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

DEVIL'S SMILE

Chapter 35

He was burning.

Saichi studied the demon before him, analyzing and strategizing; his mind was sharp and agile, a deadly combination of instinct and calculating intelligence. At the same time he considered his enemy, a small fraction of his attention was occupied with the slow but relentless destruction within him.

He was burning. A raging inferno filled his body, a constant agony that he endured without thought. He knew the cause of it: two souls, one light and one dark, competing for survival within a single body. It was impossible for both to coexist; eventually, one soul would destroy the other. Or, perhaps they, like his mind and body, would merge into a single entity, one soul that would be a mix of light and dark, or maybe an unbroken grey that was neither.

Saichi wasn't overly concerned about the fate of his two souls. His inner duality was unnatural and uncomfortable. Whatever soul he ended up with would be fine with him; anything to douse the inferno. He knew that the ideal solution, the desired result, was for his two souls to separate entirely before they were ruined, for him to no longer be one entity but two again. He remembered being two people, being separate and unconnected. He remembered it the same way an adult can remember being a small child. The adult may recall the thoughts and feelings of their younger self, but those childish perceptions hold no sway over the fully matured psyche.

Saichi remembered that both Ichigo and Saiu had desperately wanted to be returned to themselves when their battle was over, but Saichi felt none of their frantic need himself. He was Ichigo and Saiu, and if he didn't feel any real conviction towards separation, then neither did they.

Attempting to rationalize the distinct thoughts of Ichigo and Saiu was difficult and unsettling, so Saichi stopped trying. The two souls within him were like oil and water—utterly incompatible. But his mind was as whole and singular as his body, and what little conflict he'd felt immediately after the change had faded now.

The complete mental fusion pleased him as much as it seemed to upset Tōshirō. The young Shinigami Captain's reaction was foolishly sentimental. It would have been impossible to fight Aranami with two competing minds in one body; this was much more effective.

All this went through Saichi's thoughts in the few seconds in which he and Aranami considered one another. The demon prince's expression was rife with disgust, and he still made no move to attack.

"What are you waiting for, brother?" Saichi asked tauntingly. The strange, layered sound of his voice probably should have disturbed him, but didn't. He was remarkably comfortable with who and what he had become.

Aranami's face twisted. "How dare you call me kin," he snarled, apparently having already forgotten he'd just mockingly called Saichi his brother moments before. "My younger brother," he sneered, "has destroyed himself, and you are naught but a foul monstrosity that should be exterminated."

Saichi smiled behind his Hollow mask. Aside from the burning souls, this new form didn't feel foul or monstrous. It felt like glorious release. Like unrestrained freedom. More than anything, it felt like power.

"I can change your mind, Aranami," Saichi said softly. "You will envy Saiu's choice by the time I'm finished with you."

Aranami choked out a nasty laugh. "Envy? You are as dimwitted as you are unnatural."

Saichi's hidden smile grew. Ichigo and Saiu had both been limited in so many ways. Ichigo, unable to tap into his full power, too inexperienced and clumsy, too human, to use his uncannily deadly battle instincts. Saiu, chained by politics since his first step, his sense of self warped by his inferior position to his older brothers, his abilities caged by the arrogance and ego of a prince whose power had never been challenged.

They had both been blind to their own talents. Saichi had none of their weaknesses or limitations—and all of their strengths. Saiu's experience, skill, and speed. Ichigo's instincts, power, and relative innocence.

Saichi was particularly enjoying that last quality—Ichigo's innocent outlook—because it provided Saichi with an unparalleled clearness of vision. He had Saiu's millennia of experience and knowledge but none of the baggage that came of a long life, none of the emotional chains that might have clouded his perception. It was refreshing—and lethally useful.

Aranami's gaze shifted just slightly to glance at the pyramid barrier behind Saichi.

Saichi snapped his wings open and down, hurling himself forward with savage speed. Aranami jerked his attention back to his enemy, swinging up his Seikiteiruken. With a flick of his tail and tilt of one wing, Saichi altered his trajectory to flash past Aranami's left shoulder. Another pump of his wings sent him straight up into the air. With graceful ease, he tucked in his wings, arched backward—and plunged down at Aranami's head.

The demon lunged out of the way, but Saichi had already snapped his wings open to glide in tight arc, one wingtip brushing the ground. Aranami pulled up and turned—and Saichi slammed full force into the larger demon.

He jammed the point of his sword into Aranami's belly—but of course, he couldn't pierce the demon's skin—and rammed his elbow into the bull's face. With those two points of contact, Saichi bowled Aranami over with his momentum, knocking the huge demon flat on his back.

Saichi rolled free before Aranami could recover, a snap of his wings propelling him out of harm's way. Tōshirō shot into the opening Saichi had just evacuated, his sword glowing with red power.

Aranami bellowed in fury and unleashed an uncontrolled blast of his reiatsu.

The explosion detonated outward from the demon. Saichi launched forward with the full speed of his transformation and snatched the back of Tōshirō's kosode in his claws. With the deadly blast just inches from consuming them, Saichi reached for all the speed he could muster.

The world blurred as he shot upwards with unreal velocity. He spiraled into the sky until he hovered a quarter of a mile above Aranami. Tōshirō planted his feet on air, and Saichi released him.

"What," Tōshirō panted, "was that? Shunpo?"

Saichi shrugged. "A combination of Shunpo and Sonído, actually."

Tōshirō's eyes widened. "How did you manage that?"

Since 'instinct' didn't seem like a useful answer, Saichi shrugged again and focused on Aranami, who was heaving himself to his feet.

"I think we'll need your Bankai," he told Tōshirō. "Do you have enough reiatsu?"

Tōshirō nodded tersely. "Just enough. If we can—"

Saichi sucked in a sharp breath and slammed his wings down, shooting toward the ground. With another beat, he pushed himself into the Shunpo/Sonído flash step, reaching Aranami just before Aranami reached Nakita's barrier.

"No closer than that!" Saichi growled, his weapon shifting from daitō to nagamaki.

Aranami brought his battle-axe-shaped Seikiteiruken up just in time to catch the blade of Saichi's nagamaki. Black lightning erupted from the point of contact, blasting the air all around them as they pressed hard into one another's weapons. Saichi sank his taloned feet into the turf, straining to keep the powerful bull demon from pushing him back.

"Was I not supposed to be fraught with envy by now?" Aranami sneered, digging his cloven hooves in and shoving Saichi several inches backwards.

"I said you would be envious by the time I was through with you," Saichi replied. He tightened his grip on his weapon. "Kōsokuryoku."

Kidō swirled down his blade and swept over Aranami in a thousand wire-thin bolts of lightning—glowing aquamarine threads stronger than any steel. Saichi was briefly surprised to see that his reiryoku had settled into one consistent colour even though the burn of the battling souls within him was as strong as ever.

He sprang back, planted his feet, and spread his wings wide for balance. Aranami roared his outrage at the spell—a 200-level binding that would take him about fifteen seconds to break.

Saichi lifted his weapon over his head as it shifted back into Tensa Zangetsu's daitō shape. Red light lit the edges of the ebony blade.

"Getsuga Tenshō." He whipped the blade down.

Red-rimmed black power exploded from the sword, a raging tidal wave of destruction ten times Ichigo's power. It slammed point-blank into Aranami. The binding shattered and Aranami was hurled back a hundred yards, crashing down on his back and gouging a trench in the valley's soft earth.

The bull demon rolled to his feet almost immediately, mostly unharmed by the blast of power. Saichi flexed his wings, satisfied with the safety cushion of space that now existed between Aranami and Nakita—the sole purpose of his attack.

He glanced up, spotting Tōshirō hovering intently off to one side of Aranami, his ice wings glittering dimly under the overcast sky. The rain has shifted into a light snow, dusting the ground with powdery white. Saichi pulled in a deep breath of cold air, wishing it would cool the fire inside him. There were just over two minutes left before the destruction spell was ready, and it looked like he was going to have to take some risks if he intended to provide a usable opening for Tōshirō to strike Aranami.

He tipped his head to one side, considering for a brief moment. Two minutes. With a flick of his tail, he launched into the air.

One beat of his wings. Two beats. Three. And then he flashed across the distance between his target and him. Aranami swung his battle axe, intending to cleave Saichi in half—but he spun in the air at the last moment, sliding past the blade with only a breath of space between him and death. Catching one of Aranami's black horns in his free hand, Saichi used the horn like a hinge, pivoting at top speed to slam into Aranami's back.

Grunting from the impact that almost knocked Aranami off his feet, Saichi snapped his sword across Aranami's neck from behind. Then he hooked his other arm around the blade to form an inescapable chokehold. Wings spread for balance, he braced both feet against the small of Aranami's back for leverage—and hauled back with all his strength on the sword across the demon's throat.

Aranami choked, spluttering and snarling in gasps. The sword couldn't cut his skin—but it could cut off his air. Aranami reached over his shoulder, claws just missing Saichi's mask. Saichi coiled his tail around Aranami's thick wrist, trying to hold the demon's hand away for a moment longer—just long enough for Tōshirō to attack.

Aranami managed to grab the edge of Saichi's wing just as Tōshirō reached them.

Fragile bone snapped as Aranami's powerful fingers pulverized the wing's front rib. Aranami yanked hard on the wing, almost pulling Saichi over his shoulder. Saichi's grip on his weapon slipped just as Tōshirō lunged in.

Hyōrinmaru sliced into Aranami's side, and the demon let out a howl, more surprise than pain. But Saichi had lost his grip, and Aranami was already whipping his Seikiteiruken toward Tōshirō. The Shinigami was too slow!

Saichi smacked his tail into Tōshirō's middle, knocking the boy out of the path of the axe. He clung to Aranami's broad back a moment longer, then threw himself off. Snatching Tōshirō's arm, he shot them up into the sky a second time.

"Sorry," Tōshirō panted, clutching Hyōrinmaru with both hands. "You're both so—damn—fast. I can't keep up."

Saichi growled softly. Although he was able to force Aranami to leave openings, Tōshirō wasn't fast enough to get in and deliver a successful strike before Aranami recovered.

And now Aranami knew what they were trying to do.

The bull demon prodded his side, looking coldly surprised to see blood. The wound was too shallow to even slow the demon prince down. He looked up at Saichi and Tōshirō, baring his fangs.

"That's some trick," the demon said, sounding almost conversational.

He leaped upward, speeding across the distance between them with his axe aimed for Tōshirō. Saichi spun around and grabbed Tōshirō to pull him away—but his broken wing didn't provide the balance he needed and he overshot his reach. Instead of taking hold of Tōshirō's arm, his claws slid across ice and clamped shut on air.

Aranami swung his axe at Tōshirō's face. Saichi threw himself into Tōshirō, shattering one of his ice wings and flinging him out of harm's way. Aranami let out a howl of triumphant laughter as he altered his swing to bury his weapon in Saichi's back.

Snarling, he twisted in midair, trying to avoid the strike. The corner of the axe caught his stomach, tearing a line of agonizing ice across his belly. Saichi doubled up involuntarily, curling his body around the wound—and Aranami slammed a fist down on Saichi's back.

The force of the blow hurled him straight down, and he crashed to the ground in a burst of snowflakes and dirt. He clutched his middle as the cancerous burn of the Kokushibyo wound instantly began to spread. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth, and he heaved himself to his feet, forcing his back to straighten.

Aranami landed a few paces away, grinning broadly. "Now I am wrought with indecision. Should I slaughter you like the beast you are, or watch your slow, agonizing death from my blade's poison?"

Saichi huffed a small laugh. "By all means, stand and watch." He lifted his chin, forcing his broken wing to stretch out to its full extent and pushing his shoulders back against the consuming pain in his stomach.

Black, icy power uncoiled inside him, and his eyes glowed. As the cold flood of Hollow power swept through him, his wounds healed, sucking closed like they'd never been. He twitched his wings, smiling insolently behind his mask. Unlike Ichigo, Saichi had much greater control over his Hollow powers—including the ability to regenerate any wound.

Aranami's face tightened, and for a long moment they faced each other, unmoving. It was a stalemate, and they both knew it. Saichi was too fast, but Aranami was too strong. The time to act was draining away too quickly. One of them was going to have to break the stalemate. How?

Forty-five seconds.

"Your Diviner is going to fail," Aranami said. "The dissolution spell is too much for her. I will win on both counts, and you know it."

Forty seconds.

Tōshirō stepped into Saichi's peripheral vision, thirty paces to Aranami's right.

Inhale. Exhale. He set his feet, digging his talons into the turf for maximum purchase. It would take something drastic, something reckless and stupidly dangerous, to break the stalemate. His lips curved in a humourless smile.

With a howling cry, he launched himself straight at Aranami—the simplest, most obvious and desperate move that could be made in a battle: the suicidal head-on charge.

Aranami was nothing if not predictable in battle. Saichi knew exactly how Aranami would respond to such an attack, how he always responded.

Aranami's battle axe morphed into a massive two-handed broadsword, and he lunged to meet Saichi, the point leveled at Saichi's chest. With his momentum and speed, Saichi couldn't avoid it—and didn't try. With a flick of his tail, he lifted his body just enough that the blade missed his heart.

Glacial agony ripped through his lower chest as the broadsword pierced the center of his body just below his ribcage. His momentum carried him down the blade until he slid into the hilt of the weapon. Unbearable pain made his muscles lock down. He met Aranami's eyes, almost nose-to-snout with the demon prince.

Aranami looked both shocked and triumphant. Saichi tried to breathe and couldn't. Teeth clenched against the black unconsciousness that threatened his mind from the incredible agony of having a Seikiteiruken buried in his middle, he forced first one hand, then the other to clench around Aranami's wrists, trapping the demon's hands on his sword. Swallowing a cry of pain as his back muscles tore around the wound, he pulled his wings around him and stretched them in front of him to beat harmlessly against Aranami's shoulders.

"Pathetic," Aranami hissed. "I envy you only the speed of your death, for I will not allow you to heal yourself a second time."

Saichi rather doubted he could heal such a debilitating wound, but that didn't matter.

"You should envy me," he gasped breathlessly, "for just one thing."

"Oh?" the demon sneered. "What might that be?"

Saichi smiled tightly. "Envy my resolve, for I have more than you could ever dream. And that—that is why I am the victor."

With a blast of ice and red light, Tōshirō's sword burst from the center of Aranami's chest.

Aranami's eyes went wide with disbelief. His mouth opened, only to disgorge bloody froth. Saichi dropped his wings—no longer needed to block Aranami's peripheral vision from Tōshirō's approach—and staggered back until the broadsword slid free from his chest.

Braced behind Aranami, Tōshirō twisted his sword sharply, tearing through Aranami's heart. The demon let out a gurgling croak. His weapon faded away in his hands, and he stumbled forward a step. Then he collapsed, dropping to the bloodied ground with his red eyes wide and still staring sightlessly with shock.

Saichi limped a few more steps away, then sank down to his knees, clutching the frozen hole in his chest. He tried again to breathe, but his lungs would barely expand.

Fifteen seconds.

"Saichi," Tōshirō panted, hurrying to his side.

"Well done, Tōshirō," he forced out in a gasp. His head spun.

Ten seconds.

"You sacrificed yourself to buy me enough time to attack," Tōshirō said quietly.

Saichi let his eyes slide closed. "I could do no less." Not with both Ichigo's and Saiu's resolve driving him. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said Aranami should envy him for that; he had double the resolve, determination, and willpower of any other being in any of the worlds.

Five seconds. Four. Th—

Blinding white light burned through his eyelids. His eyes snapped open, and he twisted to face Nakita's barrier. The whole pyramid glowed white, bulging outward into a bubble as pressures built within it. The air shuddered, shivered—and the barrier burst, shattering into dust.

Glowing white symbols lit the earth in coiling designs that overlaid the dimmer, coloured swirls of the destruction spell. In their center knelt Nakita, her red hair whipped upward by an intangible wind, her Shinigami garb rippling from the power swirling around her. She held her arms out to either side, straight and rigid, her head tipped back, face lifted to the heavens.

White light shot up from the symbols, towering pillars that disappeared into the sky. Nakita knelt in their center, solid as the earth itself. The light brightened, brightened until it blinded Saichi and he could see nothing but white.

Air boomed, impossibly violent thunder, and the light blasted outward like a shattered dam. The shockwave slammed into Saichi, nearly throwing him on his back, and the ground shook beneath him.

With a sigh of fading wind, the world became still again.

The white light was gone, and with it, the destruction spell. Nakita knelt in the center of a barren square of earth and slowly lowered her arms to her sides. All signs of Kidō were gone, completely obliterated by the dissolution spell.

Tōshirō inhaled shakily. "She did it," he whispered. "She did it."

Nakita sat unmoving for a moment longer before her shoulders drooped, and she slowly slumped over onto her side. Her spirit pulse gave one final flutter of life, and Saichi felt sorrow weigh him down as it died away like the last flicker of a candle flame.

Tōshirō's breath caught, and Saichi closed his eyes wearily as the young Shinigami rushed toward the Diviner, already too late to even hold her in her last moments. He pressed both hands over the growing hole in his chest, bearing the icy agony of the wound even as he endured the fiery burn of the souls inside him as they relentlessly destroyed one another.

Sacrifices were necessary in battle. The higher the stakes, the greater the sacrifices. Victory had come, and he knew the price was worth it. Nakita would say exactly the same thing. And yet . . .

The lethal freeze of the Kokushibyo wound spread up through his chest, its icy touch making his heart pound frantically as though trying to escape his body, and he felt too little satisfaction at their success. This wasn't how he wanted to win. Not a martyr, a sacrifice. He'd already sacrificed enough.

He wasn't ready to die yet.

. x : X : x .

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Everyone heard about the upcoming 4th Bleach movie? Called, most interestingly, the "Hell Chapter"? I am super excited about it, not only because—OMG, it's a new Bleach movie!—but also because I can't wait to see just how close to or far off the mark I am with this fic. I've never inadvertently predicted canon plot arcs before!

I also want to thank everyone for the amazing reviews I got for last chapter. You wouldn't believe how delighted I was—and how they all made me want to write the next chapter even more! Thank you so much!

GLOSSARY:

Daitō - Japanese long sword; a general term for a single-edged, curved sword longer than 60 cm (2 ft).

Kōsokuryoku ("Binding Force") - A 200-level Kidō binding spell that creates thousands of unbreakable, wire-like energy strands that tangle around and completely immobilize the target; when cast successfully, the binding transcends dimensions and binds the victim indefinitely across all planes of existence. (Used on Aranami, the full extent of the spell was not achieved.)*

*Denotes a non-canon term/concept.