Chapter Fifty
Ryohime found him among the wreckage (half-supporting himself on one elbow and torn almost to shreds by snake-teeth) trying to shelter another fallen Shinigami with his body. He was still conscious, but his pale yellow eyes were glazed from pain.
"So, you survived," she said, putting her arm under his and around his waist. "Alright, let's get you out of there so I can heal you."
He let out a breath, almost a groan but not quite, as she pulled him out of the debris. "Check... that one."
Ryohime glanced at the other, dusty figure in the debris, then back at her old companion. He lay limply in her arms, but he was still breathing.
"Fine, but if you die in the minute I'm gone, I'll hunt down your spirit in Rukongai and kill you again."
He let out a rasping chuckle, then his eyes rolled back into his head.
"Moron."
It no longer bothered her to use stolen Fourth Division secrets; she cast a hasty remote-healing kido to stop the worst of his bleeding, then went to see to the other Shinigami lying half-buried in ash and dust. She had noticed a body lying in the corner of the room when the battle started, but there had been no time to give it a second thought; apparently he had time while she was channeling a bankai.
The other Shinigami seemed dead. He had looked dead when she first saw him and he looked dead now, but after a long moment she found the faintest flicker still keeping his spirit alive. Urgency struck, and she knelt beside him, healing-kido glowing in her hands.
He had no stab or slash wounds, the usual indicators of injuries caused by Zanpakuto - he had been beaten almost to death with some narrow, blunt weapon. Blood caked his hair, but it wasn't just skin-deep... his skull was cracked in at least four places. He was lucky to be alive, but Ryohime was not entirely sure she could keep him that way. She had watched the Fourth Division for years, but her only chances to practice had been on Zanpakuto injuries. These were just different enough to scare her.
Footsteps, muffled by the ash. She did not turn; she knew Urai's reiatsu in her sleep.
"We... did it." His voice was subdued, stunned. She glanced around, vaguely hoping to find some scissors lying around, then reached for her Zanpakuto.
"Barely," she replied, and very carefully began cutting her victim's hair. She definitely did not want to accidentally heal bloody hair half inside the man's head, and as it was she could barely tell what she was seeing. "For a moment there... I wondered."
A familiar hand, light and not-quite-there, landed on her shoulder. His long fingernails brushed against her cheek.
"Our plan worked."
She had to swallow a sob. Muramasa's voice... she had missed it so much. Somehow, she had forgotten how much she missed it when she had earned Maigetsu's shikai, but now it was impossible to ignore. His calm voice, the comforting touch of his hand - they made her feel like a child again, crying over the loss of her father while Muramasa hovered over her.
"We have so much to talk about..." she murmured, but then forced herself to focus. This Shinigami, whoever he was, was next to dead. She could not become distracted with a life in her hands.
Urai knelt beside his ghost next to Ryohime, the unspecialized healing-kido they had let him learn once again seeming inadequate. Fangs as long as his forearm had stabbed into the ghost in two... three places, front and back. "How are you still alive?" he muttered, but it hit him that this particular ghost had a hundred scars that could have been just as horrifying wounds at some point. Some Shinigami just went through a lot.
He glanced back at the huge, still-burning snake skeleton that had once been Arrarrico Caro, what little energy he had left pouring through his palms in a feeble kido.
"How... how did your plan work?" he asked, directing the question at the Zanpakuto spirit behind her since Ryohime seemed busy. "What, exactly, did you do to him to make him lose control like that?"
Muramasa's expression darkened.
"Hollows are the collection of dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of spirits, all subservient to a single dominant soul. Cut out the captain, and the power vacuum that remains would drive any Hollow insane."
Urai's ghost flinched, then blinked one eye open. "... So... same power, Muramasa. You did say... 'cut out'?"
"He did," replied Urai, since the Zanpakuto did not seem keen on replying. "Why?"
His patient winced, letting his half-raised head fall back on the ground. "Because... same thing happened... to me."
Ryohime looked up from her own patient to meet Urai's bewildered gaze. "My bankai hasn't changed, though Maigetsu can jump in now. Muramasa does not destroy, he divides. We still haven't killed Caro."
Urai's heart dropped. He lunged to his feet, grabbing his Zanpakuto. I can't manage shikai again, so soon, but Ryohime needs to be where she is.
He whirled on a circle of ash, pale and fine where they were but growing thicker and interspersed with the remains of walls and ceiling further out. Nothing moved...
He closed his eyes and concentrated. He sensed Ryohime, the phantom reiatsu that had become familiar now strong and very much real. His other ghost was weaker, but definitely there. He could not sense the Shinigami Ryohime was trying to heal... if he was alive, it was just by a thread.
There... something. Just a trace, but it was close, and he did not recognize the energy. Warily, knowing none of them were in real fighting condition, he advanced into the solider part of the ruin.
The serpent had torn the building apart in its thrashings; pieces of wall stuck up nowhere near where they should have been, and just beyond the disintegrating-range of Urai's blast lay what must have been all that remained of the First Division Captain's balcony. Ash covered everything, but that was from the shockwave, not the blast itself.
Everything was out of place, so nothing stood out to Urai. He scanned the ruin, trying to piece together some sense of what he was looking at beneath the equalizing white ash.
He almost missed it, lying in the ash. Twice he scanned the area and saw nothing, then the man moved.
On his hands and knees, half-hidden by a crushed bookshelf, he had been invisible. When he stood, clutching and leaning against the bookshelf as if his legs could not support him, it was the movement alone that betrayed him. The vibrant red and purple robes Urai had been looking for were gone; he was clad in plain white robes like any ordinary spirit might have, like thousands in the nicer Rukongai Districts wore every day. Even his hair, once as red as his robes and pushed back in neat waves, hung limp and grey around his face.
But Urai knew it was him.
"Caro."
The Arrancar... no, Urai couldn't even call him that anymore. There was no mask, and what reiatsu he could sense was devoid of Hollow influence. The former Arrancar lifted his head and Urai did not even flinch to meet his gaze. There was no power left in those eyes... in fact, Urai found them rather mundane. Dull brown, flecked with grey.
Caro tried to pull himself up, but his arms trembled at the effort and he eventually gave up, turning to lean heavily against the wrecked furniture. He did not answer Urai's silent challenge, or even acknowledge him at all. With his back firmly against wood, he raised his hands, staring at them as if they were new to him. He cocked his head slightly, turning them over, then lifted his right hand to his cheek. His fingers curled when he found nothing there and he listlessly rubbed the limp fist across his eyes.
His lips began to move. Urai carefully edged closer, wary of this being some kind of trap, but the former Arrancar's faint words became clear before he had to get too close for comfort.
"This all could have been avoided. You could have stopped this. It all could have been avoided..."
Urai straightened. That was not the tone of a man ready for a fight.
"You attacked us, Caro," he accused. "Your downfall was inevitable, and it was your own fault."
The pale spirit stopped his muttering abruptly and looked back up at Urai. Leaning, half-hunched in on himself, against a bookshelf while repeating pathetic excuses, he had looked completely defeated, but now some semblance of the self-proclaimed Lord of Death flashed back across his face.
"You did not win," he snapped, and tried to push himself upright. Whatever Ryohime and her Zanpakuto had done to him clearly left him drained; he collapsed back against the wood and slid down almost to his knees, but his next words still spit fire. "Look around you, Shinigami - this is not your victory. I tried to save Soul Society... you have caused its destruction."
"Your 'saving' was destruction."
Caro let out a sharp breath, turning his head away. "And that is why I had to try. Shinigami... always so certain of themselves, so proud, so right. You are doomed now, Seireitei is doomed, we're all doomed." He glanced sideways at Urai. "And, do you know what?" His voice sharpened again into a hiss. "I'd do it again. I would let death itself fall apart just to see you despicable Shinigami burn."
Urai looked where Caro had been, across Seireitei. The storm clouds, summoned undoubtedly by someone's release, were beginning to disperse, but the smoke still hung heavily over the city. Fires still glowed in every Division.
"And that is why you needed to be defeated, Caro," he said quietly. "At the end of the day... you are just another bitter tyrant."
Wood scraped against stone. Urai looked back, but Caro merely stood on trembling legs, leaning to one side as if even his spine didn't have the energy to straighten.
"Enjoy my defeat, then. I'll be enjoying yours."
He turned and, slowly and clearly with great effort, began to walk away. Urai watched him go for a long minute, then sheathed his Zanpakuto.
There were wounded to take care of.
