[Author's Note: Sorry for the late submission, thunder yesterday kept my computer unplugged for safety. Anyway, enjoy!]

Interlude

The Privaron Espada…

Szayelaporro sat at his desk, examining the terminal intently. The invaders were already fighting, going back and forth with the former, fallen Espada.

Except for you…

He peered at the orange-haired Shinigami on the screen, intrigued. He was the only one who had already finished his fight, and during that battle he had used, just for a minute, a power Szayelaporro found interesting. A Hollow mask.

It made him a little uncomfortable, really. This boy had been holding back for nearly the entire fight, but when he had finally started fighting, he had taken out the Hundred and Third with hardly any effort. Dordoni, once the Third Espada… defeated in a moment.

Szayelaporro laced his fingers together, eyes flicking for a moment to where the other invaders were fighting. Well, some of them. The girl was still wandering around aimlessly.

He smiled. What the tiny Shinigami girl did was insignificant to him. His attention was captured by the Shinigami Daiko with the Hollow mask, a most unusual human if ever there was one.

"Kurosaki Ichigo…" he said, glancing at the readings he had taken, and the ones Ulquiorra had given him from his first encounter with the human. He'd become more powerful… much more powerful.

And this is just the beginning… three humans, an unseated Shinigami and a lieutenant…

For a moment, Szayelaporro was very glad he had his backup plan in place. This could easily go very wrong for the Espada if the captains they would undoubtedly have to fight at some point were as superior to their underlings as he had heard.

He rose from his chair, heading for the door. No doubt Aizen would be curious as to why the Exequias were ordered to the scene of Kurosaki's fight without his permission. It'd be best if he headed off any suspicion of some secret plot and just go explain… with some facts omitted, of course.

And Neliel was back. The little tidbit of information made Szayelaporro smile again as he walked, remembering the tiny little child with Kurosaki. He had only seen her in that form once before, at a great distance. He wasn't sure what the former Third Espada had planned, but he was certain it was something spectacular. As childish as she could be, she had been a very powerful Espada in her own time.

.

Aaroniero Arruruerie, Ninth Espada, sat in the darkness, arms resting on his knees. He felt the girl coming closer, running unknowingly toward his palace. What good fortune… she was the one who could most appreciate his… unique abilities. She would definitely be the most fun to manipulate, though Aaroniero had toyed with the idea of showing himself to that Kurosaki boy and having some fun with him. But Kuchiki Rukia, she was the ideal person to face. There was no one else better.

He chuckled at the notion. There were so many ways to make her life miserable, and in the end he would enjoy watching her die.

He raised his right hand and rested his chin on it, enjoying the darkness. Memories not his own flicked through his head, memories of little Kuchiki Rukia and their many previous encounters. His gleeful, cruel smile, unknown to himself, became slightly fond as he immersed himself in the life of Shiba Kaien, Fukutaichou of the Thirteenth Division, Rukia's mentor.

He only caught himself minutes later, frowning at his lapse in concentration. He couldn't let those silly Shinigami memories and instincts effect him, especially not right before this battle. He pointedly pictured driving his sword through the girl's chest, and the identity of Kaien wilted in response.

Good.

He reached to the side and picked up his mask. He'd go and collect her, there was no point in waiting any longer. If he hesitated, Kaien would make him think he didn't want to kill her. It was an absurd and futile excuse, but he didn't want to go there. He'd lure her into the dark and kill her, nice and simple.

And then he'd finally prove to that annoying Shinigami that he was the one in control.

He sat on the white floor, flexing his hands experimentally. It was hard to imagine these annoying fingers were his, soft and pitiful. He missed his old fingers.

He stiffened and shook his head, trying to drive out the memories. No! This is my life! Not that nightmare!

He hunched his shoulders, trying to hide from this confusing reality. Was he really that evil, pale monster he seemed to remember being? It didn't seem possible, but everything was just too… too real to disbelieve. He remembered being that creature, the cruel Hollow that killed so many, just because they were weaker then him. He knew he had been that creature once, and that creature was disgusted with how weak he had become.

But he also hated that Hollow being. As much as it hated his weakness, he hated its cruelty. His own servant… his loyal, devoted servant… he had treated like garbage. That thing didn't care about anyone…

"Because they were all weak!" he screamed, throwing his head back. "They were too weak to deserve to live!"

He curled his fingers into a fist and smashed it into the wall next to him, screaming in rage as his fist cracked against the padded metal. Pain shot through his fingers, and he gritted his teeth. He was shuddering, fearing his own burning hatred, hating his own weak fear, unable to sort out the jumble of memories that were crowded together inside his mind.

There were so many memories of Nnoitra Jiruga, the Fifth Espada of Aizen's army. They had all come back, and they were overwhelming. The mere reality of those memories were more then he could comprehend, they were so different then the world he knew. But at the same time, they were the world he understood, and Nnoitra hated that these few pitiful years of memories were getting in the way. He hated that they made him doubt himself, how they were more real then the memories further back, and especially how much more he wanted those memories to be the real ones.

He was Espada! A Hollow! He didn't need friends, he didn't need laughter and he certainly didn't need that human emotion called happiness.

"But I don't want to be a Hollow anymore…" he sobbed, losing his will again as he dropped his head into his arms. "I don't want to go back to being that thing…"

The conflicting personalities the two sets of memories represented were completely incompatible, and both sides of him wanted to stay in control. The attempt was emotionally tearing him apart.

There was a slight click as the handle of the door turned, and he looked up, confused. Were they going to put him back to sleep? They did that sometimes… he didn't like it. He couldn't fight like that. And he couldn't escape the dreams of that monster called Nnoitra.

It wasn't the doctors. It was a woman, dressed in a stiff black suit, her light hair cut almost to a boyish shortness. She looked at him with an emotionless expression he couldn't read at all.

"You seem to have changed more then I thought, Nnoitra."

His heart seemed to jump at the name. "W-what did you call me?"

"Nnoitra. Or do you go by something else now?"

"N-no…" he said, not sure what it was he was rejecting. He shook his head viciously and hid behind his drawn-up knees again. "Go away."

"No, not until you stop cowering like a weakling. It doesn't suit you. Sooner or later you'll have to accept who you were back then. I'm here to recover you. It's part of the plan."

"I don't want to accept that monster!" he exclaimed. "He's crazy, and evil, and he kills people! He killed his own ally…"

"Stop quivering. The Nnoitra I know would try to kill me if I left him like this."

"I'm not Nnoitra! I don't want to be! Get this pitiful little human out of my head, now!"

"You're contradicting yourself, Nnoitra," came the response, and this time he looked up.

"Make it stop!" he snapped. "It's driving me crazy! He's a weakling and a fool and completely happy! It makes me sick!"

"Then stop arguing with yourself and come. We only have a few more minutes before someone is going to notice my presence."

"But I liked everything that way," he whimpered. "I liked my life before he came…"

"You're clearly not thinking straight," the stranger said bluntly, reaching down to take him firmly by the arm. "Come, we're leaving."

He didn't struggle as he was hauled to his feet, and without a word of protest he followed her out of his white cell. He was too busy with his inward battle to care.