Ichigo coughed. Something gross oozed up his throat to fill his mouth and nose. He tried to spit. Couldn't, and so worked on keeping breathing instead.
Was it blood? Had to be. From the sword Urahara had shoved through him.
But why? Made no sense. If the guy wanted him dead, Ichigo'd slept in front of him, eaten his food. He could've done it anytime.
Why?
A memory: "And what's all this help gonna cost me?" "Nothing much, just a favour, at a place and time of my choosing."
Thought scattered as pain racked him along with another cough, reassembling in the aftermath like pictures in a kaleidescope. Brown, black, scarlet, white.
"I'm calling in the favour you owe me, Ichigo-kun."
The sword was still there. He could see it, steel against the black of his shihakushō, dark against the pale brown of the dusty ground, wobbling up and down as his ribs flexed.
Blood dripped from its tip; plip, plop, plip. Scarlet blooms slowly being swallowed by snow.
It didn't hurt anymore.
That was bad, wasn't it?
"Take you home, feed you tea and cake, turn you into a monster."
Ichigo fell.
"It's called hollowfication."
Yasutora curled his hands into fists. Morinari's horns scraped against the barrier and this time the damage didn't fix itself.
Urahara glanced at it nervously.
"If he dies-"
Down below them, Ichigo roared to his feet, streamers of white fluid flinging out around him. The sword still protruded from his chest like some kind of horror movie special effect and the belt of his hakama was scarlet with blood.
The barrier cracked and Yasutora pulled his fist back to strike again.
All humour gone, Urahara shot him disapproving glance and said, "I think that would be extremely unwise, don't you, Yasutora-kun? If things go badly, you might appreciate the protection." Then, with a single wave of his hand, he returned the barrier to its former pristine clarity.
Ichigo fell, landed on something odd, and immediately sank like a stone. But not into water. Whatever had got him was thick and black, as viscous as tar, and as cold and wet as clothes in winter. He flailed an arm, failed to touch anything with his fingers, which was beyond unfair because that always worked, and sank further. Swimming didn't help either. In fact, the more he tried to move, the faster he was losing ground.
Like quicksand.
What were you supposed to do with that stuff again? Right, don't struggle. If you struggled, you just sank more quickly.
It took a lot of effort, but Ichigo managed to force himself to stop fighting, and once he did, he surfaced rapidly, emerging to a steady drizzle and scudding sideways clouds.
His inner world. Great. But what the hell was the black stuff?
"Old man!" he called out, carefully treading… gloop? to keep his head above the surface. In some ways it was surprisingly easy; the stuff was buoyant and held him up well; but it also clung, trying to suck him back down, so he couldn't relax his guard for a moment.
He called again, louder, "Ossan, you around?"
Over here, Ichigo, Zangetsu's voice felt like it came from behind him. Or at least the voice sounded kind of like Zangetsu.
Ichigo tried to turn, almost sank again, flailed slowly round in a circle, and found himself facing something he would have sworn hadn't been in his inner world on his last visit. A white cross about fifteen foot tall, shaped like the kanji for ten, loomed over him. And hanging off it…
Ichigo's hand flew to his own chest, half-expecting to find the sword still impaling him. It wasn't, it couldn't be, because now it was through Zangetsu, pinning the spirit to the cross.
Black stuff streamed from the wound like blood, except no way could anything ever hold this much. A midnight sea, it stretched in every direction around the base of the cross, pouring off the edges of buildings like waterfalls, only to reappear on the next building over. Impossible, just like the rest of Ichigo's inner world.
"Zangetsu?" Ichigo croaked, heart in his throat as guilt swamped him because, whatever Urahara had done to him out there, it was nothing compared to what the sword had done in here.
The spirit opened his eyes, blinking several times before he managed to focus on Ichigo. His breathing was laboured and, every now and then, he jerked violently like something was moving him. The chains that normally hung loose, now dug in, creating bulges and creases all over his body, but not because the chains were any shorter, but because now they reached around the cross as well.
Ichigo, Zangetsu's voice husked painfully in his head, I apologise. I never meant-
"What? To get stabbed?" Ichigo cut in. "Screw that! It's not your fault!" Forgetting what he was floating in, Ichigo struck out towards the cross, only to start sinking again as the gloop began to suck him down.
Ichigo, do not fight- The advice got bitten off as Zangetsu cried out, writhing in obvious agony, a butterfly impaled on a pin. His arms twitched, trying to reach for the sword but unable to get to it with his arms restrained by the chains. Below the sword, his belly began to bulge obscenely, pulling the chains even tighter. The lump pulsed, heaving like there was something alive inside him, something alive and doing its damnedest to fight its way out.
"Zangetsu!" Ichigo bellowed, his brain dredging up every horror movie he'd ever seen as evidence for what was about to happen. "Shit! Zangetsu!"
For a split second, Zangetsu just hung there, then the chains exploded, and from sword strike to groin, his coat ruptured as something forced its way out. 'Alien!' Ichigo thought immediately, as long pale limbs emerged, held together by a mash-up of angles and blobby bits. Then, 'human?' as a head followed and the limbs unfolded into something just the wrong side of normal.
But it wasn't human. Not quite. It was human-sized, but it moved wrong. Stretched like it was hung on hangers not bones, and it was pure white. All of it; clothing, hair, skin; all came in the same washed-out bleached tone.
Now freed from the chains, Zangetsu moved, grabbing for the creature with both hands. At the same time, strands of black gloop raced back up the cross to twine around the creature's ankles, seeming hell-bent on dragging it down to join Ichigo in the depths. With a manic whoop of glee, the creature ripped the sword out of Zangetsu's chest, swung it one-handed at the black stuff, which parted beneath the blade like silk before scissors, and bounced clear, straight over Zangetsu's head and on up to the tip of the cross. There, it hunkered down, all knees and elbows beneath its bone-white shihakushō, and turned an intense gaze on Ichigo.
At the sight of its face, Ichigo's breath caught. Not because the creature was obviously a hollow, but because the face which held those black and gold eyes was identical to his own.
What the hell had Urahara done to him?
…turn you into a monster.
But this wasn't replacement parts like Hisagi. This went deeper than that. This was, what? Soul surgery? Done by the man who implanted souls into hollow's bodies. Had he done the opposite and stuck a hollow inside Ichigo?
"Oi! You!" Ichigo yelled. "What the hell are you anyway!"
The hollow raised its head, cocking it slightly as it frowned at Ichigo. For a second Ichigo thought maybe it didn't understand, then a savage grin replaced confusion.
"Ya mean ya don't recognise me, 'king'?" the hollow replied in an eerily double-modulated voice. It leaned forward impossibly far and, as it did so, the sword hanging loosely from its hand morphed into a much more familiar shape.
"Hey! That's my zanpakutō!" Ichigo protested, jabbing an accusing finger towards it.
The hollow's smile just widened into a toothy grin. Reiatsu crackled around it like a rising storm and it let the blade dangle further, carelessly swinging it by the wrappings. "You want it, come take it. If ya can, in a fair fight."
"Just fucking watch me," Ichigo snarled, lunging for the hollow. He immediately sank like a stone, the black closing over his head with a terrifying inevitability. It took everything he had to stop fighting and let himself rise again. He breached the surface, spluttering and swearing, "Just let me get out of this shit first!"
"Tch. Do what ya want," the hollow replied, dismissing Ichigo with a flick of its fingers. The sword by its side began spinning more rapidly at the end of its wrappings as the hollow dropped its gaze hungrily down to where Zangetsu was slumped. "Reckon I'd rather have the thief first anyways."
Ichigo had just enough time to think, 'what?' before the hollow yelled, "Die, bastard!" and sent a whirling circle of bladed death flying at Zangetsu's unprotected back.
"Ossan!" Ichigo bellowed.
At the base of the cross, Zangetsu moved. The sword cut past him, driving deep into the black stuff with a kind of squooshy thunk, and a second later it was gone again, shooting back towards hollow. But not alone. Tendrils of black gloop shot after it, heading towards the hollow, which leapt high and wild, its laugh a vicious cascade of sound as it tumbled through the air, the zanpakutō dancing in its hands, changing direction and pace in an instant as it sliced anything that came near it in a display of swordsmanship that took Ichigo's breath away.
When gloop running into his eyes threatened to spoil the view, Ichigo scrubbed fingers through his hair, scraping out a handful of the black stuff. What the hell was it anyway? He flicked a gob off his hand and it reabsorbed back into the main mass like that slime stuff kids played with.
Whatever it was, Zangetsu could control it. He was back on his feet now, gesturing with his hands in the same way Byakuya did when he was manipulating Senbonzakura in shikai, and the gloop was responding. More and more tendrils rose from the surface, twisting together until they became great lengths of black chain that Zangetsu sent looping after the hollow. It leapt higher, slicing at the pursuing strands, but for every one it cut down, ten more took its place. Even with its sword cutting great swathes through the attackers, slowly but surely, the hollow was being cornered.
Which was when it aimed the sword straight at Ichigo and yelled, "Getsuga tenshō!" as an ever-growing crescent of black and red reiatsu burst from the sword's tip.
"And that's my damned move!" Ichigo yelled back, doing the only thing he could in the face of this kind of attack. He raised his hands and braced himself to absorb the power. Except, unlike every other time he'd used it, this time the Quincy trick didn't work. Instead the getsuga tenshō piled into him, driving him backwards, deep under the gloop once again.
Ichigo went willingly, hoping there was enough of the stuff to save his skin. But the reiatsu followed him down, vaporising the gloop on contact. Power slammed into Ichigo again, stealing sight and breath. Skin burned under the friction and flesh bruised, as he was driven back and back.
If only he had something to throw against it. Something like… kidō! Danku would be perfect, if only he knew the damn spell. But he could make hadō work too.
Level fifty-eight, tenran, blasted out unincanted from his palms in a spiralling tornado of reiatsu that smashed through all it touched. For a brief wonderful second, the pressure let up and Ichigo could breathe again, see again. The world around him was a black and red reiatsu storm, the gloop burning away to nothingness, and then the tenran dissipated, absorbed by the greater power of the hollow's getsuga tenshō, and the blast was back full force, carving away at Ichigo's body like a sandstorm.
Kidō was a wash, then. Back to plan A.
Turning his face away in a vain attempt to protect it, Ichigo raised his hands again, palms out, trying to force his body to absorb the reiatsu. Probably it was a pointless gesture, but he had to try something, because no way was this ending here. No way was the captain of the 6th going down to a look-alike hollow in his own inner world. That was beyond humiliating. He'd never be able to face Renji and Byakuya again if he let that happen.
Then, between one second and the next, the reiatsu vanished. Ichigo stumbled, dropping to one knee as he lifted his head and saw the back of a familiar black-shadowed coat, its ragged hem swaying in a non-existent wind.
Old man Zangetsu stood between Ichigo and the hollow with his palms outstretched, mimicking the position Ichigo had used to try and absorb the getsuga tenshō. Only for Zangetsu, it had worked. The reiatsu storm was gone.
"Thank crap for that," Ichigo gasped, staggering to his feet. He felt shell-shocked from taking such a pounding, but wasn't about to let that stop him. "Now we can get my sword back and give that bastard hollow the kicking it deserves!"
Rather than obey, Zangetsu made a complicated hand-gesture before setting off after the hollow. Several strands of black shadow shot from the spirit's coat towards Ichigo, whose attempt to dodge was half-hearted at best. Before Ichigo could stop them, the strands had him by the left ankle, looping tight around it and forming a solid manacle where they joined. The other end plunged into the side of the skyscraper where it merged seamlessly with metal and glass.
Which was when Ichigo realised that his inner world was back to how it should be. The black was gone. All of it. Except for the strands Zangetsu was sending after the happily cackling hollow, and the single heavy chain now anchoring Ichigo in place.
"Gods damn it, Ossan! Why?" Ichigo yelled after the departing Zangetsu.
As Zangetsu's attack on the hollow restarted in earnest, the spirit's voice echoed inside Ichigo's head, I am sorry, Ichigo, but this is not your battle to fight.
"This is really quite fascinating," Urahara was saying to Tsukabishi, who'd reappeared a few moments ago. "I would have expected him to start fighting by now."
Yasutora listened only because he had no choice, trapped as he was behind the wizard's barrier. The rest of him was focused on Ichigo, who, after the initial thrashing roar, had dropped silently to his knees, his whole body arching as he shuddered and shook uncontrollably. The stuff, which Urahara said was hollow bone, crept incrementally across his face, turning him from man into monster.
"Perhaps its his Quincy heritage. Or something to do with those strangely anomalous readings I picked up the first time. Remember, Tessai-san, I told you about them. They were very odd. Almost as though the boy was partly hollowfied already, though of course that would be completely impossible. It's a well-proven fact that any attempt to hollowfy a living Quincy inevitably causes soul suicide."
Yasutora's head whipped round and he glared at Urahara. He wasn't the only one. Tsukabishi was also giving him a very serious look. Urahara glanced between them, smiled nervously and waved his hand. "Oh, it'll be fine, I'm sure. I mean, so long as Ichigo can defeat his inner -"
The rest of what he had to say was lost as Ichigo screamed, a sound that was pure hollow. Every eye turned in that direction as Ichigo grasped the sword by the blade and dragged it right through his body, leaving a gaping wound in its wake. Not that that seemed to bother Ichigo. He surged to his feet, turning to face them, and the eyes burning behind the hollow's mask were an alien black and gold.
"Finally," Urahara said, stirring himself. "Tessai, could you do the honours, please, while I call up reinforcements."
Tsukabishi's assured nod went some way towards calming Yasutora's panic at seeing those eyes. While he'd been in the Pits, he'd faced more than a few 'failed experiments' who bore eyes like that, and without exception, they were all uncontrollable monsters. But if this was what Urahara and Tsukabishi were expecting to happen, maybe in Ichigo's case the development wasn't so bad after all.
Which didn't mean Yasutora wasn't planning on punching Urahara right in the smug mouth when he got out from behind this barrier.
Urahara let out a long whistle and, just as had happened earlier, small child-like figures dressed in bright colours emerged from behind the surrounding rock formations. Only this time they weren't carrying picnic baskets, they were armed with swords. Quickly they moved to surround Ichigo, who tried to face them, his head turning this way and that as they flitted around him like multi-coloured bugs.
A surge of reiatsu from Tsukabishi was followed by his quiet voice intoning, "Bakudō 63, sajō sabaku." The next moment yellow kidō rope shot from the sky right down on top of Ichigo, snaking around him and trapping his arms against his sides. He screamed again, and this time the sound was edged with fury.
Urahara gave Tsukabishi a sceptical look. "Will that hold, do you think?"
"If it doesn't, I'll use something stronger," Tsukabishi replied, apparently supremely unperturbed. He looked less so the next moment when the kidō rope completely disintegrated and Ichigo streaked towards them up the hill.
"Ah, that'd be the Quincy influence then," Urahara commented brightly. Tsukabishi shot an unimpressed look at him and raised his hands, obviously ready to cast another kidō.
But before Ichigo could even get close, a line of mod souls intercepted him. They might not be big, but they were fast, and they went at Ichigo one after another, never giving him a chance to regroup. Slowly but inexorably, they drove him back down the slope.
It didn't matter how hard he pulled on it, the chain wasn't coming loose. Feeling more than a bit put out, Ichigo slumped back and glared up at the sky where his zanpakutō spirit was busy defending Ichigo's soul from the invader. They moved so fast, it was almost impossible to track them, but the few clashes Ichigo saw were impressive, and scarily well-matched.
It'd be easy to tip the balance, if only he could join them. But to do that, he needed to get free of the chain.
How had Zangetsu done that anyway? And the thing with the fighting chains. He'd never pulled anything like it when they'd fought before, and Ichigo could think of several occasions when it might have made the difference between winning and losing. Like during their battle for bankai. Pinning Ichigo in place would have made it an easy victory.
Then again, all those times, Zangetsu had been fighting with his own sword. This time, he didn't seem to have one, and despite being able to absorb reiatsu, manifesting a sword didn't seem to be an option either, which presumably meant the shadow chains he created from his coat were the only weapon he had access to.
But how could a zanpakutō not have access to itself. That made no sense.
Dismissing the problem as one of life's mysteries, Ichigo sat up, rolled up his pants' leg, and examined the manacle and chain more closely.
It looked like solid metal, but when Ichigo brushed fingertips over it, there was an almost liquid property to the material. Just like the black gloop, which, Ichigo remembered, had been coming out of Zangetsu. And since this chain had come from Zangetsu's cloak, it was probably made of the same kinda stuff.
Which meant trying to force it was never going to work. It was going to take a rational and logical thought process, never Ichigo's strong points. Damn it, where was Uryū when you needed him. He'd think his way out of this in a heartbeat.
Ichigo tracked his fingers further down the chain to where it merged with the metal and glass of the building. Nothing there, the transition was seamless. And back up, to the join between manacle and chain. That too was undetectable.
But beside it, on the bottom edge, was patch that felt different.
Mentally thanking his lovers for increasing his flexibility, Ichigo easily managed to get his foot and the manacle high enough and turned so he could see what his fingertips had felt. It was a small hole, or the outline of one. Not much more than a slit really, the edges blurred with what would have been rust had the manacle been metal.
Ichigo scratched at it with a fingernail. A small amount flaked off, but not enough to make any difference. What he needed was something sharp. Like a blade.
Letting his foot go, Ichigo raised his eyes to the two fighters still battling it out across the sky. Specifically the hollow, who was wielding Ichigo's zanpakutō with more skill than Ichigo had ever dreamed of possessing. And he liked to think he was no slouch, not these days, anyway. He could easily hold his own against Renji, and even did okay against Byakuya. Enough to get warm nod of approval anyway, and from Byakuya that was the equivalent of an award certificate.
But the hollow was something else. It used Zangetsu like the sword was an extension of its own body. And the sword responded. It almost seemed to change shape in the hollow's hands, extending its length as it was sent snapping forwards to the very end of its wrappings, only to coil back straight into the hollow's hand like a falcon returning to the fist. If the old man had fought like that earlier, Ichigo would never have beaten the name of his bankai out of him.
For his part, Ossan handled his chains just as well. Their loops had the hollow permanently on the run, though every now and then it'd stop for long enough to try another getsuga tenshō. The old man simply absorbed the black and red reiatsu, turning it straight back on its owner in the form of long strands that looked like short spears, or maybe arrows shot without a bow.
Ichigo bit back a snicker. If he hadn't handed the Quincy cross over to Ryūken, he could have offered it to Zangetsu now. It'd definitely suit the old man's fighting style. At this point, it was way more Quincy than shinigami.
Ichigo's gaze drifted back to the hollow. Despite its skills, it was starting to get overwhelmed. Even the blows it managed to land didn't seem to be making much of an impact, except for halting the chains for a couple a seconds. If this battle went on much longer, it was going to lose.
And why didn't that thought please Ichigo? It should. The hollow was an invader, planted here by Urahara. No way should Ichigo want it to win.
But there was something about it. Something that called to Ichigo. Telling him that if he could only fight the hollow himself, maybe he could learn to handle Zangetsu like that. Maybe he could learn to make the sword love him as much as it seemed to love the hollow.
On the heels of a particularly vicious clash, several lengths of chain looped out towards the hollow. The hollow dodged, but not fast enough. The chains tangled around its legs and, in the split second it was immobilised, the old man sent a long slash of reiatsu shooting towards it. The 'arrow' pierced the hollow through and through, both ends clearly visible, before the hollow lowered the sword out in front of it, grasped one arm with the other, and in a voice that Ichigo could hear even from this far away, said, "Bankai. Tensa Zangetsu!"
The mods were holding their own when Ichigo suddenly froze, the sword at his side as unmoving as his body. For a second nothing happened and then, as one, the mods pulled back, forming a wide circle about fifty feet around him.
Outside the barrier, Urahara was leaning forwards, lower lip caught between his teeth in an expression of anticipation. Whatever was about to happen, Urahara had been expecting it, just like the hollowfication itself.
Slightly mollified, Yasutora turned his attention back towards Ichigo, just in time to feel Ichigo's hollow-tainted reiatsu surge. It blasted out, black tinged with red, faster and further that Yasutora would have thought possible. Further than Urahara had been expecting too, going by his quiet curse when the first rank of mods vaporised under the power of it. The rest retreated further, some falling as they fled, others just making it to safety.
"He is very powerful," Tsukabishi said, as the reiatsu settled into something just about tolerable.
Urahara's eyebrows went up and he stared at his friend in disbelief for a moment before shaking his head slightly and shifting his gaze back to Ichigo. "You truly are a master of understatement, Tessai-san," he pronounced. "However you're also correct. I was expecting a lot, the boy's a Shiba after all, but this… This might be unprecedented." He paused, brows furrowing as he squinted down the hill. "I might even go so far as to say, 'artificial'."
Down below, liquid bone had begun pouring from the wound in Ichigo's chest. Healing it finally, Yasutora wondered?
No, in fact it was the opposite, he realised. As bone spread across Ichigo's chest, it left a hole behind. A perfectly circular hollow hole. Was he going to transform completely?
Before Yasutora had a chance to ask, Urahara whistled again and the mods re-engaged, using their same hit and run strategy. But this time, its effect was even more limited. Few, if any, of their blows hit home. Ichigo was even faster and stronger than before, and as he fought, he changed. His feet hollowfied, becoming taloned like a bird's, the mask thickened into something even more bestial, and when Ichigo snorted, it made the kind of noise that wouldn't have sounded out of place coming from Yasutora's bull.
Finally, after long minutes during which Ichigo cut down a good quarter of the surviving mods, Urahara drew his zanpakutō and stepped forward. "It seems I am needed in the vanguard," he said lightly. Beside him, Tsukabishi's expression darkened as Urahara, his gaze fixed on the fight below, continued, "I am relying on you, old friend, should things take a turn for the worse." And with that, he stepped into shunpo.
He reappeared going straight on the attack, catching Ichigo completely off-guard with some kind of power blast from his zanpakutō. It blew Ichigo off his feet, throwing him backwards like a rag doll. He came up fighting, with liquid bone pouring from the deep wound Urahara had managed to inflict on his shoulder.
Tsukabishi let out a quiet grunt as though that development surprised him. It didn't seem to phase Urahara, who, in a flit of shunpo too fast to track, darted in to attack again. And again. Quick, stabbing, in and outs. Each time, Ichigo took damage and each time the white stuff spread further to heal him again.
Urahara was analysing Ichigo's abilities, Yasutora realised after a couple of minutes. Testing him for potential vulnerabilities. It was a good strategy. Intelligent. But how long would it take him to -
Yasutora's breath caught as Urahara suddenly swung his blade, firing a streak of deadly crimson power that hit at point blank range and sent Ichigo flying backwards, his left arm cleaved cleanly off just above the elbow.
"Ichigo-!" Yasutora began, lurching forwards, his fists hitting the barrier. Because that was Ichigo's arm, dammit!
"Do not concern yourself on behalf of your friend," Tsukabishi said quietly, "In this condition, he will heal quickly."
Not quite able to believe the reassurance, Yasutora glued his attention on Ichigo.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Ichigo lay unmoving on the ground, hardly even breathing as far as Yasutora could tell, and then something erupted from what was left of his arm. Flashes of orange and pinkish tentacles resolved into some monstrous bone-white thing with gaping jaws and snapping teeth, that shot towards Urahara almost too fast to see.
Urahara met it, sword raised, and was pushed back, feet skidding across the dust. A second later Urahara's free hand whipped forwards, releasing a kidō blast that blew the monster into splattering pieces.
But Ichigo wasn't done yet. As the dust cleared, he reappeared, his missing left arm now replaced by a hollow's arm, armoured and clawed, and throbbing with scarlet power.
The cero exploded from Ichigo's new left hand, shooting towards Urahara, who blocked it with a hasty shield. He wasn't so lucky with Ichigo's next attack. It was the same one Ichigo had used in the arena to take out the adjuchas, but this time instead of white, the reiatsu was black and red and redolent of hollow stink.
The line it carved was more ravine than trench and the dust it threw up was choking. By the time it cleared, Urahara was obviously on the back foot, doing his best to defend against an Ichigo who was moving so fast there might as well have been ten of him. And not just sword attacks. Yasutora saw cero and kidō flying back and forth as the pair fought across the ground and sky.
Beside the barrier, Tsukabishi stood up straighter, his gaze locked on the fight. Looking for a signal, Yasutora guessed. And there it was. During a rare moment when he wasn't fighting for his life, Urahara raised the sheath of his zanpakutō and brought it down in a deliberate movement.
Tsukabishi immediately gestured towards the battlefield and, just like the kidō rope had done earlier, an x-shaped piece of cloth appeared from nowhere right above Ichigo, darting down to wrap around his body, though this time his arms were secured tightly behind his back. But the kidō didn't stop there. The cloth continued to come, slamming Ichigo face down, the long sheets winding out to the four corners as metal pegs shot from the sky, pinning the cloth, and Ichigo, to the ground.
"Level 90, with no incantation," Urahara puffed, reappearing outside the barrier. "You've been holding out on me." He was smiling but it looked a bit strained and his skin was raw in several places where Ichigo's attacks had caught him. "Unfortunately, with Ichigo's Quincy abilities, even a kidō that strong will only hold him for a while."
"Bankin?" Tsukabishi enquired.
Urahara pulled a face, his gaze flicking down the slope to where Ichigo still lay pinned, and for now, unmoving. "How long has it been?"
Tsukabishi raised his palm in front of him and breathed a single word. A burning candle divided into distinct sections shimmered to life within it. After a moment Tsukabishi replied, "Approximately twenty three minutes and fifty three seconds," and then folded his palm closed, the candle clock vanishing like it had never existed.
Definitely a wizard, Yasutora decided.
Urahara sighed. "Then I'd rather not. It's not been half an hour yet. Let me bring out the heavy guns first." He brushed the hair from his face and said, "But before we do that, tell me, Yasutora-kun, has Ichigo been injured lately?"
Yasutora frowned at the sudden question, casting his mind back. There'd been the superficial ones from his encounter with the hollow at the Pits, and presumably more later when he'd fought the lieutenant from the 7th, though Yasutora hadn't seen any of those himself.
"Or perhaps some medical procedure?" Urahara continued.
The bruising on the day of Jackie's funeral. On same arm that Urahara had just cut off. Yasutora nodded, "He said Unohana-taichō gave him a surprise medical."
"Did he now. That is interesting." Urahara's eyes narrowed, his mouth flattening before he added cryptically, " If he should prove lucky enough to survive this, you might want to suggest to him that he avoids the such things for the foreseeable future."
Ichigo stared in gape-mouthed shock as the hollow's reiatsu exploded outward in storm of black and red reiatsu. The thing knew his bankai? How the hell was that even possible? It hadn't even been here when he'd learnt bankai.
Then again, it hadn't been here when he learnt shikai either, and that didn't seem to stop it using the blade, and the techniques that went with it, with more aplomb than Ichigo could manage.
Which meant, maybe it had been there.
When the hollow had fought its way out of Zangetsu, Ichigo had kind of assumed that Urahara's sword had injected it in there, but what if the sword had simply released it? What if it had been there all along, like just a normal part of a shinigami's internal workings.
Since talking about your inner world was some kind of huge taboo that not even Renji would break, it could be, and Ichigo would never know. And it'd explain how the hell the hollow knew how to use Ichigo's zanpakutō so well.
Above him, the hollow, whose white shihakushō now included a calf-length ragged-edged coat and whose sword was now the size of a katana, was beating the shit out of Zangetsu. Its speed was mind-blowing. So fast it was leaving after images that made it look like there was ten of it, rather than a paltry one. And it wasn't limiting itself to simple blade work either. It was flinging different power levels of getsuga tenshō at every opportunity it had.
Most were getting parried by the chains the old man was now wielding more like blades. In fact, if Ichigo hadn't seen the weapons form and didn't have the manacle around his ankle as evidence that the chains could become rigid, he'd have thought they were swords. Swords made out of shadows, or whatever it was that Zangetsu's coat was made of.
Ichigo frowned. It still struck him as strange that the old man hadn't just made a sword for himself straight away, like he always had in the past when Ichigo entered his inner world. Back then, a sword simply appeared in his hand, so why hadn't he done it this time? What had changed?
Ichigo's gaze cut to the hollow.
Was it something to do with the sword the hollow was carrying? Had the hollow stolen it from Zangetsu and that was why Zangetsu couldn't use it himself?
But it was Zangetsu who the hollow had called a thief.
Old man Zangetsu, the spirit who'd been in Ichigo's inner world from the first time he'd come here. Who'd been both friend and mentor. Who'd taught him how to use his zanpakutō, who'd fought him long and hard, pushing Ichigo to new heights, before, gracious in defeat, handing over the name of his bankai.
So why was Ichigo doubting him? And on the word of a hollow, at that.
A year ago, this could never have happened. The naive boy who'd arrived in Soul Society last summer would have taken everything at face value. Hollow - bad, zanpakutō spirit - good. But Ichigo had changed, become more cynical, less trusting. He'd had to. Sure, he still wanted to believe the best of everyone, but Aizen had taught him that being wary was a good thing, that looking beyond the surface could pay off.
And that was what he needed to do now, because something here was very wrong.
As far as Ichigo knew, the only shinigami with two separate spirits were dual-wielders like Ukitake-taichō. And Ichigo didn't have two swords, he only had one. Thus one spirit.
But he did have two sets of abilities.
What was it Ryūken had said? That a part of that Quincy king guy was sealed inside all of them. Which meant maybe Ichigo should have two spirits: his zanpakutō and the remains of the Quincy king's soul fragment.
Ichigo's gaze rose once again to the battling figures above him. The one: a hollow, which was dressed in a shihakushō, looked just like Ichigo, and used Zangetsu like he was born to it, and the other: tall, older, mysterious, and possessing the ability to absorb and manipulate reiatsu and reishi, who the hollow had named thief, and from whose body the hollow had escaped when Urahara's sword had pierced him.
Put like that, the facts painted a very different picture. What Ichigo couldn't understand was how his zanpakutō spirit got hollowfied and then trapped inside a Quincy.
There was only one person he could ask.
"Oi!" he yelled at the top of his voice. "Bastard!"
Neither of the two fighters in the sky so much as twitched in Ichigo's direction. Annoyed, Ichigo went to roll to his feet, and promptly got jabbed in the thigh by the bunch of keys in his jeans' pocket.
"Damn stupid things," he cursed, sticking his hand in to resettle them. Maybe he should just throw them out, it wasn't like they were much use, and hadn't been since the first time he'd come to his inner world. Then again, they were bulky enough that maybe he could chuck them at the hollow and get its attention that way.
He tugged the keys from his pocket and stood, tossing them gently in his hand as he considered angles. This was a one shot wonder. If he missed, the keys were going to come down way too far away to reach, what with this manacle around his leg.
The manacle.
Ichigo froze, his gaze dropping to the bunch of keys in his hand. The bunch of keys that included a ordinary looking Miwa key that was rusted all to hell, just like the hole in the manacle.
Seriously, sometimes he was way too stupid to live.
Ichigo dove for the ground, grabbed his foot and hauled his leg up and round. Somehow he managed to wrestle the right key into position. It slid home and turned with a grinding click. The manacle didn't open so much as collapse and at the same moment as it disintegrated into black gloop, someone above him let out a desperate soul-rending yell.
Ichigo bolted to his feet, searching the skies. It was Ossan, and he was… falling!
Without a second thought, Ichigo leapt skyward towards the plummeting figure with no thought but saving the spirit who had watched over him and helped him through so much of his time in Soul Society. So what if he was the remnant of a Quincy king and not a zanpakutō, he'd never been anything but kind to Ichigo.
For once, the old man's size proved useful. Ichigo was able to catch him by the hand as he fell, and lower him gently to the ground. He looked awful. Bruised and battered, burnt and exhausted. His glasses were gone, his face wrappings torn away, his dark cropped hair sticky with black blood, and when Ichigo knelt down, the hands that reached for him shook.
"I'm sorry," the spirit said, his voice as rich and mellow in the flesh as it had always been in Ichigo's head. "I never intended to deceive you."
"Liar!" the hollow snapped, landing beside them with his sword propped over his shoulder. "The minute I was born you had me on lock-down."
"A situation you were quite content with until that interfering shinigami hollowfied you."
Well, that explained that bit, at least.
"Content! I'll give you fucking content!" the hollow snarled, trying to lunge past Ichigo with his sword out.
Ichigo caught his arm before he could do any damage. "Quit it," he snapped.
The hollow stopped, and for a brief second Ichigo thought he'd won. Then that black and gold gaze turned on him, and something that was totally not like a smile stretched the hollow's lips. Its tongue, where it curled over its teeth, was blue like a chow dog's.
"Tell me, Ichigo," the hollow said, "What's the difference between a king and his horse?"
The heavy guns came in the form of more brightly clad figures, though these two were adult-sized and had a reiatsu level to match. They were also arguing furiously with each other as they moved down the hill towards Urahara.
"Three on one is simply insulting," the smaller one, wearing a cerise crop-top and matching baggy pants, was saying. "I don't know why Urahara-sama even called us out here. He should be able to handle this alone."
The other, taller by a good head and with a shock of bright blue hair above his garish orange jump suit, snarled back, "So keep out of it. Not like I need any help from you ta kick some pansy-ass."
"We'll see about that," the first one said sniffily, flopping his ridiculously long sleeves around as he spoke. If Yasutora hadn't spent the past year in Seireitei, he might have dismissed this one as just another pretty boy, but a year in the Pits had taught him not to judge by appearances, and the way the guy moved, all sleek grace and understated power, said 'fighter' as eloquently as his companion's more obvious swagger.
Despite the attitude, they both greeted Urahara with respectful bows. Ignoring the formalities, Urahara immediately began explaining something to them, gesturing to the surrounding rocks, when Ichigo suddenly twitched and the cloth which had been pinning him to the ground, disintegrated.
The first attack took all three by surprise, but it was the blue-haired fighter who responded quickest. He was on Ichigo the moment swords clashed, his attacks fast and furious, the whole of the ravine echoing to the sound of striking metal. There was no finesse to it, just power. Unrelenting, unfaltering power.
Ichigo retreated before the barrage, his clawed feet digging furrows in the dirt as he was pushed back and back again. Maybe Blue was right, Yasutora thought? Maybe he could handle Ichigo alone.
The first getsuga tenshō belied that. It cut through the air, swallowing Blue whole. He fell, skin burning, as Pink stepped up to join the fight. His style couldn't have been more different, all teasing strikes and deceptive speed. His weapon was a kodachi, a short sword, which gave Ichigo a huge advantage on reach. Undaunted, Pink compensated by attacking as he retreated, forcing Ichigo to over-extend himself again and again. Within moments, he'd drawn Ichigo away from where Blue had fallen.
In their wake, Blue staggered to his feet, his face twisted into a grimace of self-disgust even though the damage he'd sustained was already healing. This was going to be a battle of resilience, Yasutora realised, as Pink dodged in and slid his blade into Ichigo's chest to the hilt. Ichigo screamed, letting rip with a cero that should have taken Pink's head off. It sent him ploughing backwards instead, straight though one mound of rock and into the next.
Urahara made to step in, only to get shouldered aside by a snarling Blue, now fully healed and raring to go. Shrugging, Urahara allowed it and stood for a few moments watching the pair tag-team Ichigo before trudging back up the hill.
"It's times like these when I regret having to restructure the hollow part of the early models," he said as he rejoined Tsukabishi. "They were so much stronger in their original form."
Tsukabishi grunted slightly. "They were also unpredictably violent and impossible to control."
"There is that," Urahara agreed philosophically, and turned to watch the fight.
"What?" Ichigo said, because seriously, was this guy even real?
The hollow flicked a dismissive hand, "And I ain't talking some kiddy crap about numbers of legs either. Two beings, both with the same strength, but one pulls the reins while the other carries the load. I'm asking why? What makes them different?"
Ichigo could kind of see what the hollow was asking, what he couldn't work out was why. What had kings and horses got to do with anything?
Not that it mattered, he wasn't given a chance to respond anyway. The hollow grabbed him by the front of the shirt and yanked him in so close that Ichigo was staring straight into those burning golden eyes. "I'll tell ya, shall I, 'king'. Instinct!" It screamed the word into Ichigo's face, its hold turning into a throw.
Ichigo flew, right over the hollow's head to land flat on his back. Winded, it took him a moment to work out where he was and by then the hollow was on him. Sword out, it came at full speed, cackling that odd high-pitched laugh. Ichigo dodged, but it was last minute and scrambled.
The hollow never gave him a moment to recover. It grabbed Ichigo by the shirt again and this time when it threw Ichigo, it followed the move up with words. "If yer want power, ya have to have the instinct to take it. Fight for it. Crush yer enemies without mercy, rip 'em apart and grind 'em to dust under yer fucking heel!"
The wall hit Ichigo in the back like a battering ram. Choking, he dropped to his knees trying to win back breath. He failed to do it in time. The kick caught him in the ribs before he could move and he felt something give as yet again the world spun around him. The hollow's words rang in his ears. "Tear me down to nothing but bones and you'll still find it, engraved into every cell. The lust for battle, the instinct to fight, and ya know what, Ichigo?"
Another wall, another blow. "You don't got it. Yer nothing but a wishy-washy moma's-boy. Look at you, in yer human clothes, still tryin' ta find the good in people. Well, fuck that! Reason ain't got no place on the battlefield, you ain't gonna kill anyone without drawing yer sword. And that-"
Head reeling, Ichigo found himself yanked up by the front of the shirt yet again, the hollow's face pressed into his own, its breath rank against his face. "That, you fucker, is why yer always gonna be weaker than me!"
The sword stabbed through him like a brand, hot agony spilling out along his nerves. Still on his knees, Ichigo stared down at it, hands hovering like they wanted to touch but were too scared, too weak.
"Now, I dunno about the other guy, but I ain't carrying around someone who's weaker than me. Someone who ends up getting us both killed."
His sword, his zanpakutō. How had this happened? How had he let things get this far?
"Which is why I'm gonna crush you and become the king!"
Instinct.
His sword.
His zanpakutō.
His.
Instinct.
Hands moved, grasping the blade. His blade. The blade of his zanpakutō.
Certainty surged through Ichigo. He felt it collide with the hollow, felt their wills clash and the hollow pull away, skipping back across the side of the building, its face twisted in shocked confusion. In retreat, yes, but not defeated. Not yet.
He should do something about that.
Do… something…
The world blurred and suddenly Byakuya's voice said, "I had hoped you were right person to leave in charge. Now see that I was wrong."
Ichigo lifted his head and blinked. Around him lay the smoking ruins of the 6th division, the rubble strewn with bodies. Koniwa's head lay some distance away, the long ponytail drenched in blood. Hashigawa's powerful torso lay further still, and from some nearby place came the sound of screams which Ichigo knew belonged to his sister.
Pink was the first to fall. Outmatched in speed, Ichigo's blow bisected him from right shoulder to left hip, the two parts tumbling in opposite directions even as Ichigo spun away searching for his next prey. Behind him swung the main reason for his victory; a long heavy tail, the perfect counterbalance for someone fighting at full reach.
The other mod, Blue, was already injured and without Pink to tag him, he wasn't going to last long.
Outside the barrier, Tsukabishi raised his staff, intent obvious in the set of his jaw. But before he could start an incantation, Urahara laid a hand on his biceps. "No," he said quietly. "There's one more option."
Tsukabishi frowned down at him. "If you insist. However, should he defeat you, I will seal him without hesitation."
"Oh good," Urahara said, not sounding it in the slightest.
Stepping forward, zanpakutō already drawn, he lifted his hand to his face. Flecks of white gathered to his fingertips, building rapidly into a plain white mask with black and red markings around the eyes reminiscent of a noble-woman's make-up. It was pretty, feminine almost, if you ignored the mouth, which stretched from ear to ear in an absurdly wide slash of a smile.
Urahara slipped the mask over his face and turned, his eyes burning black and gold. "Dying would be more than a little inconvenient at this point," he said, his voice now carrying echoes of a hollow within.
Ichigo shook his head. "This isn't real," he said, forcing the words out past the emotion strangling his throat. Because it could be, all to easily if he didn't get back in time.
"Who cares about real," Renji's voice said from behind him.
Ichigo looked back over his shoulder and sure enough, there was the red-head, standing amongst the rubble with Zabimaru propped over his shoulder. Except this Renji's expression was all wrong. The real Renji never looked at Ichigo that way, with judgement in his eyes and a cruel twist to his lips. Not to mention, the last time Ichigo had seen Renji, Zabimaru had been sealed away.
"We are simply here to reinforce how pathetic you are," Byakuya's voice came again.
Ichigo turned eyes front and found Byakuya standing over him, disappointment writ large on his face. That was more typical of how things worked, but even so it rang wrong.
The eyes were cold. If this was really Byakuya, they would hold a volcano's banked heat.
Ichigo reached for his sword, and found nothing.
"See, what'd I tell you," Renji said, strolling round to stand next to Byakuya. "Weak."
"Pathetic," Byakuya corrected. "Ichigo has never lacked strength, he simply lacks the resolve to use it. Hence…" he waved a hand at the devastation around them.
"But this isn't real!" Ichigo protested, pushing to his feet. "The 6th is fine. I'm looking after it, just like I promised you guys I would. That's why I'm here, getting bankai."
"You can't have bankai if you're not a shinigami," Renji said, jabbing a finger at Ichigo. "And that ain't a shinigami's uniform."
Ichigo glanced down at himself. He was wearing what he always wore in his inner world: jeans and a t-shirt.
"Also, you have no zanpakutō," Byakuya added.
"You're right," Renji agreed, nodding sagely. "He's useless. It'd be a kindness really."
Byakuya's lips narrowed infinitesimally. "I'm afraid you may well be right," he said, and drew his sword.
"Hang on a minute," Ichigo said, raising his hands. "What d'you mean, 'a kindness'?"
"What d'you think we mean," Renji asked, running his hand along Zabimaru and activating his shikai. "We ain't here to listen to some sob story from a kid who can't get his act together, that's for certain."
"Indeed," Byakuya said, releasing Senbonzakura. "Rather, we are here to kill you."
As a thousand blades sliced through the air and then his skin, Ichigo did the only thing he could. He reached inside himself for the power that had always been there, drew it around himself and manifested. A moment later, when Zabimaru's toothed blade plunged towards him, Ichigo met it with steel, parrying it aside as he stepped into shunpo, determined to avoid Senbonzakura's next strike.
It never came. Instead, it was Kyōraku-taichō who stepped through the dust to meet him.
"Well, well, that's definitely an improvement," the solemn captain said, shaking his head. "Though you're still relying too much on those Quincy abilities of yours, boy."
"Eh?" Ichigo said, because how else was he supposed to get his zanpakutō.
Kyōraku nodded at Ichigo's blade. "Do you really think that sham is the same as these?" With a hiss of steel, he drew both his swords. Light gleamed off their edges. "Katen Kyōkotsu. I have had them for two thousand years, give or take a little, and never once, in all that time, have they left my side."
Never? Ichigo couldn't count the number of times he'd manifested Zangetsu.
"Tell me, Shiba-kun, how can something so easily created have any worth?" Kyōraku continued. "With permanence comes power, and only those with power can hope to achieve true victory." As he spoke, Kyōraku leapt.
Instinctively, Ichigo raised his sword to counter Kyōraku's pair. For a brief second it held, then the blade crumbled. Ichigo caught a glimpse of Kyōraku's triumphant expression and felt the bite of a blade at his shoulder before the world blurred again and he was back on his knees, with his own sword through his gut.
His own sword. The one based on the physical sword Urahara had thrust through him out there in the real world. An asauchi, it had to be. That was why the hollow had been able to take it and infuse it with its own abilities so quickly. The one the old man used must be like the one Ichigo manifested, based on Quincy abilities, not shinigami.
Was the point of this to make him chose? The hollow spoke of a king and his horse, about one power dominating another by instinct. And it had attacked the old man without mercy once it'd escaped.
Not that the old man hadn't deserved it. The chains that Ichigo had always assumed were rooted in the promises he made, had to have been keeping Ichigo's zanpakutō spirit trapped so the Quincy could use its abilities as his own. A king and his horse. No wonder the hollow was so pissed. It'd been wrongfully imprisoned for its entire existence.
It was Quincy versus shinigami all over again.
But it didn't have to be that way, Ichigo's parents had proved that. Somehow they'd made it work, and anyway, being a Quincy was as much a part of Ichigo's heritage as being a shinigami. Choosing between them would be like choosing between Mom and Dad, and there was no way he could do that. He needed to find a way of getting them to work together.
Having said that, Kyōraku's demonstration had shown that Ichigo needed a real zanpakutō if he was to win against his enemies. Luckily all he needed to do to get one, was take it back off the hollow.
Metaphorically speaking, that was. All he actually needed to do was pull it out of his own belly.
Without letting himself stop and think it over, Ichigo grabbed the blade and yanked.
Masked, Urahara was managing to hold his own, just. To start with, Blue had helped, but a double-handed black-tinged cero from Ichigo had blown half his torso away and he hadn't moved since, so for the past few minutes, Urahara had been fighting alone, and Yasutora was starting to get worried.
Not that he hadn't been before. There wasn't much of Ichigo left that wasn't hollowfied, and that alone was enough to have Yasutora pressed to the barrier with every nerve jangling. But this new development was worse because Tsukabishi was starting to stir, and Yasutora had a bad feeling that whatever he planned to do to Ichigo would be permanent, and probably fatal.
Shooting the wizard a nervous look, Yasutora considered asking what, exactly, bankin was, then decided against it. He didn't need to know if Ichigo was going to be blown to pieces or locked inside a one inch cube. Either would be as bad as the other. What he needed was some way of stopping it from happening at all.
"Let me fight," he said when Tsukabishi shifted again, transferring his staff from one hand to the other. "Urahara-san needs help. I'm Ichigo's friend. If he's lost in there, I might be able to reach him."
The look he got somehow managed to combine disparaging with respectful. "A noble thought, however you would not last a minute without this barrier to protect you," Tsukabishi said solemnly.
Frustrating but probably true. The levels of reiatsu blasting around out there were easily on a par with Ukitake-taichō's, and when that had been turned on him with a purpose, Yasutora hadn't even been able to stay on his feet, despite being in shikai. "So you go and fight," he suggested. "You're a shinigami. Use your zanpakutō to help your friend."
Tsukabishi's back and shoulders stiffened. For a moment Yasutora thought he was going to ignore the suggestion, then he said quietly. "I'm afraid that is not possible. My zanpakutō is no longer a sword."
Gaze flicking to the staff, Yasutora said, "Fight with that then. Or use kidō." Do something, because what sort of person stood there and watched their friend getting hurt when they had the ability to help them.
Tsukabishi's eyes narrowed slightly. "You misunderstand. I don't fight because I choose not to, but because Urahara requested me not to."
To keep Tsukabishi safe? Unlikely. That sounded too noble for the devious Urahara that Ichigo had described and that Yasutora had seen in action. So why keep this man out of the fight?
"Why?" Yasutora asked, not really expecting an answer.
"Because I am the last line of defence," Tsukabishi replied immediately. "If I fall, there will be nothing stopping your friend from escaping into Seireitei and slaughtering anyone he finds there." Which neatly, and frustratingly, demolished any argument Yasutora might have made in favour of Tsukabishi putting himself at risk.
Defeated for the moment, Yasutora turned his attention back to the fight, and to Urahara attempting to pin Ichigo with some form of kidō net from his zanpakutō. It held long enough for half of it to explode before Ichigo was free again, charging towards Urahara on one leg, the other regenerating as he came. Before they even made contact, Yasutora could see who was going to come out on top.
It hurt like a mother-fucker. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Ichigo spun the sword between his fingers, clasped the hilt, and levelled the blade at the hollow, who was now staring at him as though it was expecting their roles to be reversed imminently. It was tempting, Ichigo had to admit, but he had a feeling that 'killing' the hollow wouldn't help.
"You gonna try taking it back?" he asked.
The hollow's expression turned sly. "Not right now," it said, "But you'd better watch out, 'king', 'cause I'm always gonna be here-"
"Waiting in the wings, just looking for an opportunity. Blah, blah. Yeah, I get it. You're a bad ass." It kind of reminded Ichigo of the thugs who hung around outside school looking for weaker kids to pick on. They backed off quick enough when someone who knew how to fight turned up, but it was only ever temporary. And if he was going to get this to work, he needed the hollow's co-operation, not its grudging submission.
"How about I offer an alternative."
"To being king?" the hollow replied disbelievingly. "Can't see what you could offer that'd be better than taking over your body and having myself a nice little rampage."
And it had the nerve to complain about Ichigo getting them killed. That was the trouble with pure instinct. Sure it had its place on the battlefield, the hollow was right about that, but the decision of who to fight and when had to be a rational one, otherwise there would be nothing but mindless slaughter. And Ichigo knew there was a lot more to being a shinigami than that.
"That's not gonna happen," Ichigo said. He lifted the sword and made a leap of logic, hoping he'd got it right. "Now I've got this, you and I both know there's nothing stopping me from taking the old man's side and sealing you away inside him again." The hollow froze, eyes widening. Ichigo ignored it and kept speaking, his arms widening in a gesture that encompassed all of his inner world. "Or, I can let you stay free and acknowledge you for who you are. My zanpakutō; Zangetsu."
Going by the hollow's expression, Ichigo hit a nerve. It looked hopeful, almost desperate. But it wasn't ready to give in just yet. "What about him," it asked, shooting a glance at the old man, who had climbed to his feet and was slowly making his way towards them. "If I agree, what happens to him, 'cause I ain't sharing. Not after what he did."
"And I won't leave him behind," Ichigo replied. But there was an alternative. Ichigo reached into his pocket and pulled out the bunch of keys. Or the pair of keys, he guessed he should say, since the Miwa key had vanished along with the manacle when Ichigo had taken his Quincy abilities back from the old man, and the Zangetsu shaped key fob hadn't been there since the first time.
Just as he'd thought, the swirly bit on the brass key wasn't some random design, it was the Shiba mon, the same one that Yasutora wore on his uniform and was engraved on Zangetsu's blade when it was in its sealed form.
Ichigo tugged it off the the ring and held it out, wrapped safe in the palm of his hand. And just as the key fob had done all those months ago, the key warmed and changed shape in his hand, lengthening and thickening until he held not a key, but a short blade in a cracked leather sheath.
"I've got two spirits inside me," he said, "Two separate powers, so I'll need two swords to carry them both into battle." Ichigo raised his eyes to look at the hollow. "You're Zangetsu, my zanpakutō. Nothing can change that. But the Shiba aren't just shinigami, not anymore. We're Quincy too.
"Ossan?" Ichigo shifted his gaze to the Quincy spirit who'd finally joined them. "I want you to have this." He held out the ancient heirloom whose possession declared Ichigo the head of the Shiba clan. "It belonged to Dad, who's a shinigami, but he fell in love with Mom, who was a Quincy, so I reckon he wouldn't mind you having it. Or living in it, or however the hell that works. And if he doesn't, well…. I dunno, he'll just have to suck it up or something…"
Done with speechifying, hopefully for the next century, Ichigo kind of drifted to a halt. Neither spirit reacted, beyond staring at the two blades and after a couple of minutes, when it got kind of awkward, Ichigo added, "Either way, it'll mean that both of you've a place to belong. If you want to. I mean, I guess its kind of up to you guys to choose."
Urahara went down so fast, Yasutora didn't see it happen.
Tsukabishi apparently did. He grabbed his staff in both hands and raised it, holding it horizontal to the ground as an incantation rolled fluidly off his tongue. "Way of Binding, level ninety nine, type two; Bankin! First song - Halting Wrap!"
What looked like a spray of liquid silk exploded from both ends of the staff, catching Ichigo halfway up the slope and swallowing him whole before snapping ruthlessly into wraps that covered him from head to toe like a mummy.
He screamed, pure rage and frustration. "Second song," Tsukabishi chanted, raising his voice so as to be heard above the din, "One Hundred Gate Bolts!" The staff spun once, and shafts of metal came from everywhere, thunking into Ichigo's chest and back, pinning the wraps into place.
Yasutora slammed his fists into the barrier in some kind of protest, but it was pointless, Tsukabishi didn't even pause. Halting the staff's spin, he slammed its tip into the ground. "Final song - Ban-kin Tai-ho! Constriction Seal!"
A huge metal cube suddenly appeared high above in the sky. It hovered for a brief second before plummeting groundward, its speed increasing exponentially with every foot it fell. It was like a hammer, a piston. Anything caught beneath it would be obliterated, even an out-of-control hollowfied shinigami.
Yasutora looked away, hearing rather than seeing the cube hit. The ground shook, the air outside the barrier filled with choking levels of dust, and the hollow's rage-filled screams stopped.
Tsukabishi waved a hand in front of his face, coughing slightly. "I'm sorry that was necessary," he said after a moment. "It would have been preferable-"
Ichigo exploded out of the dust-cloud, a cero already boiling in his hand. Tsukabishi was swiped aside almost like an afterthought, his body limp before it touched the ground. The cero slammed into the barrier, blowing the whole thing into nothing, and then Ichigo was on him.
Yasutora raised his fists, Morinari roaring forwards in response to the challenge. The tekko's horns screeched across hollow armour, not strong enough to penetrate. A clawed hand grabbed the front of Yasutora's top and he caught a glimpse of malice-filled eyes before a cero's virulent scarlet light half-blinded him.
Thoughts, piecemeal and desperate, skittered across Yasutora's mind.
This was it. He was going to die. At the hands of his best friend. And then Ichigo was going to escape from this underground room and start killing people in Seireitei.
He should have been able to stop this. If he'd been strong enough, clever enough, skilled enough. But he wasn't, and now never would be. At this point, the most Yasutora could hope for was that there wasn't enough of Ichigo left to comprehend what he was doing, because, if the hollow didn't utterly destroy him, knowing he was responsible for so much mindless death, would.
"I'm sorry," Yasutora murmured as the cero's power swelled higher, the light of hollow's eyes burning behind it.
At the sound of Yasutora's voice, the eyes widened, the malice draining from them along with the black, and suddenly it was Ichigo looking out at him.
"Shit," he said, voice still echoing like the hollow's but recognisably Ichigo. Then, with a sound like a thousand pencils snapping, Ichigo's armour began to crack. "Shit!" he said again, and this time he sounded worried.
Ichigo's hold on Yasutora suddenly vanished, and so did Ichigo. He reappeared for a second back down the bottom of the slope, close by where Urahara had fallen, and then he vanished again. This time Yasutora didn't see where he went, but he heard it. A massive explosion went up behind one of the hills. Yasutora took off running, using short steps of shunpo to get where he needed to be in the shortest possible time.
He arrived to find Ichigo lying face down, body complete but clothes in tatters, and all traces of the hollow gone except for a mask lying on the ground beside him.
Yasutora lunged towards him and rolled him onto his back, half afraid Ichigo was either dead or still possessed.
A bleary looking Ichigo blinked up at him, brows fluttering into a slight frown. "Chad?" he muttered.
It was him. And he was alive. A huge knot of fear unravelled in Yasutora's chest. "You okay?" he asked.
"Ah," Ichigo sighed, eyes closing in obvious exhaustion. After a second, they flicked open again and Ichigo's frown deepened. "Hang on," he said. "Didn't you have something to tell me?"