A/N: Guys, I gotta admit… I feel like jumping off a cliff… after hunting down Tite Kubo and killing him! It was bad enough when he had Ulquiorra, Stark, and Grimmjow killed, but now he's gone too far! Byakuya…. Poor Byakun! *tears*
Sigh…. Well, here's your chapter guys… one left after this! That means that the epic tale will conclude on MY Wednesday… some of you are very far from my time zone, so it could be Thursday for you; All I can say is that the final chapter will be at least twice as long as the rest of the posts. :P
Wings of Death
Ulquiorra stood, cracking the air with his tail as he whipped it furiously back and forth like an angry cat. It had been so long since he had taken his complete form that his wings were stiff from disuse; he stretched them wide, shaking his head to get used to the weight of the horns that extended from his skull. The heavy bone spirals were comforting in a way, the dark folds of his wings making him feel at home, even in the alien world of humans that he had slowly grown accustomed to… his true form made him feel at ease.
The humans seemed so insignificant before him… the heat at his back felt good, and the scent of fear replaced that of smoke, swirling high in the air as the crowd got a good look at him. Among them he recognized several of the villagers, like the paper maker who he had frequented. All were armed with some manner of tool, often household objects. One young boy held a sharpened stick while another was equipped with a clumsily made kitchen blade.
A mob, it seemed, intent on driving him out. Well… he had stood it before.
A shout broke the silence as a foolish boy who could not have been more then sixteen years of age plunged forward, wielding a sword that he obviously could not use very effectively. It swayed, unbalanced in his hand; his grip was too high up, and he held the blade in only one hand, when it was a weapon obviously meant to be wielded with both. Ulquiorra sidestepped nonchalantly before delivering a sharp blow with one of his wings that sent the attacker flying. He fell face down and sis not stir; Ulquiorra could still hear his pulse and breathing, but he doubted that the humans could tell whether or not he was still alive. Energy pulsed within him, and strength that he had previously kept pent up overflowed. Relative quiet was restored to the clearing.
"Demon," a voice called out over the roar of fire, "Morobito or whatever you are, I have come to kill you."
Golden eyes identified the speaker: a haughty young man with a thin face, blue eyes, and black hair that hung in his eyes. He had the fine hands and long fingers of a scribe, but in his hands he held an oddly crafted bow of white wood painted with designs of blue. Held along the string was a white arrow, fletched with blue bird feathers from the continent, tipped with iron.
"What makes you think you can do it, trash?" Ulquiorra asked flatly, staring blankly at the overly confident person, who seemed to be the woman's own age. The woman… a slight tug at the back of his mind disturbed him, and for a fraction of a second he became unsettled. He shook the feeling of quickly, the anger that he hid behind his blank expression pounding in his ears.
"I am a Quincy," he announced proudly, "the last of a noble race of famed archers; by my honor as a Quincy, I will destroy you!"
"Hn," Ulquiorra's voice was soft but carrying none the less, "So do it, if you're able."
The boy drew back and fired three arrows in the span of time it took most people to fire one; while he was mildly surprised by the speed, Ulquiorra was not caught unawares, and he deflected each missile with a flick of his wings, which would not be pierced by the metal tips. Despite their thin, membrane-like appearance, his wings were harder than granite.
Another barrage of arrows came from a different angle, and those too were blocked. Ulquiorra began to grow annoyed by the constant distraction that came in the form of the humming bowstring and whistling arrows when a stone flew from the group of people who seemed to draw courage from the Quincy's foolish assault. The stone barely reached him, landing at his feet and clicking off one of his talons. His yellowed eyes swept the crowd, pulled away from the bow wielding idiot for a second and-
sssSSK- THUD
Ulquiorra looked passionlessly at the white shaft now protruding from his shoulder, the pale wood stained black with his blood, before he raised his sight back to his attacker. He lunged forward, ignoring his wound and drawing his temper firmly under his control. It would do no good to lose it now. Extending his wings, he launched himself forward and glided across the clearing rather than taking the time to run.
In an instant he was almost nose to nose with the Quincy; he doubted if the human eye could even follow his movements. His hand closed around his opponent's throat and the boy was slammed ruthlessly against a tree, cracking the trunk and shaking new petals down.
Ulquiorra wrapped the young man's forearm in a tight noose with his tail and with one decisive jerk both dislocated the shoulder and broke the wrist, pulling the elbow loose. The demon released his hold as the Quincy screamed, his body collapsing when he hit the ground, and turned in time to block a clumsy sword thrust. Rather than sinking the blade into Ulquiorra's neck, Ulquiorra's raised arm took the blow.
It was the paper maker, his pupils dilated in terror, his breathing hard.
"I hope you enjoyed that little victory," Ulquiorra said flatly as inky blood fell in rivers down his forearm. Kobayashi made and odd choking noise and spewed sanguine from his open mouth as the demon thrust a fist through his chest, crushing his lungs and heart in one blow, killing him before the body had even dropped.
The smell of human blood enflamed him and brought him down to his senses at the same time.
The woman had made it clear how much she loved the people of her village. By killing them he was destroying her happiness, destroying her love. He paused in his assault.
A kitchen cleaver caught him in a glancing blow as he pulled aside too late and cut off two fingers. He looked at his hand disinterestedly as the fingers grew back, the bubbling white flesh taking form and exploding out of the bloody black wound. He flexed his hand and decided it was time for him to make his exit.
The thought of causing the woman pain, even if it was something emotional he was destined never to understand, gave him a feeling he did not know. It caught in his throat and constricted his chest to think of her pain, and he did not like it. It was a pain different then when they were apart… this was worse, because he did not know if it would fade. He wondered if she would get angry; no, she would probably cry, if she could.
He had never done anything for anyone's sake but his own, and he had never fled a battle, but now…
Ulquiorra raised one hand in the air and gathered an unearthly green lance into his fist. He drew his arm back and threw, the weapon darting away and blowing up with such force that even those not directly caught by the explosion were thrown to the ground, peppered with shrapnel and many received burns. While they were distracted, he spread his wings wide and prepared to take off.
As the demon raised his eyes, his gaze locked with Chizuru's for a second before he found his way into the sky with one flap of his wings, and disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind no evidence of his presence but for a trail of dark blood, two fingers, and many, many injured or dying.
…
Chizuru stood, stiff and trembling with fear, her kimono hanging off one shoulder, in a clearing full of the dead, dying, and wounded. The copper scent of blood was cloying on the smoke filled air, and all around her hung moans of pain, cries of sorrow, and wails of fury. A whole section of the forest had been blasted away, leaving behind smoldering wreckage and a hot pink imprint of the flash on her eyes. Kobayashi was dead, lying on red earth, and the scribe, the Quincy sat double over and pale, holding his arm together, fingers dangling uselessly.
How had it come to this? Had her intentions not been pure? Hadn't she only had everyone's best interest at heart?
Sometimes, there are things better left undisturbed, a thought ran through her head, like knocking a hornet's nest out of a tree; a single hornet may sting someone, but the swarm will kill you if you give it the opportunity.
….
"Twenty-one minor injuries, eighteen severe damages, a section of the forest gone, four houses burned, and worst of all, nine dead. Tell me how this came to pass," Byakuya said curtly, glaring down at Chizuru, who had yet to regain her composure even the morning after. Her hands still shook, her legs refused to support her, and she had done little more to improve her appearance than to straighten her kimono. And now the council stood in front of her house.
"T-things just e-escalated…" she squeaked.
"My informants tell me that you and the papermaker stirred people up to go after the demon," Sui Feng snapped, "And now, after the village head refuses your request to get rid of the Morobito do we find out that you chased it off yourself… at the cost of lives!"
"I don't understand what would have possessed you to take such actions," Yorichi said, shaking her head. Today they hadn't brought the little girl with them, so it was just the older three of the noble houses.
"I didn't want anything to happen to Orihime," Chizuru sobbed, "I didn't think that the demon would fight…. Fight like… that," she began to choke on her tears, "and he wasn't even trying! That thing is a monster!"
"'Is' a monster? You mean that even though you sacrificed so much, you didn't manage to kill it?" Sui Feng barked at her. Yorichi touched her arm to calm her, and the steely-eyed woman abated for the moment.
"We both know that the Morobito would be far too strong for ordinary people; that's why Yamamoto didn't approve the issue," the dark skinned lady told her, "But if he's not dead, then…"
"H-he was chased off. We burned his h-home," Chizuru sniffed, "and we hurt him. He flew away.
"It will have to do for the time being," Byakuya said flatly. He looked at Chizuru with a cold glare, "You had best pray to the gods that thing doesn't come back to exact himself on this village."
"If it comes to that," Sui Feng said coldly to the young girl, "then will just throw you to him and be done with it."
…..
"Tatsuki," Orihime called through the doorway, waiting, impatient with excitement, "If we don't leave soon, he might not be there when we arrive!"
"Hold on, hold on," the tomboy reprimanded, "I can't very easily walk there with only one sandal on, and I can't find the other!"
"Alright," the red head sighed, "but hurry!"
"Found it!" the black haired girl smiled, pulling the sandal out from beneath her front step, "we can go now, I suppose,"
"Hooray!"
Tatsuki smiled at her friend as the girl jumped up excitedly; the blind girl had always been so optimistic despite her handicap, always hiding her sadness behind her smile. She was cheerful, sweet, beautiful… everything a man could want.
As they walked, Orihime chattered about a lot of things, but mostly Ulquiorra.
"And anyway, he plays the most beautiful song on his shamisen," she continued as they went, "I really hope you get to hear him play; it's usually what he does at this time of day, since he doesn't leave until later, and he doesn't have work to do other than write music."
"I see," Tatsuki mused, "writing music, huh?"
"Yup! He writes things that make you emotional, but I'm not sure how, because he doesn't seem to have a very good grasp on his own emotions… Ah! This one time he was telling me…"
The two friends enjoyed one another's company for a bit more before Tatsuki began to grow uneasy. The forest around her was silent, and there was a deeply entrenched smell of soot on the air. It took her a moment to realize it, but Orihime had stopped walking, and had fallen silent.
"It's too quiet," she said blankly, "And this smell…"
"What?"
"The birds," she said, fear creeping into her tone, "there are always birds here. And we should be able to hear his music by now. And instead of flowers I smell smoke, and… and something else…"
The girl began to feel her way along desperately with terror painting her features, Tatsuki helping her along, but almost having to struggle to keep up with her friend's pace.
Orihime ran ahead, and Tatsuki's cry of warning caught in her throat as she saw what was ahead: nothing but the charred remains of a home and a peach grove. There was nothing there but blood and blackness.
Orihime stumbled over a burned beam that crumbled beneath her foot. Placing her hand down she felt the cold, wet ash.
"Hey," she said, voice trembling, "where is he? Ulquiorra?"
Tatsuki watched her friend reach out helplessly, looking almost childlike in her search.
"There was a fire, right? But where are you?" her voice rose, "Where is he? He can't be gone, he just can't!"
Tatsuki touched her shoulder, "There's nothing here, Hime. Just blood, wood, and burned tools… no, be careful, you'll cut your hand on that sword!"
"Sword?" Orihime looked at the ground, "Someone came to… hurt him? He's gone now?"
She lunged forward and began to flail out, looking for something to grasp; Tatsuki bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to call out too late to her friend. Orihime's fingers spread across a dead man's face for half a second before the girl drew back.
"They really did try to… to k-kill him, didn't they? He fought with them, but now he… he can't be dead! He just can't! He's NOT!" the last word was a scream, a shriek filled with agony, horror, fury…
Tatsuki almost cried out in shock. Tears were running down her friends' cheeks, spread out from her ruined eyes and dripping into the bloody soil. The girl began to simply scream at the sky, wordlessly as her anguish loosed itself in the salt water flowed from her eyes.
"Do you hear that, Ulquiorra?" Tatsuki whispered, swaying where she stood, feeling the weight of Orihime's emotion heavy in the air, "That is the saddest cry I've ever heard."
