Chapter 9: Viper (III)

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Ichigo watched on with impartiality as the men conducted their search of the Llargo compound. The search on the women's side was being organized by his aunt even without him prompting and he was perfectly content with letting her have the reins over that.

The healer had stalked off in the same direction, trailing after his aunt. The look of annoyance she had shot him earlier amused him.

How much did she know of his involvement in the incident?

"My sheikh!"

The man before him bowed, presenting before him a parcel wrapped in rough linen. It was nothing impressive but as he unwrapped it, the crowd fell silent at the sight of the bright pink flowers.

This was evidence enough and Yammy's fate was sealed.

He chanced a glance at the man standing beside him. Grimmjow exploded- his anger devastating as he kicked Yammy in the soft underbelly, watching remorselessly as the once-proud Elder drop to a quivering mess on his knees, licking his boots as he begged for mercy, crying that he was framed.

"You lied to ME?!"

"N-N-No, p-please- I beg of you- I never -"

The next kick caught Yammy in the center of his chest and for a moment, Ichigo thought he could hear the sound of his ribcage cracking under the pressure. The gurgle of blood that sprouted effectively muted his argument as he grovelled on all four, hand clutching at his chest, trying to breathe. Grimmjow was a consummate fighter and it was a one-sided slaughter as he continued- raining down punches and kicks on the man he used to regard as his right hand.

The inhumane ordeal lasted merely minutes but by the end of it the elder was almost unrecognizable- rendered almost blind and disfigured with a broken jaw and blood dripping down the corners of his mouth, wheezing.

"P-Ple-"

Ichigo looked away. Yammy was dead and the man didn't even know it, still begging for scraps- at another chance to prove his innocence at the feet of his cruel master.

But Grimmjow was well past the point of rationality and well past the point of listening to reason now. His pride and ego was bruised- Yammy's actions made him look like a fool and for that he was going to die. No man would intervene or stop him for fear of being the next victim and having the focus of that untameable rage shifted.

Driven mad by his rage and lust for blood, Grimmjow drew his blade from the sheath and before anyone could stop him- lopped off Yammy's head!

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The crowd turned their gaze away. Blood spurted forth like a geyser from the headless corpse, staining shifting sands and human faces alike.

The body fell- dropping forward but the head with its owner's eyes still open, rolled- the shrieks of shock and terror did nothing to impede its movement until it came to lay itself at Ichigo's feet.

Severed mid-neck, the expression on Yammy's face was perfectly preserved. The stare from him was wide, hollow and accusatory, the mouth hanging open from being cut off mid-sentence- frozen in the horrors of his last moments in life.

Ichigo let the hollowness of the moment sink in, felt the crowd simmer from their collective shock, counted to ten; then he simply kicked it away.

Some men, it seemed; never learn.

Yammy's mistake, Ichigo mused; was to leave himself wide open for an attack without even attempting to shield himself. His mistake was never learning from the fact that for a paranoid power-hungry mad man no voice of reason was ever going to be good enough and even the slightest bit of doubt was enough to strip away years of careful service and acts of dedication.

His aunt taught him well- some sacrifices are well worth it. He may have lost the Kasumiojis but Grimmjow lost the Llargos- chopped the head clean off and burnt bridges asunder. His blatant cruelty was hardly about to inspire loyalty.

Survivors of the Llargo clan kowtowed. Their shame marked them but the instinct for survival burnt stronger. They begged for clemency- to be spared from the same fate as their head of the clan. It was a weakness of the moment, an error in judgment yet they had nothing to do with it; they were just unlucky enough to share the same blood as the man.

They implored him- the rightful heir instead of their old master and for that they would live.

Ichigo's gaze turned towards his cousin- chest heaving and fresh blood still dripping from his blade. His wild eyes were unfocused, lost in the grips of his madness. It would take him awhile to recover from his episode.

"Exile."

The fate of the Llargos was declared amidst shouts of outrage and relief. It was the best he could do. Sins of the father and blood debts cannot be waived off- not without consequences.

"Sheikh Ichigo, what of our vengeance?"

He could see the dark look Yoruichi was giving him. Exiling the Llargos was not part of the plan. The Kasumiojis were expecting a bloodbath and his aunt was of the opinion that it was the clean end that was favourable to all parties involved.

Ichigo chanced a glimpse at his people. He could see the same rage, the hunger for vengeance still lurking in the Kasumiojis but enough blood has been shed for the day. He will have to appease them some other way.

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"We have suffered enough loss today. Let us for the moment focus on the living instead. The Llargos are to leave at once. By noon the tribe will cut all ties with the clan and their crimes will mark them. Their presence will not be tolerated and they will be killed on sight if ever seen again."

His mind was made and because he was Sheikh, no one was about to contradict him. Power was absolute and his word was law. Survivors- able-bodied, weak and feeble alike scrambled as fast as they could.

His aunt's wan smile was purposeful.

The show had to go on. A good sheikh doled out punishments and rewards in equal measurements.

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He cleared his throat, "I call forth Orihime, formerly of the clan Kasumioji."

The girl's gait was unsteady like a new born gazelle when she was summoned before him. The crowd looked on with sympathy. With her teary-eyed gaze and her wild hair, she seemed to be merely a step away from fainting. The crowd didn't blame her- death seemed to follow her.

Wasn't she the one who found her cousin's body that morning? With her uncle dead, she was now truly alone and fatherless.

"The tribe accepted you as one of our own after your mother's divorce. When she died, your uncle became your guardian. And now even he has passed. Would you still like to stay with the tribe?"

Orihime's head bowed even lower.

"Y-Yes."

The women in her family shared an uneasy look among them. They were sympathetic of the girl's plight but her presence was troubling- letting her stay would mean another mouth to feed, marrying her off would mean coming up with her dowry, parting with valuable resources. In fact never mind her lack of dowry, her path was now tainted with death.

Who would want such an unlucky bride?

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"Your uncle was a kind and honourable man. I am-" he paused, correcting himself, "I was fond of him. His death- and the deaths of so many great Kasumioji warriors- was tragic but his spirit lives on. He would have liked to see his family taken care of; his favourite niece well looked after."

Rukia fought the urge to snort. The man's forked tongue weaved lies and nothing more yet the tribesmen were hanging on to his every word. He didn't deserve their trust.

"Y-Yes."

"I would like to adopt you into my household," said Ichigo, "My sisters have always been fond of you and we will accept you as our full-blooded sibling. You will want for nothing ever again. This I swear upon my honour."

The news sent ripples throughout the community. The womenfolk's eyes widened. What a change in fortune! Their envious gazes said as much.

Orihime lifted her head. Her expression read shock, surprise, a dash of panic as she rose; almost tripping over her own feet in her haste. Ichigo raised an eyebrow at the spectacle but Yoruichi was quicker.

"N-No! Wa-"

She cut short Orihime's protest; easily enveloped her into a hug, squeezing her tight as she welcomed the latest addition into the clan.

"So modest and humble- our little Orihime," cooed the lady as she pinched the young girl's cheeks, "You must be so excited to see your new sisters! Will you not thank your dear brother for his kindness?"

Orihime winced at the tight hold and her voice was no louder than a squeak.

"Thank you, b-brother."

The look she gave as she locked gaze with her brother and sheikh was brimming with conflicting emotions. One could just as easily read gratitude as another could, sorrow. It spoke of a tenderness that exceeded the boundaries of familial bonds, the melancholy of a young girl's broken heart.

Her reluctance to leave and unspoken longing was evident as Yoruichi led her away.

All this Rukia saw but Ichigo's expression betrayed nothing.

"Kon will assume leadership when he is of age and for now- he and the rest of the Kasumiojis fall within the Kurosaki's protection. The two clans are stronger as one and Kon will be my ward."

Kon faltered for the briefest of the moment, stunned until his mother's touch brought him back. His mother was beside herself with tears of joy running down her face as she thanked the spirits for their intervention, raining down kisses upon her boy's face as they received the news. The boy's eyes burned with newfound resolve and for that Rukia pitied him even more.

She kept silent and lowered her gaze.

"That will be all!"

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Grimmjow was the first to leave. His men trailed after him, glued to his shadows- silent and cautious, afraid to even breathe too loudly lest their antics rouse their taciturn leader from his stupor.

With that as a signal, the crowd dispersed, eagerly recounting amongst themselves what an eventful morning they had. Yoruichi's miraculous comeback had proven yet again that she was on the path of righteousness. The spirits and ancestors in their infinite wisdom watched over their tribe.

Wasn't it lucky that they had Sheikh Ichigo to mete punishments and rewards alike?

Wasn't Orihime lucky- to go from an orphan to becoming a daughter of the Kurosaki clan, the Sheikh's own sister even; overnight?

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As the crowd thinned, Rukia turned towards him.

"She did it for you, you know."

The Intended's smirk was equal parts amusement and annoyance. Did he know of his new sister's aspirations, Rukia wondered; knew what the girl had done and schemed in the name of his affections - maybe encouraged it even?

She was of two minds about the Intended's true nature: was he a player or was he a chess piece? An instigator, a collaborator, or was he something else altogether?

There was still much uncertainty.

Coolly, he told her, "What's another schemer to the pit? The Sheikh always wins."

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