Chapter Forty-Seven: Part 2
...
Thunder cracked in the lightning-king's wake. There was nothing left but the storm.
.
.
.
Arrarrico Caro stood on the balcony, basking in the glow from the city.
This was the end.
Shinigami died, and Hollows would take over. It was a beautiful arrangement. All the old machinations and over-complicated plans paled in comparison to the plain, effective use of brute force, an army against an army, no limitations between them.
"You know, I'm glad things didn't work out as I planned," he said conversationally. "I feel like there are important lessons I needed to learn here, ones I just would not have learned if things had gone as expected."
He got no response. The traitor Shinigami behind him lay in a pool of his own blood – dead or dying, Caro did not care which – and was certainly not in any position to reply even if he wanted to.
Caro rolled his shoulders, the deep but narrow hole where the Shinigami's ridiculous quill had stabbed into his back stinging sharply. Even that made him smile. Another lesson that could only be learned through pain. Next time a Shinigami walked into the room, no matter if it was one of his or not, they would die.
He shifted, adjusting his weight from one foot to the other. The air felt different. No one was looking, so he allowed himself to lick the air, tasting it like he would have long ago in Hueco Mundo. It was subtle, as was the pressure beginning to press down on his shoulders, but distinct. Like flowers, and rain.
Someone is coming. He would have said it aloud, but somehow he felt he couldn't.
He turned away from the burning city to face his door. There was someone coming.
It occurred to him suddenly that, perhaps, he should have kept a captain-level minion at his side. Not that he needed bodyguards, but... just as a precaution.
No, that is silly. There is no one in this world I cannot protect myself from.
He did not like this reiatsu. He knew it, but he also knew it could not be here. It must be someone else.
But why, then, were the hairs on his arms reacting as if it was the same reiatsu? There was no one alive who could raise his hackles, so to speak... no one.
He heard footsteps in the hall outside. Soft, confident steps, quiet but not stealthy. His fingers tightened around the haft of his staff as a man, clad in white, came to walk through his doorway.
The smile was the same. Caro had never forgotten that look of supreme confidence, the smile that had made him put off his plans for decades. Only this time, their positions were reversed. This time Caro was the one standing like a king among the conquered, and it was Aizen Sousuke who came to talk.
