Chapter Forty-Eight

Aizen met his gaze unflinching, still smiling as if he was in complete control of the situation. There was no mystical connection between Caro and those effected by his hypnosis, no way for him to tell who had and had not been successfully claimed by his eyes, but he knew without a doubt that the Shinigami before him was unmoved.

Well, that answers one old question. So... let's talk.

"I heard you were dead," he said, knowing he should try not to antagonize the one Shinigami who could somehow resist his release, but it was hard to fake neutrality. "My men saw the crater."

"I can understand why that might be confusing to those with weaker senses," replied Aizen, a note of condescension just barely audible beneath an otherwise polite tone. "It is a very impressive grave, if I may say so myself."

Caro smiled coldly. "Considering how you got yourself captured all those years ago, it wasn't a baseless assumption for my soldiers to make."

"And yet, here I am."

Caro shrugged, turning. He took a few steps to one side, running one hand along the top of the First Captain's desk. "And yet, here I am," he replied. "You had your chance, Aizen. I gave you more then enough time, waiting until even your last backup plan seemed to fail."

Aizen's smile never wavered. His gaze stayed fixed on Caro, as if the Arrancar was an especially interesting insect running around beneath his microscope. "Oh, your patience is impressive. One might wonder if you were, perhaps, not altogether eager to go to war after all, considering how long it took you to take action."

His tone irritated Caro. He turned and paced back the other way, still trailing his fingers along the edge of the wooden desk. This banter was pointless.

"This is my victory, Aizen. We silently agreed, long ago, not to interfere with one another. It is my turn, now, and you should not be here."

Aizen looked away, turning his attention to the other side of the doorframe. In a pleasant, conversational tone, "I saw your first delegation, you know, the one led by Akama. They proved an interesting source of information before Seireitei set about slaughtering them." He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Caro. "You stole my stuff. Akama and his little friends - those were mine."

"You don't seem to care that much."

Aizen shrugged. "I don't. But they were mine, and you interfered and got them all killed."

"You were dead. Possession ends with existence."

"But I was not dead, clearly. Here we both stand, and, to get to the point, I believe you owe me some minions, Caro. To pay me back for the ones you wasted."

Caro stopped moving. He turned back towards the door and his unwelcome visitor, planting both hands firmly against the desk.

"No."

Aizen's smile did not change, but his eyes turned dangerous. "Oh? Then how are you going to repay me?"

"By sparing you," Caro replied, hissing slightly in his growing anger. "Get out of Seireitei, go back to The Night. Go back to skulking in the shadows, manipulating fools, twisting nature to your heart's content. I have claimed Soul Society for the Hollows, and soon there will not be a Shinigami left alive in this entire world. You will join the rest if you insist on staying. Take any of the Shinigami you want to save and go back to Hueco Mundo - that is my offer. Rebuild your empire of rejects in the sand."

The pressure in the room spiked. Caro matched him, pressure against pressure, his scarlet reiatsu rising around him in misty ribbons against Aizen's purple. Aizen turned and their eyes burned into one another, a mutual silent threat neither had ever verbalized.

Then, inexplicably, Aizen relaxed. He looked away, his reiatsu fading back to normal, and chuckled to himself.

"Why not?" he asked lightly, almost gleefully. "Sounds fun, switching roles for a while. I want Kurosaki, and Izuru if he is still alive, and... let's say whatever is left of the Twelfth Division." His gaze fell on the wanna-be Shinigami still lying by the wall. "And that guy. Is he still alive...?"

The shift in tone caught Caro off guard, and hesitantly he lowered his own spiritual pressure to match again. "I don't know. Why would you want him? He's a backstabber."

Aizen walked over to the Twelfth Division officer and crouched down next to him with a critical frown. "I like backstabbers. They make life interesting. So, let my Shinigami free, and I will get out of your hair. Hueco Mundo needs a lot of cleaning, I imagine..."

His tone put Caro on edge, but he hardly knew why. He did not want to fight the former king of Hueco Mundo, but he didn't trust him to just leave, either.

"I cannot undo my gaze," he said, glaring at the Shinigami with undisguised dislike. "If you want minions, drag away the rebels. Those already mine will remain mine."

"That simply will not do."

"Then go alone. Nothing can undo the power of my release."

Aizen did not immediately reply. He stared down at the Twelfth Division traitor for a long moment, then rose slowly, turning to face Caro again.

"You won't win, you know."

Caro's eyes narrowed. The tone had changed yet again, dropping the last traces of arrogant politeness and cheerful confidence. This was a grim tone, and the smile dropped completely.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, tensing. "Do you intend to fight for Seireitei, Aizen Sousuke?"

"No," came the response, prompt and sincere. "I would love to rip those eyeballs of yours out of their sockets, but that is not my part in this fight." His smile came back as a grin, but it was all wrong for the face it was attached to. His teeth gleamed, and his eyes seemed to turn gold. "I am here to pretend, and I am very good at pretending."

I'm missing something.

A cold feeling crept into Caro's chest, a physical manifestation of the realization that something had slipped past him. He stared at the Shinigami, trying to unravel his words, but he barely had time to register the old sensation of dread before a new voice broke the silence behind him.

Time stopped. Chains appeared around him, crisscrossing his chest and curling around his limbs, tight as a python's stranglehold. The room vanished, leaving him almost alone in a darkened, featureless world.

Almost alone.

He looked over his shoulder at the black-clad spirit who had ensnared him, his breath hissing through his clenched teeth. This was not supposed to happen. This couldn't be happening.

.

She had shimmied across from a window to the balcony while Caro was distracted. Her Zanpakutos were in agreement, their spirits could harmonize. This was it. Their best, and only, chance.

Bankai, she had whispered in thought, not daring to speak aloud for fear of drawing their enemy's attention. Kodoku Mairamasa!

...

The chains were very real, solid and gleaming dully in the light of his enemy's reiatsu. He could barely breath. The links dug into his robes and tore them against the hidden scales of his skin with every, slightest movement.

The Zanpakuto stepped closer, his dark expression lit eerily from within. His eyes were fires, lighting his face from inside the dark confines of a low hood. The cloak, black as pitch, vanished into wisps of smoke behind him as it trailed against a featureless ground.

Caro could almost see his own eyes reflected in the pale blue fires. Little specks of red and violet, mesmerizing, but once again powerless.

Why, he wondered, that cold sensation clutching at his insides with ever-tighter fingers. How do they keep ignoring me?

"What is your name?"

The voice was quiet, and as dead as the void they were standing in. He narrowed his eyes, but the tightening chains slowly tearing through his scales finally loosened his forked tongue.

"Arrarrico Caro, Lord of the Spirits of Death. And you are?"

The spirit's expression did not change, but he did tilt his head just slightly as if confused by the answer.

"That is one name, but not the right one. You shouldn't be Caro, but you are. Is it exhausting, walking around in your Resurrection as if it was a second skin?"

Caro gritted his teeth, digging his fingers under the chains encircling his opposite wrist. "What do you want?"

"Your name."

"I already gave it to you."

Suddenly the spirit was right in front of him. He bent forward, staring into Caro's eyes as if searching for something.

"Not. That. One."

There was a sword in his hand. It slashed down Caro's arm, shattering chains and sending torn cloth stained with black blood fluttering to the ground.

Caro choked, his voice failing him. His exposed arm, which should have glittered with reddish, translucent scales, looked pale and cold.

"You are a Hollow," hissed the black-cloaked spirit. "Not an Arrancar. Not a Shinigami. Not a... Caro."

The sword slashed across his chest, cutting chains and cloth and skin. Caro hissed in pain, but then it got worse.

He hated the sound of his own scream. His own voice tore away from him, leaving only the raw shriek that ripped at his throat.

" Pavorel!" the snake roared. Don't tell him, Caro pleaded silently, but it was too late. "Pavorel Cobre!"

The chains shattered, all at once.