Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me, but Nakita, Seiko, Saiu, Shoku, Aranami, Nozomi, Hayate, Suisei, and Chizome do.

DEVIL'S SMILE

Chapter 26

Rubble crunched noisily underfoot, stone grinding on stone, wet wood splintering, roofing tiles cracking. The rain roared quietly in the background over it all, and the dark, heavy sky hung low over him, casting a twilight-like gloom over the Shinigami city.

Seiko ducked under the remains of a collapsed wall, propped unsteadily on its still-standing counterpart across the narrow alley. Kicking a wooden beam aside, he moved into the slightly more spacious but equally demolished square of space where the alley intersected a wider avenue. He paused in the dark shadow of the half-collapsed wall and surveyed the small battlefield.

Aside from the almost complete destruction of everything nearby, the square seemed deserted. The sheer level of damage suggested a ferocious battle of two powerful forces. Face grim and heart heavy, Seiko turned towards the faint sounds of claws on stone.

A short ways down the wide avenue, four or five snake-imps were crowded around something near one of the still upright walls. The small demons babbled to one another in their high-pitched, squealing voices as they darted back and forth, lunging with vicious swipes of their claws at whatever they'd cornered.

Holding his hand out from his side, Seiko summoned Reppai in a swirl of light, hefting the giant broadsword easily.

It only took a few minutes. When the five snake-imps lay dismembered and decomposing in the rain, he faced the weakly shimmering barrier that the small demons had been attacking, behind which a Diviner was barricaded. Judging by the tired ripples in the shield, another few minutes would have seen the snake-imps feasting on a defenceless victim.

The barrier gave another weak flicker and dissolved.

Nozomi looked up at him with a face streaked by blood and rain. She was propped against the wall, both blades of Kakan Sasayaki held out before her in hands that trembled—from pain, fatigue, or anguish, he couldn't tell. Her right foot was braced against the road, ready to push her up, but he doubted she'd be able to stand. Her left leg was stretched out in front of her, most of her hakama's leg torn away to use as a binding on the wound across the large muscle of her thigh.

He glanced briefly at the injury, her worst that he could see. Even wrapped tightly in the black material, the wound leaked a steady flow of blood to join the rivulets of rain beneath her. Knowing the nature of Hayate's weapon as he did, Seiko had a pretty good idea what such a wound would look like beneath the makeshift bandage.

Nozomi stared at him, her eyes slightly unfocused and pain twisting her features. Beside her, limp and unmoving, lay Hayate. The puddles surrounding him were scarlet with blood.

"I couldn't . . ." Nozomi said in a voice that trembled violently, nearly incoherent. "I couldn't let the imps get him, tear him up . . . eat him . . ." Tears tracked down her face with the rain. "The damn fool was always too trusting. How could he?" she asked, a plea in her voice. "How could he believe Ito over Captain Matsuo? Over us? Over me?"

A shudder ran through her, and her kodachi dissolved into shimmers of amber light. Her shoulders slumped forward, her empty hands falling into her lap. "How could he make me kill him?" she wept.

Exhaling slowly, Seiko let his weapon dissolve back to nothing. Kneeling, he took Hayate's shoulder and rolled him over, casting a brief, appraising eye over the Vice-Captain's wounds. His eyebrows lifted.

"Hmph," he grunted. "The little bastard isn't quite dead yet."

Nozomi choked back another sob, lifting her head. "He isn't?"

"At the moment, no. Not long for life though. You did a good job on him." Huffing in exaggerated annoyance, Seiko stood up, grabbed the front of Hayate's kosode, and heaved the unconscious man's limp form up and over his shoulder. Adjusting the restricting weight, Seiko leaned down a little ways and offered his hand to Nozomi.

"C'mon, Zomi," he said gently. "Let's get this light-cursed fool back to base. That human girlfriend of Ichigo's is an amazing healer. She'll set you and Hayate right."

Nozomi stared up at him. "Do we want to set Hayate right?" she whispered.

Seiko snorted. "Yeah, we do. Me and Kita both wanna tear a couple strips off him before his dishonourable discharge from our Company. He can do whatever the hell he wants after that."

Her lips twitched in a small smile, and she grasped his forearm. He pulled her to her feet, steadying her as she wobbled on one leg. He wasn't pleased to see the rest of her injures. It had been a close fight indeed.

She gave her head a little shake, water flying from her hair. She glanced around, then frowned at him. "Aren't you supposed to be guarding Captain Matsuo?"

"Yeah, but that little icy Shinigami Captain is with her. He'll do until I can get back there." He hesitated. "She doing alright?"

Nozomi's pupils dilated with her Sight. "She's fine. She—" Her brow wrinkled and she was silent for a moment. She gave her head another shake. "No, she's fine. I thought I saw . . . but there's nothing there, just Matsuo and Hitsugaya."

"How about the others?"

Another pause. "Suisei is with his team . . . but they're fighting more demons than just their Class 2. Damn Hayate," she added in a growl. "And—" She gasped, paling drastically.

"Nozomi? What it is?" he demanded.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," she breathed, clutching one hand over her heart.

Seiko stiffened. "He's not dead?" he demanded.

"N-no. But . . . He's . . ." Her wide, horrified eyes lifted to his. "He's in really big trouble."

. o : O : o .

He ran.

His breathing was rough and urgent, tearing at his throat with each gasp. Ichigo fled down street after street, fury and fear warring in him, and underneath it all was unchecked terror. He hated running away. Hated it, hated it, hated it.

But he had to lead the demon lord as far away from everyone else as he could. As far away from Kita and her counterspell. Deep down, unacknowledged but there, he was grateful for the excuse to run. Fear choked him. Zangestu seemed to throb in his hand, sending little zings of power to sting his palm with each cowardly step he took away from his foe.

Chizome was flitting along behind him, unseen but too close, drinking in Ichigo's panic, revelling in this mockery of a chase. The demon lord could have caught up to Ichigo with no effort at all, but Chizome wanted to drag out his revenge, wanted to torment Ichigo emotionally before he even began to torture him physically. The panicky, hunted feeling in Ichigo's head bubbled, pushing away rational thought.

He swore under his breath, leaping a low wall and flash-stepping a few blocks. He could feel Chizome behind him like a swirl of ice and darkness, hovering on the edges of his senses—and then the demon was gone.

Ichigo skidded on the wet road, scrambling for purchase. Chizome appeared in front of him, just appeared. Ichigo couldn't tell how he moved, whether with Shunpo or Sonído or something else; the demon lord was just there.

Backpedalling, Ichigo lifted Tensa Zangetsu in front of him, clenching his hands around the hilt so they wouldn't tremble.

"Oh?" Chizome murmured, using that painless, almost human tone of voice. "Are you finished running?"

Ichigo glanced around. They were in the far north end of Seireitei, surrounded by uninhabited storehouses. His fingers gripped his sword harder. Nowhere else to run except into Rukongai, and that would just get lots of innocent souls killed.

He bared his teeth at the demon. "I wasn't just running away," he snapped, ignoring the little voice in his head that scathingly disagreed.

The demon smirked. "Ah, yes. Leading the dangerous demon lord away from your friends? How . . . gallant." He flicked his green hair off his face. "I, too, would prefer not to be interrupted."

Ichigo swallowed hard. No fear. No fear. He thickened his reiatsu, ignoring the flickering light from his demon mark as it pulsed in unneeded warning. No fear.

"You should be afraid," Chizome whispered.

Ichigo's face blanched. Could the demon read his thoughts?

"Your thoughts are written all over your face," Chizome continued with a sneer. "You are but a child to me, Kurosaki Ichigo. Every Shinigami here is a mere fledgling. I was an experienced warrior while your people were just beginning to build cities. You have been fighting battles for what, a handful of years? I have been fighting against far superior foes than you for millennia."

A shiver ran through Ichigo . . . and then he steadied. Perhaps it was Chizome's taunts, perhaps an acceptance of his fate, or perhaps he had just overloaded on fear and gone numb, but his mind emptied, calm sweeping through him. His breathing evened out and his heartbeat settled into the quick drumbeat of battle. Ichigo looked at Chizome with a clear mind, analyzing, preparing, ready.

Chizome's eyebrows lifted as he saw the change in Ichigo. "Oh?"

Ichigo exhaled slowly, sliding thoughtlessly into a defensive stance, his eyes on his foe. No fear. And this time he achieved it. No fear. Hadn't he fought opponents that completely outclassed him before? Hadn't he faced hopeless battles before? It didn't matter that Chizome was more powerful than him, a thousand times more experienced. Ichigo had to win this fight—so he would.

"Hm," Chizome mused. "You are, perhaps, not quite the child I thought." He tipped his head to one side. "No, you are not a child—but still a fool."

Ichigo whipped his free hand up to his face and summoned the dark power within. His Hollow mask flowed over his face as Chizome launched himself forward in a lightning-fast charge. As the demon flew at him, a black shadow flashed in his clawed right hand.

Ichigo swung his sword up, and Zangetsu slammed into the dark blade now in Chizome's hands, sending an numbing shockwave up Ichigo's arms. He and the demon pressed one another, blades crossed, faces close as they tried to overpower the other.

Chizome grinned at him, showing his long, pointed teeth. "A Hollow mask? An interesting technique. But do you know what this is, Kurosaki Ichigo?" he asked softly, pointing his chin towards the black blade in his hands.

Ichigo risked a glance down at it. It was the length of a katana, but didn't seem to have an entirely solid shape, no hilt, no guard. And, he realized, it wasn't black. It was a hole in the world, an emptiness, a small piece of oblivion. It was not darkness, but the opposite of light. It was nothingness.

The blade, whatever it was, radiated a cold beyond the deepest arctic night, burning Ichigo's hands with each second it touched Zangetsu.

"This," Chizome explained, reverence in his voice, "is the weapon of demon lords. It is called Seikiteiruken—the Living Blade."

Ichigo had never seen anything that looked less alive. How could a black hole be alive?

Unable to bear the horrible iciness of the weapon that went beyond physical cold, Ichigo shoved backwards, leaping away. Chizome didn't pursue, but straightened, holding his black weapon with one hand and caressing its length with the other.

"Would you like to see what a Seikiteiruken can do?" he crooned maliciously.

Ichigo had a moment to watch the black blade seem to shiver, to contort—and then Chizome was coming at him.

He snapped Zangtsu around as the Seikiteiruken's point shot towards his chest. His blade hit the demon's weapon with a horrible absence of sound, forcing the attack off to the side so it would miss him.

The black blade pulsed, rippled—and then like a snake it elongated, veered around Zangetsu's block, and struck deep into Ichigo's shoulder.

A scream ripped from his throat as ice-fire engulfed his shoulder, searing him beyond thought even with the protection of his Hollow mask, which had always muffled physical pain for him before.

He found himself on his knees, gasping for air, his entire arm numb with freezing agony. Chizome stood a few paces away, his Seikiteiruken writhing, rippling like some sort of formless, shape-shifting animal. It shifted from the shape of a katana to a wide broadsword to a spear and back to katana: liquid lightning that somehow had substance but no true shape.

"Do you understand now, boy?" the demon asked, observing Ichigo's reaction with vicious delight. "A Shinigami's sword has, at most, three static forms. A Seikiteiruken is unlimited in the forms it can assume. Like a living creature, it can move and shape itself and attack you however it pleases."

Ichigo stood, pressing one hand to his shoulder. The wound wasn't bleeding, but was instead a clean hole, the edges of the wound frozen, burned, cauterized. He felt no pain in exact center of the injury, but agony surrounded it, weakening his entire shoulder and arm. He panted, wrapping both hands around Zangetsu so he wouldn't lose his grip. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his sword.

"Getsuga Tenshō!" he roared though his Hollow mask, slashing Zangetsu down.

The red-rimmed black attack screamed towards the demon, obscuring him completely within the blast. The entire street disintegrated, the buildings turned to dust.

The smoke cleared quickly under the rain, and Ichigo's breath caught in his throat.

Chizome stood exactly where he'd been, not having moved even a step. The Seikiteiruken rippled and shivered like an eel in water as it shrank back from the wide black shield of void it had formed in front of Ichigo's attack. It had sucked in Getsuga Tenshō just like a black hole, leaving Chizome unharmed and untaxed.

Once again taking the form of a katana, the Seikiteiruken became still, almost solid-looking. Ichigo didn't understand. How could it move like water, like lightning, yet still be solid enough to block Zangestu, to pierce Ichigo? How could Chizome control its shape like that—or did it control itself? Was it truly alive, a living blade in a far more literal sense than a Zanpakutō was alive?

If it was alive, could it be injured?

Ignoring the frozen agony of his shoulder as best he could, Ichigo set his feet. Chizome smiled, waiting.

With a shouted, wordless battle cry, Ichigo leaped for the demon. Chizome blocked easily, but Ichigo pulled back and struck again, as fast as he could, pulling all the speed he could from his Bankai and his Hollow mask. He didn't pause, didn't give the demon's weapon a chance to change shape and strike him again.

Chizome matched him with leisurely ease, his movements smooth, unhurried, unstrained. Every time Ichigo might have managed to make Chizome work for a parry or block, his weapon changed shape, lengthening or shortening, widening its blade or curving it. Again and again Ichigo had to throw himself backwards as the Seikiteiruken darted its point towards him like a striking snake, attempting again to spear Ichigo at the same time it blocked Zangetsu. Ichigo felt like he was fighting two opponents at once.

With a lazy slash, Chizome hurled Ichigo back. As he flew backwards, heels dragging, finding no grip on the wet stones, Chizome gave the Seikiteiruken a little flick, and it morphed from katana to writhing whip. Chizome snapped it towards Ichigo.

"No!" he yelled, twisting as he fell to fling Zangetsu in the whip's path, to knock the strike aside.

Impossibly, the whip changed direction, living lightning, to coil around Zangetsu. It tightened, pulled taught, and ripped the sword from Ichigo's hands. He hit the ground, tumbling over and over before slamming into a wall. Scrambling up, he looked around for his sword—

Black flashed across his vision, and the whip's tip sliced across his thigh, tearing deep into the muscle.

Ichigo cried out, his leg collapsing under him. He clutched it, feeling like his leg was going to split in two, ice and fire and agony burning down into the bone. With blurred vision he looked down at his thigh to see a deep, bloodless valley cut into the muscle, the surrounding flesh dead and black, the skin near the wound chalk-white with frostbite.

A low chuckle pulled his horrified, revolted stare away from the remains of his leg.

"Now you almost understand," Chizome told him, satisfied. The demon lord smiled and gave his wrist a little twist.

The Seikiteiruken flashed again, reaching across the distance between them to slice across Ichigo's stomach. Ichigo doubled over, unable to scream, to breathe, to move. Sparks exploded in front of his eyes, and unconsciousness swept over him in sickening waves as he started to black out only to have the pain drag him back again.

A clawed hand grasped a handful of material over his chest and pulled him up, slamming him back into the wall. The arm pushed him into the wall, pinning him with his feet barely brushing the ground. He hung limply, unable to think or plan or even panic. He stared dully at the demon, realizing vaguely that his Hollow mask was gone. He didn't remember it breaking.

"Very nice," Chizome murmured, looking into Ichigo's glazed eyes. "We're almost there. Now pay attention, Kurosaki Ichigo, for there's one more thing you need to understand." He smiled. "Look at your shoulder, Ichigo. Go on now."

Not really knowing why he obeyed, except that there was nothing else for him to do, Ichigo turned his head to look at the shoulder the Seikiteiruken had stabbed.

Horror clenched tight around his chest, and he slammed back to full consciousness.

The narrow, piercing wound from the demon blade was no longer a katana-sized hole through his shoulder. It had doubled in size, leaving a gaping tunnel through his flesh that he could have stuck his hand through. Ichigo fought not to be sick as he stared at it.

"You were doomed the moment my Seikiteiruken broke your skin," Chizome whispered to him, leaning close, still pinning him tight to the wall. "The wounds it gave you will slowly devour you. They are called Kokushibyo wounds—black death wounds. All it takes is one cut—one cut to consume you entirely. It cannot be healed. It cannot be stopped. You cannot be saved. You are dead, Kurosaki Ichigo. Count each heartbeat, for they are your last."

Chizome inhaled deeply, sliding his arm up until his forearm was jammed under Ichigo's chin, pressing his body into Ichigo to keep him pinned, helpless, against the wall.

"Your terror is like a sweet wine, Kurosaki Ichigo," the demon breathed in his ear. "You smell . . . irresistible. Such a pure soul." Chizome chuckled, a low, husky sound. "Oh, how you must have tempted our young prince when he had you at his mercy in Hell . . . Did he taste you, Ichigo?"

The demon pressed closer, nuzzling Ichigo's neck, sensual and violating. "Have you ever wondered, Ichigo, why it is that demons crave pure souls? Do you know what it is we desire so fiercely?"

Ichigo trembled, the burning cold of the Seikiteiruken's wounds driving him out of his mind, the rest of his body hot and feverish.

"Shall I tell you, Ichigo? Would you like to know before you die? It seems a shame for such a delicious soul as yours to pass on without ever being sampled." Chizome grazed his fangs lightly across Ichigo's throat, taunting his powerlessness. "Lesser demons, crude as they are, they eat souls just as Hollow do. But demons like I, like our young prince, we are far more . . . refined. We possess a unique ability that other demons do not need. You see, Ichigo, we are so powerful, have so much reiatsu, that we would spend the majority of our time hunting down food in order to replenish our power supplies after a battle. It just isn't economical for us to refuel through mundane means like eating."

Chizome moved his lips to Ichigo's ear, whispering luridly. "So we evolved a superior way of refuelling ourselves. We take our fuel directly from the source: we can pull the reiatsu directly from other beings and make it own. Do you begin to see now?" He pressed Ichigo harder into the wall, making it difficult for him to draw breath.

"We usually pull small amounts of reiatsu from our many vassals as we need," the demon went on, "thus replenishing ourselves without severely weakening our servants. But when it comes to souls, Ichigo . . .

"There is a moment," Chizome whispered, almost crooned, "just a moment, when our bodies fill with the reiatsu of our prey. A moment before that reiatsu is converted into our own. In that moment, flooded with another's power . . . It's a high like you cannot imagine, Ichigo. And if that power, that reiatsu, is the pure, untainted, untouched essence of a pure soul . . ." The demon shivered, exhaling sharply. "It is euphoria," he finished breathily. "Utter rapture."

Ichigo cringed away from the demon, but there was nowhere for him to go. Chizome did not even seem to be aware of his weak struggles to free himself. Ichigo could feel his life and strength slipping away with each heartbeat, with each fraction that his tainted wounds spread.

"Fear makes it even sweeter," Chizome went on, nearly purring the words. "Fear and pain and despair, they sweeten the soul so nicely. Do you feel them, Ichigo?" The demon's blood-red eyes had started to glow. "Fear and despair? Do you drown in them now, Ichigo? I know you already burn with the pain of my Seikiteiruken's touch, but that is nothing . . . nothing to what I will show you now. There is a way to draw reiatsu without causing pain . . . but why would we want that?"

Crushing him into the wall, Chizome slowly licked a trickle of blood from Ichigo's cheek. "Are you ready to feed me, Kurosaki Ichigo?" the demon whispered huskily. "Are you ready to know what pain truly is?"

"No," Ichigo gasped, barely able to breathe, unable to think, unable to fight. "No!"

"Yes," the demon breathed, trapping Ichigo's jaw in his fingers.

For a bare second, all Ichigo felt was a strange pulling sensation in his middle, like someone had stuck a vacuum cleaner nozzle in his stomach.

Then he screamed, screamed like he never had before, as his insides tore, rending, ripping from inside him, shredding his skin, his bones shattering, cleaving out of his body. He was bursting apart, his innards sucked from his body, his organs collapsing, his bones fracturing, his skin splitting, everywhere, everything was pain, agony, torment beyond comprehension, and he couldn't even feel his wounds, he couldn't feel anything, he was dying, surely this was death, let it end, let him die, no more, no more . . .

And blackness swept over him, and he was drowning, and the pain was gone. Feeling nothing, knowing nothing, he let himself be swept away into unconsciousness.

. x : X : x .

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

With this chapter, Devil's Smile has officially surpassed 100,000 words! That's novel-length, people. Congrats to us all—me for writing 250+ pages and you for reading it all! Hope it's been worth the reading time (and waiting time) for all of you!

GLOSSARY:

Sonído (Spanish: "Sound") - A technique used by Arrancar which allows them to move at extreme speeds, similar to the Shunpo (Flash Step) technique used by Shinigami.

Seikiteiruken - Literally, "living blade".

Kokushibyo - Literally, "black death".