Chapter Thirty-Nine

Like a long-suppressed dam finally broken, decades of pent-up emotion had rushed out all at once. The initial flood had been overwhelming, but now it was past and the current had steadied. She caught her breath and did not laugh, though her heart still soared at the reality of the situation. It was dizzying, the relief of being real. And Maigetsu was with her, and an opponent was before her, and she did not have to hold back her blade for fear of being left all alone.

"Wail," she croaked again, even as she jumped backwards away from her enemy. "Maigetsu!"

This time, he answered.

The blade of her Zanpakuto glowed teal, then swooped back, long and narrow but curved like a scimitar. Jagged hooks extended from the lower third of the blade, aimed down towards her hand. Even the hilt shifted beneath her fingers, curving just slightly, becoming heavier at the pommel to balance out the length of the blade. A narrow chain of oval links crawled up her arm and crisscrossed the spartan remnants of her kosodo before continuing down her other arm to dangle, loosely, around her wrist.

The former Espada did not wait for her release. She had lunged the first time, but Maigetsu had not responded then. The second time, surprised by the failure to release, the enemy had hesitated, and then Maigetsu responded.

"I know you," hissed the enemy aloud, her sea-green eyes narrowing. "But... you are all wrong."

You aren't mistaken.

The attempt at conversation did not go further. Even as the other woman spoke, she flipped her Zanpakuto over in her hand so the blade aimed backwards, behind her, and twisted to lead with her seemingly-empty left hand. Her lips parted in a grim, gleeful smile.

Let's do this.

From the sidelines, unbeknownst to her, Urai watched with dry disbelief even as he tried to heal her companion. "What kind of stance is that?"

He received no response.

The pale light of his emergency healing-kido hardly seemed adequate for the job fate had given him. Urai could barely find any exposed skin that wasn't marked by some old, badly-healed injury, and from the state of the man's uniform it had suffered almost as much abuse as he had. Urai's gaze snapped over to where the two women clashed, and knew she would be exactly the same.

And yet, despite her appearance, despite fighting like no Shinigami ever trained in Seireitei, she held her own. In fact, slowly but surely, she forced Halibel back.

The shikai flickered from one hand to the other as she pushed forward, as if the Zanpakuto itself was capable of flash-stepping at will. It was dizzying to watch, for at times the switch was so fast it almost looked like she was wielding two swords at once, and she certainly fought like she was. Her empty hand would rise, fingers loosely gripping nothing but air, to block a blow even as she slashed forward with the other, and then at the last moment the sword would vanish and reappear in her blocking hand. Her sudden feints, and there were many, came with no warning. Halibel, unable to block two opposing blows consistently, kept being forced to duck and retreat to avoid the potential blows, whether they were actually there or not. Shallow cuts from the flashing blade crisscrossed her arms and cheeks, testament to unforeseen attacks just barely dodged at the last second, and suddenly Urai made the connection between the liquid, flurrying dance of that bizarre fighting style and the many scars covering his patient's skin. The former, clearly, responsible for the latter.

She took blows without seeming to notice them, as if she was numb to the pain even as Halibel's sword dripped with her blood. Urai anticipated the moment the latter snapped, released some impressive Arrancar power, but though their energy rose violently with each clash, Halibel made no such move. When the flashing Zanpakuto slashed across her face, tearing flesh and smashing bone from chin to ear, and she did not release, Urai realized that she could not.

Whatever else Caro may have done for her, he hadn't found a way to restore the Resurreccion Urahara had stolen from her.

.

.

Ryohime!

.

She faltered.

Halibel's Zanpakuto slashed down past her empty, upraised hand and hit her shoulder, cutting deeply with no blocking blade to stop it. She gasped in pain and surprise, but still, instinctively, slashed at her attacker with her sword-hand.

The blade should have hit squarely, cutting into Halibel's side, but it barely scratched her. The reach was off; Maigetsu was gone.

Her enemy struck again. She frantically raised her injured arm to block the blow and it cut to the bone – this time, she screamed.

.

Ryohime!

.

A kick sent her flying, smashing into the ground below their rooftop perch. Through pain-blurred vision, she saw their friend rising from where he had been crouching, a gleaming green lance in hand.

Then Halibel jumped down after her, Zanpakuto aimed to skewer, and the world faded.

The moon eclipsed the sun, and neither shone clear.

She stood on the rocky shore, staring at the impossible dawn with no comprehension. Then a familiar voice called her, and she turned her back on the ice and her face towards the cliffs.

Maigetsu sat, perched, on the top, his dark robes fluttering in the ocean breeze. And, standing further down the beach among the rocks, there stood someone else. Someone who had called her name.

An empty sob burst from her chest.

"Muramasa?"

Her old, old friend had a haunted look, a familiar look she had seen, and expressed, many times in her exile. Even as he took a hesitant step forward, Maigetsu rose and leapt off his cliff, landing on her other side in a flurry of loose sand.

"Come," he said, his stern voice broken by a hint of concern. "We have a fight to finish."

She could not answer him. Muramasa took another step towards her.

"What happened, Ryohime? Why have you fallen silent?"

She swallowed hard. 'Ryohime'

They had stopped using their names. She could barely remember why, but at some point they had stopped being the people those names belonged to. She was just... herself, and he was himself.

"He is an intruder," hissed Maigetsu, and now he, too, was walking forward. "Do not listen to him."

"I was here before you," retorted Muramasa, "and whatever you have done to Ryohime, I will undo." Their gazes left her and locked onto one another. Maigetsu's blade materialized in his hand. Muramasa raised one hand, his long fingernails accentuating every twitch.

"Matte..."

They did not hear her.

Shards of rock and a wave of pulverized sand blasted across the shore, and in the middle of it the two Zanpakutos clashed. She shielded her eyes with one bare arm, and though she tried to raise her voice it was too weak to be heard over the sounds of their battle. Even in the haven of her own mind, words had stopped mattering. Maigetsu spoke little and demanded no answers, theirs was a relationship built on action. They fought, and she learned, and he was content.

That was who she had become. Muramasa belonged to a young woman who did not exist anymore.

Did Zanpakutos bleed?

His fingernails clicked against one another as he clutched his arm, and his eyes were on her once more.

"Ryohime."

But it has been too long. I've grown... I'm not your princess anymore.

Maigetsu gritted his teeth and jumped back, his robe shredded by four long tears. They stood, tense and ready, waiting for the other to make a move. Muramasa's eyes flicked over to her again.

Something deep, deep inside her soul broke. The silent sob from earlier came back, and this time her eyes welled up with tears.

Maigetsu flashed forward, but she got there first.

"Muramasa!" she sobbed, and her arms clamped around his slim waist just as she had done a thousand times as a child. Maigetsu skidded to a stop, his eyes wide and the Zanpakuto slipping from his fingers, but she did not give him time to think. She released Muramasa with one hand and grabbed the front of Maigetsu's robes, pulling him in with the fierce strength two decades of endless training had given her. Her arm slipped around his shoulders, and tightened.

"You're still mine," she cried, relieved and almost dizzy from sudden joy. "And I... am still Ryohime."

Muramasa's fingers slipped through her over-long hair. Maigetsu, tense with unease from the moment she arrived, seemed to relax.

Ryohime took a breath and stepped back, away from the embrace, but her hands never released them. In one hand, she clutched the small, delicate hand of Maigetsu. In the other, Muramasa's narrow, bony fingers. Her eyes gleamed with refreshed determination.

"We," she declared, "have a fight to finish."