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 36

Saichi exhaled slowly, keeping both hands pressed tightly against the hole in his chest. With another failed attempt at a deep breath, he carefully stood. A critical glance at Aranami's unmoving form, and unease slid through him. Looking away, he spread his wings and pushed into the air.

Agony ripped through his torso, but his flight was over almost before he had a chance to feel it. He landed heavily a half-dozen paces away from Tōshirō and Nakita, sinking to his knees immediately. He was weaker than he'd thought.

He pulled in another laborious breath. The wound was spreading quickly, and he didn't have much time. He would take another few moments to gather his remaining strength before trying to heal it—and another few minutes to let the warring souls within him finish their battle. It was almost over. He could feel it.

He had to wait until he had only one soul before he healed his wounds. He was certain that Ichigo's Hollow powers would stay with him no matter which soul dominated, but once the healing was complete, he would have to let go of his Hollow mask. He wouldn't have the strength left to maintain it—not without ceding control completely to the Hollow. But Saiu, in an attempt to save Ichigo's soul, had tied his possession to Ichigo's Hollow powers—and therefore the mask. If Saichi abandoned the mask while both souls survived within him, he didn't know what would happen to him.

Since his chances of surviving weren't all that good either way, he had to deliver one last instruction beforehand.

"Tōshirō," he said, reluctant to disturb the Shinigami's grief—or to draw Tōshirō's attention to himself. It was only a matter of time before the boy focused enough to recall that Saichi was supposed to reverse the possession now that the fight was over, to revert back into Saiu and Ichigo if at all possible.

Saichi had no intention whatsoever of destroying himself. He didn't care what Saiu or Ichigo had wanted in their past lives. Saichi wanted to survive—and that meant keeping both halves of himself together.

For a moment, Tōshirō didn't respond to Saichi's voice. He sat with Nakita's head and shoulders cradled in his lap, her hair spilling across the ground beside him like a puddle of blood. When he finally looked up to meet Saichi's gaze, his face was almost expressionless. Only the tightness of his mouth and the storms of emotion in his eyes revealed the loss he felt.

Saichi didn't entirely understand why Nakita's death would affect Tōshirō so strongly; they hadn't known each other for very long. Was it a bond strengthened more by the common ground between them—their relative youth, power, and responsibilities—than actual time spent together?

"Tōshirō," Saichi said again, keeping his tone respectful in the light of the boy's sorrow—though the Hollow-mask distorted his voice enough that perhaps Tōshirō couldn't tell. "There is one more thing you must do before you can grieve."

Tōshirō blinked a few times, struggling to bring his mind back on task. "It isn't over?"

Of course it wasn't. Not only was Seireitei still overrun by demons, but there was one more demon to be dealt with first. "Nearly. But before anything else is done, you must use Hyōrinmaru to—"

The words turned to a gasp in his throat, and he hunched forward as the air slid from his lungs. He tried to breathe and couldn't get any air at all. The Kokushibyo wound had spread through his chest—and eaten holes into both his lungs. His chest heaved, but no air moved through his punctured lungs, leaving nothing for him to breathe.

"Saichi?" Tōshirō slid from underneath Nakita, his eyes widening with alarm. "What's wrong?"

His head spun, dizziness clouding his mind. He was out of time.

"Heal it!" Tōshirō said urgently. "Do it now!"

No. He wasn't ready. The two souls were still burning inside him, just on the verge of resolution. Another minute or two—

"Saichi!" Tōshirō yelled. "What are you waiting for?"

If he healed himself now—if it was even possible to heal himself—he might be destroyed. If the possession reversed with the loss of the Hollow mask, he, Saichi, would cease to exist. He couldn't allow that to happen. His drive to live—a drive inherited from both Ichigo and Saiu—was too strong.

But if he did nothing, he would die anyway. Furious, desperate, he turned his thoughts inward and reached for the darkness of the Hollow within.

Icy, savage power swept through his body, making his muscles cramp and his vision go black. It swirled through him, repairing the damage of pulled or torn muscles from the fight, and then it swept through his middle, wrapping around the burning Kokushibyo wound—and nothing happened.

Curling around his middle until his forehead was almost touching the ground, Saichi snarled soundlessly and wrenched more Hollow power from the depths of his soul.

A searing wave of obsidian reiatsu flooded his body, and Saichi felt the Hollow's madness touch his mind. He shoved it away, concentrating instead on pushing the power towards his wound. Again, the power swirled around the hole, two terrible powers competing for dominance. The Hollow power regenerated the edges of the wound as the negating power of the Seikiteiruken ate away at the newly healed flesh.

The wound was so much larger than the last, with so much more of the Seikiteiruken's infection working to devour him. Not enough Hollow power, not enough to make the high-speed regeneration fast enough.

Abandoning all caution, with only seconds of consciousness left, he cast off all the chains of dominance with which he'd bound the Hollow and grabbed desperately for its power—and had just a moment to recognize his error as the Hollow slammed through him and he lost all control.

. o : O : o .

Fierce, heavy reiatsu burst from Saichi, and Tōshirō stumbled back against the wave of pressure. Snatching Hyōrinmaru from where he'd left it on the ground, he braced his feet and waited.

Black power eddied like fog around Saichi's knees where the demon/Shinigami-cross knelt. He had bent over nearly in half, but Tōshirō could see the burnt-black hole in Saichi's back—and could see the wound wasn't healing. Another wave of power flooded the air around them, rough and potent. Saichi's wings quivered and his tail lashed back and forth. Still the wound remained.

As seconds passed, despair crept through Tōshirō. The injury was too much. Saichi would die—and with him, Kurosaki and Saiu. Nakita's pale, lifeless face flashed through his mind's eye, and his throat tightened with grief. They'd already lost too damn much!

Saichi's whole body shuddered violently—and a huge wave of power crashed into Tōshirō. He staggered back a step, his breath catching at he saw the swirling blackness writhing around Saichi's body. Another pulse of power—and Tōshirō's face blanked. Saichi's reiatsu was changing fast—changing from demonic to Hollow with terrifying speed.

With another shudder, Saichi suddenly snapped straight. His back arched forwards for a moment like he was in terrible pain, the hole in his lower chest like window through his body. One more violent shudder—

Tōshirō flinched back. Saichi was suddenly standing up. Tōshirō hadn't seen the movement at all, it had been so fast.

Black, feral power churned the air, and the glowing red eyes behind Saichi's mask turned bright gold. A rippling wave of ebony light cascaded over his body, condensing around the lethal wound. The hole sucked inward, healing between one heartbeat and the next, leaving unblemished skin behind.

The golden eyes glowed brighter, and Saichi's skin began to pale as though all the blood was draining out of him. As his skin turned chalk-white, black markings seemed to draw themselves down his chest, and an even blacker spot formed in the center of his chest right over his heart. He arched backwards, head thrown back, fingers curling until the full length of his claws unsheathed, and a low, dangerous snarl rumbled from him.

Terror swept through Tōshirō. In drawing so much of his inner Hollow's power, Saichi had unleashed the Hollow. He was becoming a Hollow—an impossibly strong Vasto Lorde with all the power of Captain-level Shinigami and a demon prince. But maybe—

Tōshirō looked into those gold eyes and saw nothing but bloodlust and madness staring back at him. No, Saichi was not in control.

He had to stop it. Even if that meant destroying Saichi, Kurosaki, and Saiu all at once. He had to.

Before he had time to hesitate, Tōshirō grasped Hyōrinmaru tightly in both hands and lunged for the Hollow. Distracted by its metamorphosis, it didn't react until Tōshirō was almost on top of it—and then it was too late. He swung Hyōrinmaru up over his head. Red light swept down his blade. With a precise, lightning-fast stroke, Tōshirō cut straight down the center of the Hollow mask.

The Hollow jerked away from him. Tōshirō skittered backwards, tense and ready to attack again. They both went completely still, staring at one another. A clean, straight slice divided the mask into perfect halves, but except for that single hairline crack no other damage was visible.

One heartbeat. Two.

The mask shattered.

Tōshirō caught a brief glimpse of a face behind the mask—a face with finer features and more exotic lines than Kurosaki's, a disconcertingly striking countenance with bright, burgundy eyes—before a blast of power erupted outward from Saichi and slammed into Tōshirō with such force that he was hurled off his feet.

He rolled to absorb the impact and flattened himself to the ground as power raged above him. As abruptly as it had started—it stopped. The air stilled, and Tōshirō was able to breathe again. He rolled to his feet and stared around frantically to see what Saichi—or the Hollow—had done.

But Saichi wasn't there.

Two unmoving forms were crumpled a dozen feet apart on either side of the spot where Saichi had been, as though they too had been thrown by that wave of power. Two very familiar unmoving forms: Kurosaki and Saiu.

Shock held him for a moment before he rushed to Kurosaki's side. Dropping to his knees and setting his sword aside, he grabbed Kurosaki by the shoulders and rolled him over. His eyes were closed, his face slack in unconsciousness.

"Kurosaki?" Tōshirō asked urgently. "Can you hear me?"

No response. Tuning into his other senses, he felt worry tighten his stomach as he checked Kurosaki's reiatsu. The human Shinigami had about half the reiryoku he'd had before the possession, and it was still the same bright aquamarine colour as Saichi's. Had the possession really reversed, or had Saichi simply split into two bodies?

Tōshirō looked over at Saiu, wondering if it was a bad sign that Saiu was in his human-like form and not his demonic form. The demon prince had the exact same amount of reiryoku as Ichigo—Saichi's reiryoku appeared to have been divided equally between them—and his too was aquamarine in colour. Another bad sign.

He frowned then, thinking he'd seen Saiu's hand move. The demon's fingers twitched, almost clenching into a fist.

"Saiu?" Tōshirō called.

Saiu gave a full-bodied shudder. Moving like every little shift of muscle hurt, he pushed himself up until he hand both hands braced on the ground to hold his torso almost upright. He stopped there, head handing as though anything more was too much effort.

"Saiu?" Tōshirō said again, feeling another wave of anxiety.

The demon prince rocked his head slowly back and forth, then drooped sluggishly back toward the ground. He brought both hands up to his face—and clamped them down on either side of his head with sudden force, clutching his skull it would burst if he loosened his grip.

"Saiu!" Tōshirō jumped to his feet. "Are you alright?"

"Oh," said a voice behind him, "I very much doubt he is in any way fine right now."

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Tōshirō turned. Seconds felt like minutes as he pivoted to face the owner of the voice, a voice he easily recognized. Like a scene from a dream, he remembered Nakita explaining to the Gotei 13 how to kill a demon. The only sure way was to cut off its head, she'd explained. Even piercing its heart wasn't always enough.

Tōshirō met Aranami's enraged red eyes and knew what Saichi had been about to tell him he needed to do before anything else.

Behead Aranami. Finish him off before he heals the damage to his heart.

Aranami smiled a terrible smile, then placed his huge cloven hoof precisely over Hyōrinmaru's blade—Tōshirō had left the sword on the ground beside Kurosaki, out of easy reach. He'd let his guard down. He'd failed them all, and now he, Kurosaki, Saiu, and Soul Society were going to pay for his oversight.

The demon prince stepped down. Metal groaned under the pressure—and then Hyōrinmaru shattered into fragments, leaving only a useless inch of blade attached to the hilt.

Still smiling, Aranami walked past Tōshirō, moving until he stood over his younger brother. Saiu continued to hold his head in both hands, curled up as though in desperate pain, and didn't seem to be aware of Aranami at all.

Baring his fangs in a vicious grin, Aranami leaned down, grabbed Saiu by the throat, and lifted him off the ground.

"Dearest little brother," the elder prince mocked. "How kind of you to rejoin the material world."

Saiu, one hand pressed to his forehead, wrapped the other around Aranami's wrist. His eyes opened to slits, dull and unfocused. He met his brother's gloating glare and a little awareness seemed to come into his gaze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Aranami's huge fist had completely engulfed Saiu's neck, choking off his air completely.

"By undoing my spell, you succeeded in preventing me from killing one of my brothers," Aranami said, his eyes glowing, "but I will take some satisfaction from killing my other brother instead."

A movement near Tōshirō's feet, and he looked down to see Kurosaki awake and struggling to stand. He grabbed Kurosaki's arm and pulled him up. Kurosaki staggered sideways into Tōshirō before catching his balance, staring with horror at the two demon princes.

"Help him," Kurosaki croaked in barely more than a whisper.

Aranami was smiling with bloodthirsty satisfaction. "The lesser prize, to be sure," he continued to his semi-conscious sibling, "but ambitions aside, I will take much greater pleasure in your death than our elder brother's." He pulled Saiu's face a little closer to his. "You have been an infectious thorn in my side for far too long, and today I will finally be rid of you—forever."

His powerful hand squeezed, and Saiu's eyes rolled back in his head.

"Help him!" Kurosaki cried desperately. He jerked forward, but Tōshirō yanked him back before he could attack Aranami.

Hyōrinmaru was shattered. Without Hiren's power, both he and Kurosaki were helpless against Aranami. So was Saiu, who was minutes from death and too incapacitated from the reversed possession to defend himself at all. Tōshirō clenched his teeth. They had to try anyway. They would die fighting, not standing there waiting for the enemy to get around to killing them.

"Let's go," he said tersely. He started to step forward—and reiatsu hit him like the weight of a mountain thrown into his chest.

Green light flashed brightly a dozen yards beyond Aranami—another teleportation Kidō. Demonic reiatsu sizzled the air. The light faded, revealing the newcomer.

The new demon wasn't a match for Aranami in height or bulk, but his lean, muscular frame radiated power and deadly grace. Ice-white hair felt over one shoulder in a loose braid, and his eyes were pupil-less red. Two sets of three horns sprouted from his skull behind his pointed ears, sweeping back along the sides of his head.

But what caught and held Tōshirō's attention was the fact that the demon was dressed in blue-accented, black clothing—the same kind of Demon Hunter garb as Shoku.

"Prince Aranami," the newcomer said in a smooth, deep voice that had an undertone of command—the voice of a person used to giving orders.

"Ah, dear cousin," Aranami sneered. "What, might I ask, are you doing here?"

Ignoring the question, the demon said calmly, "I must ask you to release Prince Saiu immediately, your Highness."

Aranami's eyes widened for a moment before he barked a laugh. "Why by the sweet night would I do that?" He gave his brother a little shake. Saiu appeared to be only fractionally consciousness, and his spirit pulse beat with increasing weakness.

"Prince Aranami," the demon said firmly, unfazed and unafraid, "please release Prince Saiu now."

Aranami opened his mouth—and green light flashed again. And again—and again.

Eight bursts of bright green, four on each side of the newcomer. As the light faded, Tōshirō could only clutch Ichigo's arm and stare—and struggle to breathe under the weight of the reiatsu pounding down on them.

Eight new arrivals, and every one of them a Demon Hunter. Six men and two women, all holding Akkihasaiki, all confident and mature in their power. Tōshirō didn't need any kind of introduction to know who were now facing down Aranami.

Eight Demon Hunters. Eight Captains. Which meant the white-haired demon had to be their leader: the Warlord of the Yokujin.

Tōshirō's jaw tightened. How had Nakita so completely failed to mention that the leader of the Demon Hunters was a demon? No wonder she'd told Matsumoto that she didn't trust her own Captain-Commander. A demon!

"Prince Aranami," the Warlord said, threat thickening his voice. "I will only ask one more time. Please release your brother."

Aranami eyed the line of nine warriors facing him. His mouth flattened into a furious line. "You and your little Captains aren't enough to stop me."

"No," the Warlord replied agreeably. "But we can certainly do a great deal of damage."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Actually, we would."

"What makes you so brave today, dear cousin?" Aranami asked mockingly. "Or is not bravery but a suicide attempt?"

The Warlord tilted his head slightly, as though listening for something. Then he smiled.

Green light burst into existence as the tenth arrival to the scene made a belated appearance. This time when the reiatsu crashed down on him, Tōshirō's knees buckled. Kurosaki mirrored him, and together they thumped to the ground on their knees, struggling to stay upright even that much as the weight tore at their bodies, dragging them downward.

Aranami's face went blank with shock—and he immediately threw his brother away from him. Saiu fell, hitting the ground in a heap. He seemed to snap back into consciousness immediately, rolling to his feet and staggering several more steps away from his brother. His eyes, too, were locked on the newest entrant.

The tenth arrival stepped calmly around the Warlord and surveyed the scene with expressionless red-black eyes. The exact same eyes as Saiu.

Tōshirō felt his blood go cold.

The new demon was about midway between Aranami and Saiu in height, with a slender, elegant build. His face was beautiful, as cold and remote as the moon, as emotionless as stone. His raven-black hair was done in elaborate braids that fell down his back to his waist, complementing the formal garments he wore, black layered with silver and blood-red. He radiated regal authority—and infinite, devastating power.

The third demon prince had arrived.

. x : X : x .

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Who forgot that Saiu talked to the Warlord before coming to Soul Society? Not me! Hehe.

(Sorry, brain is exhausted from writing all afternoon and editing most of the evening. Randomness is an unfortunate side effect.)

Saichi was incredibly fun to write. I'm going to miss him.

To Bleach manga readers: It is my opinion that Ichigo has achieved a new level of hotness. I am impressed. And very happy.