029 – Still Alive
'I have changed, I have changed
Just like you, just like you.
For how long?
For how long must I wait?
I know there's something wrong.
Your concrete heart isn't beating
And you've tried to make it come alive
No shadows, just red lights.
Now I'm here to rescue you, oh oh...
So silent, no violence
But inside my head, so loud and clear
You're screaming, you're screaming
Covered up with a smile I've learned to fear
Come fire, come fire
Let it burn and love come racing through'
He still moved like art.
That was a part of him that could never change.
Every inch of him exuded grace, from the elongated lines of his body to the sharp edge of his sword. His long mane cut the blue of the sky like a red blade as his body moved in a flowing arc, hair whipping out behind him like a wave. He fought like it was a dance, eagerly meeting his partner at every step. There was fire in his eyes and in his veins; a wildfire sweeping over his opponent, leaving no trace. He was beautiful when he fought.
That aside, there was nothing left of Ichigo in the monster that faced him.
He was all narrowed gold eyes and clawed hands, snarling teeth and sleek hair. His mask was gone, but its absence didn't make him look any more like Ichigo. Where the mask had crumbled away it had left a set of curling red lines like an imprint burned upon his skin. Sliding below the neck of his white uniform was a new set of black marks, three thick lines sweeping outwards from the hollow hole in his chest. The lines dissipated below white cloth as they curved out to his shoulders and up into his collarbone.
His eyes had not changed since the last time they had met. Still glinting gold and cruel, regarding him like some troublesome insect. Urahara felt like an insect beneath the power rolling off of the arrancar like waves, crashing into his own as they fought. Ichigo had always possessed ridiculous amounts of reiatsu but this, this was something the likes of which Urahara had never felt. No wonder Shinji had fallen; in that moment he wondered if even Aizen could match him in terms of raw power.
Urahara knew that he couldn't hope to best him physically, not without releasing his bankai anyway, but he didn't need to.
He deflected a blow from the arrancar's blade as it lunged at him, sparks dancing where their metal met. Jumping backwards in a smooth motion he found his footing as his opponent stalked, those terrible eyes never leaving his own.
"Scared?" It spat.
He was. He was terrified. But not for the reasons the arrancar thought he was.
"What happened to your mask?" He enquired lightly as he twirled Benihime in his hand, his voice calm and level not betraying the storm that raged upon his insides.
"We tore it off." Alejo grinned manically, "I don't need it anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm stronger than them now." Urahara assumed that he was referring to the espada, and damn if that concept didn't terrify him.
"Well what does that make you then, if not an arrancar?" Urahara cocked an eyebrow, still swinging his zanpakutō.
Alejo was surprised to find that he did not have an answer for that. He had never really considered it before; what he was now that his mask was gone, his power unleashed. He didn't really feel any different aside from more powerful, he still had a hollow hole and a resurrección like the rest of the arrancar. But removing the mask had meant something, Aizen knew it, that was why he had done it. To bring Alejo to a new level, to allow him to rise above the rest of the espada.
So then, why did that question make him feel so lost?
He snarled and launched himself at his opponent again, violence and action quelling the storm in his mind, and Urahara lost his hat to Alejo's blade; the zanpakutō taking only the hat and not his eye as the target had been. Urahara began fighting more warily then, aware that Alejo clearly had no intention of holding back out of some unconscious sentiment. But he was having trouble laying a blow on his opponent; no matter how little he resembled Ichigo now, he knew that his lover was still in there.
Or at least, he prayed that he was.
At the edges of his senses he could feel the other battles playing out, different reiatsu rising and falling, flaring and fading all around them. The others were keeping well away from their battle, even the vizored who knew just what was at stake. This was personal, and he would not let the monster inside of Ichigo drag anyone else into the crossfire. Shinji's reiatsu was still there, flickering like a candle trying desperately to avoid the wind. He only hoped that there would come a gust to blow some life back into that dying spark. The shinigami were staying away too. Now knowing what they did of what had happened to Ichigo, Urahara had managed to convince them to let him handle it. Yamamoto had been pissed at first of course, finding out that not only Urahara (who he had come to expect treason from) but also Ukitake and Shunsui had kept such a huge secret from him. Urahara had expected the Captain Commander to demand blood over the whole situation, probably his own, but he had been surprisingly understanding about the whole thing. He supposed that may have had something to do with the promise that he had forced Urahara to make to him, the same one that Yoruichi had coerced from him at their meeting once they realised that Ichigo was still alive.
"Can you do it, if it comes to that? Can you kill him?"
"I can. I won't let anybody else touch him ever again. If he has to die again it will be by my hands, no others. One way or another I will save him from what he has become, or I will give my life trying."
He bit his lip, and steadied his blade. Now was no time for his resolution to falter.
Alejo frowned at the blonde shinigami who was currently regarding him like some kind of savage animal. This guy just didn't quit; at least he came ready to fight this time. Seeing him upon the hilltop when they first met had been uncomfortable and puzzling. The shinigami had had no will to fight then, confused and reeling at some unknown terror. But this… this was a display of power and clarity. Clearly he had been wrong to think the man a weakling. He hadn't been able to land a proper blow yet, but neither had the other upon him. There was something off about his movements, like he was deliberately limiting his speed and strength as they clashed. Alejo didn't like that one bit.
The black blade glistened as it caught the light, his eyes flashing as he used sonido to meet his opponent. Metal rang against metal and his sword vibrated as they clashed. Moving in close quarters now he retreated momentarily before swinging back in towards Urahara's right side, growling when he was blocked again. Spinning on his heel he sent a series of whistling bala blasts towards the blonde. The shinigami dodged, pushing power into his legs to propel him upwards, but not so quick enough that he avoided singeing the tips of his hair. Alejo met him in mid-air and he spun round to clash with the arrancar again, every deflection further fuelling the fire in those wild eyes.
They were too closely matched, going nowhere. Alejo was stronger but the blonde was smarter, and seemed to somehow have an intimate knowledge of his fighting style as he kept coming back to meet him. It unsettled him, those grey eyes seemed to pierce right through him and he couldn't meet that gaze for fear that it would completely unravel him. He had tried to take those eyes but had to settle for the hat. For some reason shredding it to pieces had been satisfying on some deep level, but without it there was little to shade those eyes from him.
And they just kept staring.
Well if he wanted something to stare at Alejo would damn well give it to him.
He gripped Zangetsu tightly, spinning the hilt in his hand as he paused in mid-air. The shinigami eyed him warily, anticipating an attack. Alejo tensed as he brought the sword to a standstill, holding it before him in a guard position. His eyes glinted silver as he reached down deep inside of him, pulling his power up from the base of his stomach to flow into this fingertips. Too late the blonde realised what was happening, too late he moved to try and stop it.
Using his reiatsu, he reached into his sword and screamed.
"Slay, Tensa Zangetsu!"
Power exploded out from his body, bursting from his pores and flowing out into the atmosphere, setting the air alight and unleashing fire. Out of instinct Urahara jumped back, his body recognising the danger that had just been set loose. The arrancar's release whipped up a cloud of swirling dust and power and he couldn't see the beast contained within the storm of reiatsu and flame.
Alejo wasn't entirely sure why he did it. Only his master and sparring partners had ever seen his resurrección released before: Aizen, Grimmjow and Starrk. But suddenly he wanted to show his power to this man, even if he didn't need it to defeat him. Besides, the fight was going nowhere quickly and he wanted to see the other man's true power, wanted to make him fight seriously.
Their eyes locked through the cloud and he saw trepidation settle on the shinigami's face.
"Why don't you release your bankai, hmm?" His mouth cracked in a cold smile. "We can have a little fun."
Urahara's mouth went dry when he saw him standing there. His sword was gone now, the power flowing back into his body, turning him into a monster. The fire started to burn out around him, being absorbed into the atmosphere and burning up all the oxygen that the shinigami so desperately needed at that moment.
Gone were the last vestiges of Ichigo in that face. Gone was any trace of warmth or brightness. In their place was rippling muscle and horns. His mask had reformed up and down the sides of his face, his features smirking out from between curling bone and flowing red lines. Two pointed horns ran upwards from the vestiges of the mask, cutting a sharp silhouette against the sky. He would have looked devilish had they not been bleached white as bone. His hands and feet appeared to be covered over in that same white bone, his fingernails blackened into sharp knives. His irises had turned silver, and those painted black lines had expanded to run down the length of his arms and torso. His hair seemed somehow even longer, thicker, his skin paler. When he smirked sharp teeth rose over the curl of his lower lip, points indenting the skin slightly.
Alejo's resurrección was much like Ichigo's bankai. Small and contained, and all the more deadly for it.
Urahara had no intention of releasing his own bankai, but his hand gripped the hilt of his sword reflexively tighter regardless. His skin trembled beneath the pressure of that dark reiatsu as it swept over him, ruffling hairs as it went. His face was a mask above the internal turmoil, his expression set and bored. He wished that he could just pull out his fan to hide his face as he usually did when his mask started to crack, waving it jovially like everything was okay, but he dared not to loosen the grip he had on the hilt of his zanpakutō. He was painfully aware that his life depended upon the strength of that grip.
"What's wrong?" Alejo sneered at him as he tiled his head back, exposing more pale skin to the sun. "Not so chatty this time."
"Does that mean you care to listen to me now?" Urahara's voice came out sounding a hell of a lot lighter than he felt. Alejo laughed, silver eyes flashing in their sockets.
"Not likely." The arrancar bared his fangs and Urahara let a shiver run across the surface of his skin.
"A pity." He held his hands up in a gesture of peace, but did not relax his grip on Benihime. "We don't have to do this… Alejo? Is that right?"
"Wow, finally learned something have we?" The arrancar chuckled darkly.
"You have to realise that something isn't right here, you know that Aizen is only using you."
"Tch," Alejo clicked his tongue in an annoyed gesture. "He made me, dumbass. He gave me this power, he can use it as he pleases."
Urahara almost laughed then, it suddenly seemed so hopeless. He remembered the promise Ichigo had made to him when they sat upon his bed and all that anger poured back into his body like hot oil. Aizen had taken Ichigo, the strongest, wildest, most stubborn headed man he had ever met and turned him into a willing lapdog. It was sickening. It was so fucking wrong.
"You're pathetic, you know that?" Urahara grit his teeth as the dam threatened to overflow. Baiting the arrancar probably wasn't the best idea, but at least it would draw a response. "Aizen gave you that power? Bullshit. That power is your own and you know it." He shook his head as he raised his sword again. "Ichigo would never have let himself be made a slave to anyone."
"Do I look like I give a shit about some fucking dead shinigami?" The arrancar bristled and screamed as he flew across the sky separating them. He lunged with his hands now, his sword gone, replaced by nails as sharp as blades. Urahara managed to block the worst of the blow but the pressure pushed him backwards and he felt nails shred the sleeves of his jacket as he twisted out of Alejo's grasp.
"You people need to get a hobby or something, leave me out of your crazy fucking fantasies." The arrancar spat as he brought himself around again, his eyes wild and angry. Urahara swiftly ducked under the approaching arms, twisting round to catch Alejo with his sword. The arrancar was too quick, deflecting the blow with a flick of his horns. Benihime screeched against the bone and Urahara felt her shudder in his hands. She screamed a warning inside his head and he threw himself backwards, narrowly avoiding the cero that shot from between the tip of Alejo's horns.
Urahara barely had time to regain his footing before the arrancar was upon him again, all snarling sharp teeth and claws. He swung his sword and connected with a blow that would've taken off the hand of a lesser being but Benihime just crunched against the thick bone covering his skin and bounced back, the metal ringing in his grasp. Alejo hissed, more out of annoyance than pain, as he swiped again, catching the front of Urahara's robes with clawed fingers. His nails dug deep into the cloth and he swiped his hand in frustration to disentangle them.
In that movement unbalanced by anger Urahara saw his chance.
As quick as a flash he ducked out from under his jacket, letting the cloth stick in the arrancar's hands, swinging round to obscure his vision just enough to give the shinigami an opening. Alejo growled as he shredded the green jacket in his claws, almost unconsciously noting how he seemed to be slowly divesting the shinigami of clothes. He would have laughed had he not been so preoccupied. Their eyes met for a less than a second as Urahara propelled himself upwards again, bringing his hands together as he shouted an incantation.
"Six cane light prison, Rikujou Kourou."
It felt like he'd been punched in the chest as six rods of white light shot outward from his centre, as though the source was the hole that made his chest its home. As it engulfed him his arms were trapped to his sides, his reiatsu suddenly shut off by that brightness. A kidō, shinigami spells. But it was weak, not strong enough to hold him. He snorted, eyes alight as he mocked his opponent,
"You really think you can keep me contained with a bakudō of this power?"
"Well, for about 5 seconds, yeah." The blonde murmured as he toyed some spell between his fingertips. Alejo scowled and the light began to crack as he forced his reiatsu into it, breaking the bind from the inside out. Urahara was too quick though, bringing up another incantation and wrapping it around the two men.
"Thousand-coil white snake, Sentan Hakuja."
Alejo's view was obscured by white, bandages seemingly forming from nowhere and cocooning the two of them in a dome. Whiteness took hold as he freed himself from the confines of the first kidō, only to be trapped within another. He felt a gentle pressure, the world span around him and for an achingly familiar moment all he could see was sombre grey eyes in the darkness.
Above them in the sky Aizen watched.
"Eh? Where do ya' think he's takin' Alé?" Gin enquired. He had given Alejo the nickname Alé shortly after he was born, claiming that his name was too difficult to pronounce. Both Aizen and the redhead hated it, which was reason enough to use it as often as he could.
"I'm sure he has some worthless plan, but it matters not." Aizen's face was a mask of calm indifference as the kidō dissipated, moving the two duelling figures through space. "Alejo has his orders, and he will carry them out."
"Ah thought ya' wanted to see him kill Urahara, isn't that kinda the point of yer little game?" Gin furrowed his brow slightly, as always struggling to comprehend the actions of his master.
"In a way." Aizen was vague as always. "Alejo will bring him to me before the end, as I said, he has his orders."
"Ya think of everything, don't you Aizen-sama?"
Aizen just smiled.
Alejo's eyes snapped open as the bandages unwound around him, blinking back darkness as he squinted into the unfamiliar gloom. His senses were running on high alert, instantly noticing the apparent absence of his opponent. He growled softly as his eyes darted around the room, trying to process what had just happened. The shinigami had trapped him in a teleportation kidō, moving them through space. Somehow he had vanished along the way, leaving Alejo alone in...
Where was he exactly?
If he had found the door and exited the small building he was in he would have been able to read the sign hanging outside the front door, wondering at the meaning of the symbols engraved there. But he didn't, and so he didn't know that the answer to his question was so close at hand.
The sign read: Kurosaki Clinic.
He had ended up in what looked like a dining room, but far smaller than any of the ones in Las Noches. The small table in the centre of the room could only fit four chairs around it, and that was at a stretch. Peering behind him he noted a door leading into what looked to be an equally tiny kitchen, but declined to investigate further.
He felt his skin tremble as waves of reiatsu rolled off of him, and realised that he was still in his released form. Scowling at the turn of events he reluctantly withdrew his resurrección and sheathed his sword at his hip, feeling his teeth return to normal and his horns crack as they fell from his head. No point in wasting reiatsu if his opponent was too cowardly to fight.
'Speaking of which...'
Alejo huffed gently, he did hate having to control his reiatsu for such mundane tasks as this, but he had promised Aizen that he would bring the blonde shinigami to him. Even if he had not made that promise he would have sought him out anyway, there was an itching in his head that he knew would not be silenced until he killed that strange man. Aizen had promised that he would be allowed to do so, but for some reason he wanted to bear witness to the scene. Alejo was starting to think that Grimmjow was right about him being a 'fucking sadist'.
He closed his eyes and stretched out with his fingertips, silently thankful that the sexta was not there to mock him for the gesture this time. Reaching out into the atmosphere he could only find small traces of the blonde: in the kidō still buzzing in the air, against his blade, tangled in his hair. His birthmark itched. He scowled as he waved off the sensation, suddenly remembering with uncomfortable clarity the way that the shinigami had touched his birthmark when they first met upon the hill. He moved out into the hallway as he searched through what seemed to be empty hospital rooms. The shinigami must have brought him here for a reason, whatever it may be, so he should still be here somewhere. The blonde was clearly a bit cracked thought, so anything was possible.
Satisfied that there was no life on the ground floor Alejo eyed the dark staircase with a wary gaze. There was something up there, he was suddenly very sure of that as a cold hand gripped his stomach. He shook the sensation off as he climbed the stairs two at a time, hand gripping the banister tighter than was entirely necessary. There was something tugging at the edge of his senses like a memory, it had been there ever since he had arrived in this small strange place, but it intensified now as he stood at the top of the stairs, eyeing a dark hallway as though his enemy was creeping in the shadows, waiting for him.
One of the doors had a plaque hanging on it, a shield shape with the number 15 inscribed upon it. The coldness settled in his stomach and he decided to leave that room for last. There were three other rooms on the top floor, and he investigated each in turn. One was a bathroom, the faint scent of soap and disinfectant hanging in the air and tangling in his hair as he sniffed at the human smells. The other two were bedrooms, one with a messy, unmade double bed and a giant poster of a copper headed woman on the wall. He paused before the poster and regarded it curiously, cocking his head to the side as he met the printed eyes staring back at him. She was pretty, for a human anyway, and seemed somehow curiously familiar, like someone you may continuously pass in the street without consciously noting. The script below her image read 'Masaki Kurosaki'. A strange name indeed.
Kurosaki, why did that seem familiar?
Alejo shook himself as he started slipping into memory. He had a bad habit of doing that, and now was not the time to be pondering such strange thoughts. He closed the door softly as he left the room, feeling as though he risked disturbing some ghosts laid to rest there long ago. His investigation of the next room yielded no more useful results, another bedroom housing two single beds upon one of which lay a particularly tatty looking lion doll. He picked it up and regarded it curiously for a moment before dropping it back down upon the bed and heading back out into the hallway.
He paused before the door of the final room for a moment, and could not for the life of himself think why. The door handle seemed colder than the others had as it turned in his hand, and as he stepped inside he felt that same strange sensation of disturbing old ghosts. It was an unremarkably ordinary room to look at it: a single bed below a window, a bedside table, a dresser, a wardrobe, a desk, a computer chair. It was nowhere near as nice or spacious as Alejo's own bedroom, but then he supposed that humans needed less room given how small they seemed to be.
He took it all in, still unsure what was causing that cold gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. There was something sitting upon the bed, its small form barely making a crease in the pristine sheets upon which it lay. In two quick strides he crossed the room and picked it up.
It was a photograph.
A family photograph.
Two young girls, almost identical if not for their differing hair colours and the scowl that painted the face of the darker haired one, stood with two men. The taller, the one Alejo assumed to be the father, was making kissy faces at the dark-haired girl who was winding up to smack him in the face with a shoe. The softer looking blonde girl was laughing as she tried to break up the fight, her arms flung around her father's shoulders. And the other figure in the midst of all that chaos was...
Alejo felt his breath catch in his throat.
It felt like he had walked into someone else's dream and suddenly he couldn't breathe as his world spun out of control. Behind him he heard the door click shut, and found the thing that he had been looking for, the weaver of the dream.
Spinning around, he met the blonde shinigami.
He had been standing behind the door it seemed, a meagre hiding place. He must have been completely suppressing his reiatsu because Alejo still couldn't fully sense him even in the same room.
Alejo's hand flew to his sword but he did not draw it, caught for a moment by the expression written across the blonde's face.
He was looking rather the worse for wear following their fight. Hat and jacket gone, torn to shreds and given to the wind. Hair tangled and mussed with dirt. Minor cuts and bruises painted his arms and the edges of his remaining clothes were tatty. It was his face more than anything that made Alejo pause, a strange stillness shining in those determined eyes, as though something very important was about to happen.
Slowly the shinigami reached down to his waist, to where his sword was exposed now that his jacket had been torn away. Without tearing his gaze from Alejo he fumbled at his waist and let his zanpakutō fall to the floor, pushing it further away from him with his foot.
Alejo's scowl deepened in surprise, was this some kind of shinigami trick? Regardless he let his own hand fall away from his sword, looking up to find that sombre grey gaze still boring into him.
Something sparked in his consciousness and he spoke without really thinking,
"Urahara." It was as much a question as it was a statement, and he saw something dance across those grey eyes as the word escaped his lips.
"How did you know my name?"
"I..." He shook his head, realising that he didn't have an answer for that question. "Aizen-sama must have told me. Never mind that," he snapped, "what is this place? Why did you bring me here?" He held out the photograph clutched in his tense fingers. "What is this?"
He gestured towards the last occupant of the picture, a scowling redhaired teenager who was unmistakable as Alejo, even with the mask and the birthmark.
"This is your home." The blonde spoke with such conviction, such calm assurance in his voice that Alejo stiffened, struggling for words like air. He gestured towards the photograph, "They are your family"
"No." The way the shinigami had said home had set off a chain reaction of disconnected images inside Alejo's mind and they assaulted his consciousness as he reeled. "No, Las Noches is my home."
The images swirled in his mind as he protested.
"The espada are my family."
Laughter. Dodging kicks. The wailing of sirens. Bandages. Twins; one dark, one light. A hole in the wall. Laughter. A strawberry hairclip. A football. A cigarette by a grave in the rain. A small body trembling in his arms. Strong arms around him. Laughter.
Warmth.
Laughter.
Love.
"I know, but it hasn't always been that way." Urahara's voice was soft as he risked a step forward. He could feel rather than see the confusion that reared inside the arrancar, could taste it in his reiatsu, and knew that he was close to breaking through. "I know you remember."
He remembered. He remembered Starrk,
"We all used to be someone... something else... We all existed in a different form, maybe hundreds of different forms at some point or other. But those forms, who we were then, they're gone. You died Alejo, and your sun died along with you."
Something was rising in his throat and he swallowed hard against the sensation, gritting his teeth hard enough to break them.
"I don't know what you're talking about." His hand flew back to the hilt of his sword as he felt panic rise again in his throat. Something was wrong, too many sparks were going off inside of him and he did not like the sensation at all. Somehow it was all connected to this shinigami. "It's all your fault!" Alejo hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits as he drew his sword. "What have you done to me?" It must be some sort of trick, some kind of poison or illusion that was clouding his mind. It was the only explanation for feeling like this. He wasn't supposed to feel at all.
And he knew how to get rid of it.
He swung his blade forward with as much strength as he could muster, meaning to cleave the shinigami in two if he could. The green man dodged, but he could not move far in such confined quarters. Suddenly he did not care about following orders, Aizen could punish him all he wanted but he had no intention of leaving this man alive long enough to take him to his master. He needed him gone now, needed whatever trick he was playing to end.
The shinigami vanished from his view, and he felt two strong arms grasp him from behind. He roared at the physical proximity, trying to twist round to cut those arms off but the grip was like steel and he couldn't shake it. Zangetsu fell from his grip as they struggled. They fell back and suddenly Alejo was upon the bed, his body pressed to that of the shinigami's as he held him tightly from behind.
"Let go of me!" He hissed, panic flooding his system like nothing he had ever felt before. He should have been able to shake the shinigami from him easily but somehow that grip felt unbreakable, inevitable. That grip pulled him into the shinigami's lap and he froze as warm lips brushed the shell of his ear.
Whispering.
"I can't go back to how I was. There's no way back. So it's no use dwelling upon the past. I have to move forward, just like I've always done, right? As long as I still have them, the people I was fighting for, my family, my friends, and you… I'll be alright. As long as I can be here with everyone, I can move forward with them."
Words from another time, thrown back at him, catching in his throat, constricting him.
A heart beat against his back.
He couldn't breathe.
Pushing his reiatsu into his arms he managed to wrestle himself away from the body pressed against his own. Scrambling blindly his fingers found Zangetsu's hilt from where he had dropped him upon the ground. The shinigami on the bed made to rise, fingers outstretched, lips moving to form more painful words.
He spun round.
And that hand never reached him, those words were never given life into the air. And Alejo couldn't quite grasp why, his mind still reeling as it tried to catch up with the actions of his body. His fingers tightened on Zangetsu's hilt and he heard the shinigami gasp softly.
He looked down, and realised why.
Zangetsu's blade was buried deep into Urahara's stomach.
He hadn't even realised how he had been holding the sword as he spun round, hadn't realised that he thrust his hand forward just as the shinigami moved to grasp him again. He had just wanted him to stop. To stop talking, stop holding him, stop making him remember things that had long ago been banished into the darkness.
The shinigami's blood drip drip dripped onto the floor, splashing against the photograph that had fallen there. It dribbled down Zangetsu's hilt and onto Alejo's hands as he withdrew the blade, letting it fall to the ground at his feet without quite knowing why. The shinigami slumped forward onto him, smearing his red warmth all over the front of the arrancar's white jacket.
Alejo didn't know why he slipped his arms around the bleeding body as they both fell to their knees. Didn't know why he was trembling all over. Didn't know why, when the blonde reached up to place his pale hands on either side of Alejo's face, still staring at him with that terrifyingly gentle expression, he allowed himself to be pulled into a breathless kiss. Didn't know why he finally recognised the emotion that had been shining in those eyes every time they looked upon him.
Love.
As the shinigami's mouth moved against his own, all he could taste was blood and reiatsu. All he could remember was how familiar that caress was, though it was entirely unlike anything he had felt before. All he had known in his short life was cold demands and bites, but this was different. The shinigami was all gentle warmth and unchallenging caresses. His mind went blank; he had no idea what he was doing but it felt so right.
He felt the shinigami's thumbs stall as they stroked along the lines of his cheekbones, his fingers curled into the hollow behind his ear and the soft noise of pain he made against Alejo's lips sent a bolt of cold shooting through his veins.
He pulled back and saw the life in those pale eyes flicker like a dying flame.
He raised his hands, soaked in the shinigami's blood.
His mind cracked.
Something long buried was screaming inside his head, clawing its way up his throat, constricting him from the inside out. He threw his head back as he struggled for breath, feeling the shinigami in his arms stiffen in alarm, mouthing soundless words that did not reach him through the inner demon screaming in his ears. Pressure built painfully, his skull fell like it was going to crack and just spill all that pain and confusion out into the world. His body went numb, his eyes rolled back in his head. He could feel invisible hands on him, inside of him, pulling him into an abyss and for a moment he was gone. Floating in a black, godless limbo, touched by no sensation. The shinigami's reiatsu faded out around him, and he was alone.
And then he hit the ground, and air flooded back into his lungs as he gasped desperately. He was instantly alert, upright. The black had faded out, replaced by a dazzling blue sky in which floated sideways clouds. He was standing upon, no, on the side of a blue metal skyscraper. Wherever he was, it was evidently a place untouched by gravity. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled as he heard movement behind him and he spun around snarling, his mind still reeling from whatever had just happened in that bedroom.
There was a man standing there. Neither shinigami nor arrancar, he balanced casually upon a pole protruding from the building, regarding Alejo with sharp narrowed eyes from behind a visor. His black cloak rippled like flames in a breeze that Alejo couldn't feel, messy brown strands moving in the wind that seemed to cloak him only. Untrimmed growth showed upon his jawline, but it didn't soften the sharp features of that face one bit. Beneath his gaze Alejo felt suddenly very small. His hand flew instinctively to his hip, a bolt of panic shooting through him when he realised that his zanpakutō was gone.
"Who the fuck are you old man?" He growled, hackles raised. "Where is this place?"
"Old man, huh?" The stranger shook his head softly, but the corner of his mouth quirked at the familiar nickname. "Good to see you haven't forgotten everything." He stepped down from the pole in one fluid motion, landing softly upon the ground before Alejo.
"I've had a really fucking weird day, but this just about tops everything." The arrancar growled, his fists clenching in anger. "So before I kill you I'll ask you again, who are you? Where am I?"
"Still so stubborn, and foolish." The dark man chuckled, his eyes glinting as he stepped closer. Too close. "You can't kill me, because I am your sword."
Alejo's scowl deepened. His sword? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Before he could respond he felt another presence spark at the edge of his senses. Something achingly familiar, yet dangerous. He turned to meet the intruder, senses frayed by anger and confusion, ready to rip and tear and kill until all the pain and noise in his head was blocked out.
But all that rage died as he saw the man standing there.
He was of an identical height to him, dressed in a particularly tattered version of the standard shinigami garb. He had no mask, no birthmark. His hair was a vibrant orange, short and uncontrollably messy, sticking out all over like spikes. His eyes flashed chocolate brown as they regarded him through dark eyelashes.
It was the boy from the photograph. The one who had Alejo's face.
The redheaded shinigami smiled softly as he watched the shock flit across the arrancar's face. He had been trapped here for so long, trying with such desperation to make his voice heard. And now, at long last, he could.
He spoke,
"And I am you… or should I say, you are me." He grinned as he spun a zanpakutō in his hand. Alejo's zanpakutō.
Alejo felt a heavy weight materialize in his hand and realised that he was holding his sword again. Or at least, a version of his sword. A white Zangetsu. At the same moment he turned to find that the old man had vanished. He stared at the white blade and felt somehow as though he was being mocked by it.
"I told you, didn't I?" The boy from the photograph smirked. "I'll destroy anyone who threatens my world."
The redheaded shinigami raised the black Zangetsu, challenging him.
"It's time for the King to take back his throne."
