself. "Surely you are not so presumptuous as to believe that if we had truly desired you broken, there would have been anything left of you. If we had wanted you broken, I would have devoured you whole. I am not a being of half-hearted measures."
Something sharp and painful caught in her chest at the way amber eyes gleamed at her from the darkness. Those eyes knew her. Those eyes knew her. The dragon- she thought clearly, a tremor of fear in her limbs- the dragon knew her in a way the man did not.
'I took nothing from you that you did not freely give.' It stated simply. And she- felt something in the depth of this shadow, in the depth of this darkness, stir. Something trembling and warm- something she thought he had killed when he had stolen the light from her.
She tried to hold onto the feeling of the cold, of the dark, of eternal sleep- but those eyes kept her awake and alive, the amber eyed shadow whose eyes were making her remember things she wanted forgotten.
'Time and time again, Onna, I denied you. I lamented you. I made you grieve. I made you suffer. I hid nothing from you. My intentions- his- were clearly defined. At any moment you could have denied me. At any moment you could have ceased this nonsense. At any moment you could have carried on with the course of your mortal life. He threw you from this path, yet time and time again, you returned.'
It let the words hang in the dark between them, and something that could have been strength pulsed dimly in her chest- but she said nothing. Its eyes said everything for her.
'They are still here, Onna.' It began abruptly, as if it had answered some unspoken question, fulfilled some unspoken request.
'Who..?' she began quietly, a tremor, a something echoing in her chest. Her words were fragile, broken, lost. 'Who is still here?'
'The pieces of you, Onna.' The winged shadow answered her quietly, a murmur in the darkness. 'I did not devour them. They are still yours.'
She fumbled with thoughts, with words- wary lest she offend with her ignorance, desperately wanting not to care, and frightened that there was some secret flowing between them, some code that she could not understand. Amongst this darkness she felt an otherworldly chill, more frightening to her in this moment than all the dark of the world around her. Suddenly, amazingly she knew the shadow's name. And she could feel the tomb, the scent of the grave and the ancients, of old blood and the clang of war- centuries carefully concealed in the darkness.
'What are they?' She began carefully, cautiously hurrying to smother the scent of her fear, lingering around her form like a beacon in the night.
But the shadow of the dragon blinked its great amber eyes, flicking its tail in the darkness of this dispassionate world.
'You can hear their voices, Onna. If your soul is still better suited for whimpering pathetically in this darkness, groveling as you search for the end, then come. It will be more than a taste now on my lips, Onna- it will be death."
She sucked in a breath she could not draw in the darkness. "You're Murciélago." She finished quietly, resisting the urge to turn tail and run, reeling into the false safety of the darkness, from which she knew would be no escape.
But those great eyes burned amber, and she heard the echo of beating wings on a moonless night, hounding her in the gloom, the far off rattle of rusty chains. It was the beast in this darkness, the master of this madness inside of her, inside of him. Whether it was a part of him, a part of her now, greater than him- she knew not. She knew only that this was the essence of that man, the raw power, the age, the true manifestation of the dragon, the source of his hell flame.
The name hovered between them like a forgotten curse, making the frail wisp of her spirit shiver at the power lurking in its name. It did not answer for a moment, as if that mattered not, as if nothing mattered in this moment.
But there was a something, stirring in the pit of her, the shade, filling with some swirling warmth she could not explain, a warmth she wanted to deny. It was- an understanding, when she looked into its eyes. Words that he said without saying, words carefully hidden beneath the dredge of ages, beneath the nothing in its silence. Words that it refused to acknowledge. A mutual understanding in this moment that she knew as it knew her, words that would forever go unsaid. The dragon, Murciélago, seemed to know this, had been waiting for it since the moment she had drawn breath she felt, waited for an eternity for this moment to pass between them.
'Speak, Onna.'
And the words were there, piercing through the dim of shadowed grey eyes. The words were there, caught on the end of her fumbling tongue. The words were there, in the dark around them. The words were there, swirling in her chest.
'Why did you choose me?'
He was silent for an infinite moment, before he answered that.
"Listen, Onna." He murmured softly in the darkness beckoning with talons like the night for her, towards her- and she obeyed, without the slightest provocation she obeyed, as those claws of darkness whispered against the wisp of her with a lover's caress, like a beast who cared for the dream of a flower. And she closed her eyes and saw the lights, the source of the sun inside of her, counted them on her fingers, listened for their voices. High and insistent. Wise. Strong. Carefree. Fierce. Happy. Her. All of her in those twinkling stars, swirling in her spirit. She felt their warmth, the warmth that was her.
And she'd let herself forget- she had let herself be swayed by cold, emotionless eyes telling her, forcing her to accept what this 'love' meant. She had let herself forget for a moment, but now she remembered, clear as day as the lights spoke to her. That time in the nurse's office, when she had kissed him- that breathless moment when she had felt him struggling to understand. The way she felt when a warm palm met a cold cheek. The chill of his chest against the warmth of her skin. The sun and the moon. And- his words…
["…I am incapable of passion, nor can I reciprocate the feelings you believe yourself to possess for me. You will cease your enquiries. You will cease your attempts at trying to discern what manner of person I might be. And you will cease these foolish ideals of romantic complications ever occurring between us. You and I are incompatible."]
But then he'd saved her. The look in his eyes when she thanked him. The look in his eyes when she had told him to his face that she liked him. The way for one moment, the façade shattered and he had gotten angry with her. The cold kiss in the dark. When she'd slapped him across the face. The accusation on the edge of his eyes, the way he blamed her for this.
She'd forgotten the way his eyes would widen, the way he would take all of her in at once. He said that he had learned love from her, what it meant. But the words she had spoken…
["No…That's not it. You- you chose me. Because...I am the one who loves you. You called it a curse, an inconvenience and yet…here we are. You said we are bound. But if I am bound …then…"]
And therein lies the answer, she thought anew, suddenly, powerfully, the lights in her chest burning hotter, with all the flame of a newborn star.
The answer.
It had chosen her…he had chosen her. Now they were bound. For better, for worse, forever.
"Just this once," the beast whispered solemnly, a subtle reminder in the fading night as she crept back towards the dawn. The beast was calm, the infinite patience of the predator stalking dead prey, the wisdom of countless lives lived and died lingering in its words.
"Onna. I do not waste my time on things that no longer procure my interest. Should you willingly return to this place once more, that will be the end."
And it would be the end- swift and annihilating- she thought with a shiver of cold as the warmth slowly pulled her back to the surface. That would be the end, there would be no quiet slumber in this darkness, but only the gnashing of teeth and the smother of screams as he devoured all that was left of her. Without pretense, brutal in its truth.
"Thank you." She murmured quietly, sincerely although she dared not draw nearer as she felt the sun rise within her, taking her back. She dared not touch the beast, or feel it in this moment- and therein lay the bitter loneliness of the dark that she knew rotted at the core of the dragon. But she- the melting warm heart of her, alive and beating in her chest, did not fear.
"I still love him." She whispered quietly in the dark, like a secret between friends, camped out under a makeshift tent of chairs and blankets. "And if you're a part of him, I guess I'll have to love you too."
"You are still a fool." The beast murmured, licking his lips as if he wanted to taste her.
Like a balloon bobbing to the surface, she felt a sharp peal of laughter threaten to explode from between her lips. This was madness, she thought, the warmth of the sun brewing in her chest, against her lips. This was absolute madness she thought of this moment, surprised at how fondly the thought was. The warmth was in her chest, hot and real- alive. She was strong. She was stronger than she knew, than she thought. She had faced down despair. She had suffered in darkness. She had borne the brunt of cold hands, of words hurled like daggers. She was strong. And this- this one thing in this moment- was hers.
"I am a fool." She uttered proudly, the smile on her face, stretching it to bursting as she spoke to him almost fondly. "But you honestly wouldn't have it any other way, would you?"
'Hmph.' The beast echoed, emerald eyes retreating in the darkness with a rattle of chains. The beast, she knew, would linger here, rotting in its cage as she went on to freedom- to life. Until the next meal, until the next time the bite of his fangs pressed insistently at her chest as she lay helpless in the shadow of wings. But the touch of those claws then, had not been the vice grip of prey locked in the jaws of death- but a whisper, a linger, of more. 'Just this once.' She thought suddenly, sadly. But she wouldn't forget this, the gift the beast had given her- the voices. The chance.
'I won't waste it, I promise.' She called down to the fading eyes, the now forgotten echo of chains. 'I won't disappoint you again.' She promised solemnly, swearing in her head, crossing her heart and wishing to die, sticking a needle in her eye. She would never forget, because she was his last hope, the last flower petal on a withered rose, a dying wish. And she would not forget.
But she turned her eyes upward, bathed in the reality of the light that awaited her, the nightmare that awaited her. The beast had given her the voices, but she didn't know how to use them- so all she could do was listen. If she succeeded, she knew in her heart she would be able to shake Grimmjow from the grip of his madness, of the freed monster staggering drunkenly in his body thirsting for blood. But she didn't think about the other, of the bite of talons as they tore through her chest, the pain of fang and ripping flesh. If she failed in this moment, she knew her soul would be forever lost in this pit, chained to the beast below. And those claws of night would no longer be gentle.
She did not think of that. She thought of other things. The way her friends would greet her when they saw her- the way Tatsuki's eyes crinkled when she felt bad about something, the way she would sheepishly apologize and they would make up. The way Ichigo threw his head back and laughed- how quick Uryû's hands were as he expertly wielded a needle, the comfort of Chad's shadow on hot days. Mrs. Mimi's long fingernails biting into her cheek. Mr. Sourpuss. She would take Grimmjow somewhere nice, somewhere he could get all of that rage out of him without hurting himself- without hurting anyone. And-
-she wanted to be worthy of cold green eyes. Because she had been chosen.
And with baited breath, she closed her eyes and waited.
AN: Thanks to all of you read and reviewed, I'm really glad to get positive feedback and to know that all of you aren't dead yet lol And hopefully, not lost/confused as all hell. Hopefully.
I'm sure many of you are slightly confused about the particulars of hollow/human binding- what it entails, how its maintained, the benefits and the downfalls will all become clearer in the upcoming chapters. Most of you get thus far that arrancar can't live peacefully in this world without a price- they suffer via their respective curses- but there's always the possibility that their curse can overwhelm and lead to their own destruction should they let themselves get to riled up. Grimmjow should have just calmed the fuck down. Tsk tsk.
And yes your brain did not fail you, that IS a shirtless ulquiorra flying through the sky lolz. He's coming to pick me up from my house and taking me to disney world U:
But otherwise, Bleach always made it clear that soul reapers and their zanpukto are two separate beings. (anyone remember that arc where all the zanpukto were kicking ass and taking names? Yeah me neither) It's only fair that the same goes for arrancar considering they are the hollow equivalent of soul reapers. In fact, there are a few other similarities between soul reapers/arrancar that I've hinted at. Try and catch 'em all!
Once again, thank you to all of my reviewers, and to the lovely CatInTheHat for reading over this for me and doing an awesome job! (since i fail on my own)
I look forward to knowing what you guys think, see you next chapter!