Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, and Saiu do.
DEVIL'S SMILE Chapter 12
Nakita squeezed her eyes shut and denied the tears that burned behind her eyelids. She would not cry, nor weep, nor sob. She would not shed tears for a human boy she'd barely known.
It was her fault.
"Damn you," she whispered to no one.
She could see it in her mind's eye, still feel the demon's voice tearing through her eardrums.
"Leave him?" the creature repeated, still laughing derisively. "Do not mistake me for a fool, Ekisha bitch. If I took you, I'd have every Ekisha in Hell come hunting me. But this one?" He gave Ichigo a little shake, but the Shinigami boy appeared completely comatose—not to mention blood-soaked and barely alive. "What's one more lost soul in Hell?"
Nakita rammed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to banish the memory. If Ichigo was lucky, he would die of his wounds before the demon had a chance to 'play' with him. Maybe the trip through the dimensional tear would kill him. If he was lucky.
Her fault. All her fault.
Her memory sped forward an hour. She was kneeling in a complex spell-circle, and the voice of the Warlord echoed inside the magic bubble of communication she'd created.
"Denied."
Shaking off the flashback, she slid her fingers into her hair, pushing her bangs off her forehead. She'd requested—begged—for a search and rescue team. She'd explained that Ichigo was her responsibility, that relations with the Soul Society would collapse completely if the Hunters left a kidnapped Shinigami to be tortured into a perverted shadow of a human soul. She'd used every argument she could think of, good, bad, and even ridiculous.
She'd known what the answer would be, even before beginning the spell to speak with her superior across dimensions. Hadn't the demon said it? What's one more lost soul? Ichigo was a Substitute Shinigami, not a 'real' one. He was just a human boy with a bit of power.
Her hands clenched into fists around clumps of her hair, pain pinging through her scalp as strands pulled out. She could see their faces in her mind, when she'd told the Shinigami that there would be no rescue. She had seen it in their eyes. Horror. Anguish. Accusation. Cold fury.
They blamed her. They had every right to blame her. Not only had she brought Ichigo into this, she was a Captain. Ichigo had been her responsibility, whether he was officially under her command or not.
Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees. She was curled up on the window ledge in the empty guest room of the 10th Division. Seiko was still at the 4th Division, too injured to be moved yet. Nakita had stayed at the 4th Division just long enough to receive basic healing before returning here. She'd finished the healing on her own. Being able to heal one's own injuries was an Ekisha requirement.
She didn't think Captain Hitsugaya or Vice-Captain Matsumoto wanted her around any more than the injured Shinigami packed into the 4th Division, but at least she could escape the hateful stares for a little while.
An agony of helpless fury burned in her chest. Damn them all. If she could have, she would've gone after Ichigo herself, orders be damned. But the Warlord had ordered her to stay in Soul Society and monitor the situation with the Shinigami. The moment she appeared in Hell, she would be arrested for treason and locked away until the situation had passed.
An hour. One hour in Hell and she could use her Diviner's Sight to ascertain if Ichigo was alive or not. Denied even that. Damn them.
She clenched her teeth until her jaw ached, embracing the physical pain in the futile hope that it might distract her from the emotional agony. How could that boy have wormed his way into her affections so quickly? So quickly, so easily she hadn't even noticed. She imagined he had that affect on most people he met. There was something special about him, something she couldn't quite define.
Something special that would now be twisted into perversion in the darkest pits of Hell. Damn them all.
"It's not your fault."
Nakita jerked upright, pulling her hands from her hair. She twisted around on the window ledge.
The youngest of the Shinigami Captains, Hitsugaya Tōshirō, stood in the doorway, watching her with intent blue-green eyes. Her mouth twisted with self-disgust. She'd been so absorbed in her internal nightmare that she hadn't noticed his approach. She couldn't remember the last time someone had snuck up on her, seeing as her Diviner's Sight was nearly as powerful as the Warlord's Diviner.
She was slipping. Her guard was slipping. Curse this place, but it was too easy here. Too easy to forget everything she needed to remember.
For nearly two decades, she'd been playing a careful, dangerous game—she was hiding her age from the rest of the Yokujin. For souls, age was impossible determine by appearance alone, and most relied upon a person's personality and emotional maturity to reveal any one soul's age. Maintaining the farce that she was a mature woman—and not the equivalent of a teenager—was a delicate task, a careful balance of acting and genuine response. Every moment of every day in hell, she had to mind her actions, her responses. Her temper was practically legend, and that helped hide her less mature reactions. Any time she had trouble dealing with something, she let her anger—and she had a lot of rage just waiting for an excuse to be released—reign over her actions.
It was so different here. In Hell, she could never forget how close death was, not when she was surrounded by enemies, both demon and otherwise. In Soul Society, that razor focus, that constant threat, wasn't there, and she was slipping. Ichigo, already, knew that she was much younger than she pretended to be, and she wondered now just how much Hitsugaya and the other Shinigami had noticed. She had to work harder to maintain the farce that protected her life.
When she didn't respond, Hitsugaya looked away, gazing at the blank wall instead. "Kurosaki wasn't your responsibility," he continued.
She stiffened. "I brought him into this," she said, making a real effort to keep the bitter rage out of her voice. "That makes him my responsibility."
Of all the Shinigami Captains, Hitsugaya was the only one she hesitated to offend. Not because she didn't think he could take it, but because out of all the Captains, he was the only one who saw her with clear eyes. He was the only one who really seemed to listen and understand what she had to say. When she'd told the Shinigami to release their Bankai against the oncoming demon onslaught, he was the only one besides Ichigo who had done as she said. Out of the Captains, he was the only one who had earned her respect.
"I might not know Kurosaki that well," Hitsugaya said, "but I've known him longer than you. Whether you'd brought him into this or not, he would have found a way to become involved." There was sorrow in his eyes as a smile ghosted across his lips. "I've lost count of the number of times he's butted his nose into Shinigami affairs without invitation—and without having an entire city block in his town destroyed, either."
She shook her head slowly, looking away from his penetrating gaze. "What might have happened makes no difference. It's what did happen that counts."
He shrugged, and she was glad he wasn't pressing the issue. Surreptitiously flattening her bangs after having her fingers in them, she shifted on the window sill to put her feet on the floor. "How are the injured Shinigami doing?"
"Incredibly, no one's died. It looks like everyone will make a full recovery." He shook his head. "We were lucky. If the demons hadn't left when they did . . ." Grief flashed in his eyes as he silently acknowledged the sacrifice that went with the demons' timely retreat. "I don't understand that part. Why did they leave? They were winning."
She wished she was still sitting with her knees up so she could wrap her arms around them. A shiver ran through her. "Didn't you feel it?" she asked in barely more than a whisper. "The . . . reiatsu?"
He nodded tersely.
"That reiatsu belonged to a demon lord."
His eyes widened. "You mean a demon lord was coming here?"
"It goes against every law in Hell I've ever heard, but I can only assume it was following the demons attacking us, since it didn't complete the journey through the dimensional tear. It seems that it turned around to pursue our attackers as they returned to Hell."
His hands curled into fists. "What does it mean?"
She hadn't been planning to confess her suspicions to anyone, yet the words came from her lips without her conscious instruction. "I think it means dissention . . . among the ranks of the demons lords."
He took two steps into the room. "So a demon lord ordered the attack on Seireitei, and another demon lord came to stop it?"
"I think so. But I've never heard of such a thing. The demon lords know better than to defy—" She cut herself off with a sharp inhale. What was she thinking?
"Defy who?" Hitsugaya demanded. "Defy what?"
She shook her head, biting her bottom lip and closing her eyes. Forbidden. How close she'd come to forfeiting both their lives. This place was turning her brains to mush.
"Captain Matsuo," he growled warningly.
"Nakita," she corrected wearily. "I'm too tired for formalities. And I can't tell you that. I shouldn't have said anything at all."
He glared. She glared back.
"I'm not being contrary just to irritate you," she snapped when his glower didn't relent. "If I finish that sentence, I'll be executed for revealing too much and you'll be assassinated for knowing too much."
His eyes flashed wide again, then narrowed. He nodded reluctantly. "All right. But I can safely assume that there is an authority in Hell even higher than demon lords?"
"Yes, that's safe enough. Details, however, are off-limits."
"Fine." He mulled it over. Mulling, she knew from her Diviner's assessment of his abilities, was a lightning-fast and highly productive exercise for him. He was smart. Too smart for her to be slipping up around.
Her Diviner's Sight flickered, warning her of the approach of two newcomers—a flicker like the one she should have noticed when Hitsugaya neared her. She looked expectantly towards the open door, and Hitsugaya followed her lead.
Renji and Rukia paused hesitantly in the doorway, eyes darting from Hitsugaya to Nakita and back again.
"Come in," Nakita said resignedly. She already knew why they were here. It wasn't hard to guess.
"Captain Matsuo," Renji said politely. He looked nervously at Hitsugaya. "Captain Hitsugaya, I wasn't expecting . . ."
"No," Nakita told them.
"W-what?" Renji stuttered.
"No, I won't help you sneak into Hell to rescue Ichigo," she said shortly.
Shocked horror flashed across their faces—followed by anger.
"I didn't know you could read minds," Hitsugaya commented, apparently choosing to ignore that the two Shinigami were trying to disobey direct orders from their Captain-Commander. Yamamoto had, after a short discussion with Nakita, forbidden any Shinigami to attempt to enter Hell for any reason.
"I can't," Nakita explained. "But I can see strong emotion, and these two would only come to me for one of two reasons: to seek my help in rescuing Ichigo, or to kill me in vengeance for Ichigo. Since they don't seem particularly murderous at the moment . . ."
"Why not?" Rukia burst out, striding into the room. "Why won't you help? We can't just leave him—"
"No," Nakita repeated, looking away from the pain in the girl's eyes. "I won't see another innocent lost to the horrors of Hell. I won't help you damn your souls to an eternity of torment."
"We don't care about the risks!" Renji said, his voice rising nearly to a shout. "Ichigo would do the same for one of us!"
"You don't understand," Nakita said tiredly, suddenly swamped by exhaustion. "It's too late. You'd never be able to find Ichigo without a Diviner. No Diviner will help you. I can't. If I return now, I'll be arrested by the other Hunters. You would be doomed the moment you set foot in Hell anyway. Every demon within ten miles would smell your fresh, untainted souls and hunt you down.
"Even if you stayed alive long enough to find Ichigo, you could never save him. That Class 2 demon? He's taken Ichigo to his realm in Hell. Hundreds of Class 2 demons, all in one area. You would be prisoners just like Ichigo before you could even lift your swords." She sighed. "We can only pray that Ichigo is already dead."
"What?" Rukia gasped, tears warbling in her voice. "How can you say that!"
Nakita shook her head slowly. "Death is preferable to what awaits him otherwise." Her eyes burned and she looked away, blinking quickly. How well she knew what awaited him otherwise.
Too late, she realized that her words were having the opposite of their intended effect.
"We have to save him!" Rukia exclaimed, her face twisted with anguish. "We'll take the risks. Just open the way to Hell, that's all!"
"Ichigo needs us, we won't abandon him!" Renji yelled.
Nakita's eyes flashed to Hitsugaya. Unnoticed by Renji and Rukia, his lips moved silently in a Kidō spell. He lifted a hand towards Renji. The two Shinigami were working themselves up into a near frenzy, driven by pain and desperation and love to save their friend from his unalterable fate.
"Bakudō #61: Rikujōkōrō," Hitsugaya said.
"Rikujōkōrō," Nakita muttered, her spell overlapping the tail-end of his.
Six flat bars of golden light snapped into place around Renji and then Rukia, paralyzing them in place. Two tears slipped from Rukia's eyes to trail down her face, and Renji's eyes burned with a rage nearing hatred. Underneath it was agony.
"I'm sorry," Nakita whispered to them.
Hitsugaya sighed heavily. "I'll have them taken to holding cells," he said, sounding almost as weary as Nakita felt. "Perhaps Captain Uohana can give them something . . . to help . . ."
Shoulders hunched, he fled the room at a fast march. Nakita wished she could follow him out, but felt compelled to stay with Rukia and Renji. Leaving them alone in the room, bound with Kidō, seemed exceptionally cold-hearted. Their eyes stabbed at her accusingly.
"I'm sorry," she said again, her voice cracking.
She swallowed hard and tried not to give into the wave of misery threatening to engulf her. Hadn't she told Inoue that, before these baffling few days, she'd had no one to hurt for her? Inoue seemed to think that a terrible thing, that aloneness, but at least . . . with no one to hurt for her, there was no one that she had to hurt for. No one who could make her hurt, make her hurt like Ichigo was making her hurt.
And it was all her fault.
. o : O : o .
Orihime clutched the edge of the sink, staring sightlessly at the soapy water and dirty supper dishes. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, unnoticed.
She couldn't sense Kurosaki.
It had been some time since Orihime had found out that she could feel Kurosaki's presence. She wasn't sure at exactly what point she'd realized that she sensed him so much more clearly, more strongly than everyone else. All she knew was that she could always tell where he was, no matter how far, no matter how strong or weak his reiatsu. Even if she couldn't find him, she knew that was out there, somewhere.
When he was in Soul Society and she wasn't, she could still sense him distantly. Six hours ago, he'd vanished from her senses, vanished so completely that she felt like she was blind, lost in darkness without her guiding light, the one constant in her life.
For six hours, she'd been waiting for him to reappear to her senses. Six long, terrifying hours. Nothing had changed.
Something had happened. Something horrible. She knew it. Why else would she stop sensing Kurosaki? The obvious answer as to why his reiatsu had vanished—an answer she wouldn't even acknowledge—still didn't explain why she'd had no word from Rukia. Orihime had phoned Urahara a dozen times, but he hadn't heard anything either. Yoruichi would go to Soul Society if they didn't hear anything by morning.
She desperately, frantically needed news now. She needed to know. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything until she knew Kurosaki was safe. She stared at the sink full of dishes and soapy water and tried to remember what to do next. All she could focus on was the blank, empty spot in her mind where Kurosaki's warm, steady presence was supposed to be.
She heaved a trembling sigh and picked up the dish cloth. Lifting a plate out of the sink, she slowly wiped the dripping cloth over it. Try not to think about it. Try not to think about it.
Something crashed in the living room.
Orihime straightened, turning with the plate in one hand. Blinking to clear the teary film from her eyes, she squinted at the shadowy doorway. Had something fallen over? A quiet shuffling sound drifted out of the dark room, and her heart jumped into her throat. Someone was in the room.
She set the plate down on the counter, and lifted both hands to hover beside her hairclips, waiting to summon her power. Seconds stretched into minutes with nothing but silence.
A darker, more solid shadow crept into the doorway. A foul, gagging scent wafted through the kitchen, and Orihime's blood suddenly felt like ice in her veins. The shadow shifted, moving into the light. The small, hideous creature grinned evilly, revealing its snake-like fangs and glowing red eyes.
A demon.
. x : X : x . AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Another cliff-hanger!
I'd like to forewarn readers that Chapter 13 is going to be . . . a little different. All I ask is that you bear with me and read to the end before you decide if you want to flame me. Fair enough, right?
If you have a sec, I'd love a review!
GLOSSARY:
Rikujōkōrō ("Six Rods Prison of Light") - Bakudō #61: a Kidō spell that summons six thin, wide beams of light which lock around a target's midsection, holding them in place. The target is then unable to move any part of their body, including the parts that were not struck by the beams.