Chapter Sixty Nine: God of the Rainstorm
The forest was cold and dank, the air heavy with something other than rain as Guren slipped out of shunpo, gazing around him with a mixture of anger and despair. In this place, he knew, his son had fallen, to be found cradled in the arms of his unconscious Vice Captain after a frantic, panicked search. Ribari had never opened his eyes again, nor had he had any last words to impart to his Father, and though Guren had tried all he could to shake off the grief of his loss, in that moment it all came flooding back.
This was the place he had sent his son to die. For a moment he allowed himself to picture Ribari's laughing, cheeky face, then he pushed it back, his lips set in a grim, hard line as he made his way through the trees to join the waiting shinigami.
They were not far ahead, and without asking any questions, Guren could tell the mood was bleak. Genryuusai, along with Keiichi and two or three of Kinnya's shinigami were gathered around the trunk of an old dead elm tree, and as Guren drew closer, he too could see the fragmented edges of something hanging half-finished in the air to its left side. Was it a Senkaimon? The fragments were faint, the fibres distorted and ripped into an unnatural shape, but as Guren drew closer, he realised that it was more than possible they had found Keitarou's escape route.
"This is the place," Genryuusai's sombre words confirmed the Clan leader's worst fears. "Guren-dono, the signals here are faint but distinctive and they unmistakeably carry his taint. This is how he left Sixth District, I have no doubt. The trail is fresh enough to tell me this door has been opened very recently – far more recently than any of the Senkaimon your men have kept sealed."
"Futsuki said it was broken, and he's not wrong," Guren spoke in low, controlled tones, lifting a gloved hand to brush it through the damaged atmosphere. "A sane man would not attempt it – but you believe Aizen did?"
"I'm certain of it," Genryuusai's expression was just as grim, "and more, I believe he probably understands the properties of such transport passages far better than any of us. His science was the foundation for Nagesu-dono's developments in Senkaimon technology – Aizen Keitarou was using unstable gateways for some time before we got hold of his notes. I imagine he alone knew how to open this safely, and that he used it to reach his intended destination."
"District One?"
"Almost certainly," Genryuusai inclined his head, "which means I must return too, and with the utmost speed."
"He's escaped us again!"
Despite himself Guren clenched and unclenched his fists, fury ripping through his taut body. "That man…that ghost of a man…and now what does he intend?"
"Most likely, he has business with one of my students," Genryuusai said darkly. "Ryuu is here, and it seems unlikely that he'll tackle Shirogane whilst Ryuu still lives – but Juushirou is entirely a different matter. I must get back to my school before he has a chance to harm the boy."
"Of course," Guren struggled to bring his thoughts under control, turning to the nearest shinigami. "You, return to the manor. Tell Futsuki that I've ordered the main Senkaimon to be released and connected through to the Spirit Academy in District One with the utmost haste."
"Yes, sir." The shinigami saluted sharply, before disappearing into shunpo, and Genryuusai sighed, rubbing his beard absently.
"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this," he murmured.
"If you please, sir, Kinnya-sama is still in District One," Keiichi interjected, and Guren cast the old retainer a glance.
"That's true," he agreed. "I doubt he'd see harm come to the boy. He seems somewhat interested in Juushirou's existence."
"He is, and that's a weakness," Genryuusai said pragmatically. "If Aizen knows about that connection, it's not impossible that he'll try to exploit it. Emotional ties are a fanatic's most lethal weapon, Guren-dono – I must not linger in Sixth in the hope my old student's blade is up to the challenge. The school is mine to defend – I shall return there forthwith to make sure it is defended."
With that he was gone, slipping easily into shunpo to follow the shinigami to the main manor, and Guren rubbed his temples, suddenly weary.
"This place brings me no pleasure," he murmured. "Perhaps I shall have the whole forest brought down and cast into pasture…I certainly have no fondness for these trees."
He glanced at Keiichi.
"Ojiue's sword is still as strong as it was when I was a boy, isn't it?" he asked softly, and Keiichi shrugged.
"My Lord has plenty of spiritual power, and more physical strength than he's let us know, but whether or not it's enough, only time will tell," he said sagely. "We were most grieved to hear of Ribari-sama's sudden passing, Guren-sama. I wish it had not been necessary to bring you here, given its connotations."
"A Clan leader must not have weaknesses," Guren said flatly, gazing up at the branches of the trees above. "Ribari's death is something I won't ever forgive or forget, but as head of the Kuchiki, I must move forward from it. It is a lonely business, Keiichi. To be the last one left and to bury your child…it truly is."
"Indeed, sir," Keiichi said gravely.
"You've been with Ojiue a lot more than me over the past years," Guren reflected. "Do you think…his fondness for the boy Juushirou…is it real?"
"Yes, sir," Keiichi let out a heavy sigh. "He had such affection for Raiko-hime, of course, and to learn that her son lived…truly, I don't think there's anything he wouldn't risk if it meant keeping her child safe, his life least of all. My master is a strong man, but he has foolish and sentimental emotions at times. They've made a prisoner of him for far too long…"
He faltered, gazing at his hands.
"If Kinnya-sama had been as he was when your Father was alive, sir, I believe he would slay Aizen with not a moment of hesitation," he said sadly. "As it is, he's let his abilities grow rusty. Whether he still has the ruthless blade I remember is something neither one of us really know. I do believe, though, that he will give his all to protect the school. In particular, to protect Raiko-hime's young son."
"Emotional ties are a fanatic's most lethal weapon," Guren echoed softly, resting his hand against the dead elm with a frown. "I see. Genryuusai-sama believes that creature Aizen might use Juushirou as a puppet to bring down my Uncle and defeat him, too?"
"Whether this rebel knows my master or not is uncertain," Keiichi reflected. "Certainly, until he left the Coastal Provinces, Kinnya-sama knew nothing of this Aizen. It may well be that the Urahara exile remains unaware of their connection...whatever the case, I do not believe my Lord to be easily made a fool."
His eyes narrowed.
"My greater fear is what damage might be done should Raiurei be released in an environment populated by young ones," he admitted gravely. "My Lord had perfect control over his sword when Senaya-sama was alive, but as I said, his abilities have grown erratic over time. Whether he has that control now...I greatly doubt. His ill health appears to have been mostly psychological - but psychology is, I believe, significant in the wielding of one of those spiritual swords. Kinnya-sama's great strength might prove to be a weakness, should an innocent be caught up in the blast."
"I heard it spoken of often as a boy, but I don't believe I ever saw Ojiue release Raiurei," Guren mused, "though I trained against Father's blade many times. Do you think there is a serious risk of such a thing occurring?"
"I believe that, once committed to a fight, my Lord will not back down," Keiichi responded evenly. "What consequences that might bring, only the Gods know."
"I see," Guren's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Then we would do best to hurry back and ensure that Gate is opened successfully, should we not? If Aizen has travelled to First, it is far better he be apprehended before he reaches the school. I might not be able to go myself, but I can do all in my power to help Genryuusai-sama return to his homeland. Come, Keiichi - bring your men. We shall not linger in this place of the dead any longer, not when there are living souls still in need of protection!"
He was in the abandoned village, back in District Seven.
Beneath his feet was a carpet of white, and every step he took resonated with a soft crunch as his feet broke through the upper layer of the frozen surface.
In his hand was a sword, and over his head the sky swirled and darkened, the atmosphere prickling with sinister electricity.
Shunsui was there too, but whatever his friend was saying, Juushirou could not hear him clearly. The landscape became suddenly distorted, the ground blurring into the sky and something pulsed through his brain, each beat like a shockwave radiating out from his heart to every corner of his being.
His hand was tightening around his weapon, and something bright, electric and white shot out from his finger across the snowscape. Was he aiming at something? Perhaps he was, but if he was, he could not remember who or how or why he should be acting in such a way.
The whole world had become silent now, with only the echo of his heart's rhythm providing any kind of soundtrack to the colours and shapes that touched his vision.
Was this a dream?
And then, two words dropped like icy water through his drowsy consciousness, the unmistakeable silhouette of a spider scuttling across his thoughts.
Kill him.
The voice was familiar yet unfamiliar, soothing yet frightening, a mass of contradictions tied up in those two short words. His heartbeat was now deafening him, the racing blood and rising surge of reiryoku that flooded his body combining with raw adrenalin as he absorbed for the first time an overwhelming will to fight. Darker and darker his thoughts became, dragged down into an invisible mire by a gentle, guiding hand, and though Juushirou knew he was not the one deciding things, he also found that he had no way to escape.
Whoever had spoken to him was burrowed deep inside his heart - the spectral spider had set up a nest within his soul and was spinning a slow and stifling web around his life force, taking complete control.
The next moment the world jolted into sharp clarity, every feature of the landscape defined in perfect technicolour vision. Little by little sound returned, and he felt his lips part, though he had had no intention to speak. What had he done in the moments he had been drifting?
His left hand was covering the hilt of his sword now, and with a jolt of sudden anxiety Juushirou realised that he was about to release his zanpakutou. Anxiously he tried to pull back, but no matter how much he willed his arms to lower and his body to obey, syllable by syllable he heard his own voice give the release command, and with a jerk of spirit power that raked through his raw lungs and flooded through his undefended body, the weapon split from one katana into two barb ended lightning rods, the iridescent rope of energy that connected the two glittering in the weak winter sunlight.
In that instant Juushirou knew that he was going to attack his closest friend, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Fear and panic ruled his senses, and he flung every ounce of his concentration behind trying to fight free, but it was no good. From the recesses of his mind, the spider's gleaming eyes were watching everything, the thick threads that bound his body to someone else's command growing thicker and more stifling with each passing moment.
Let me go!
The words fell silently on deaf ears, for Juushirou no longer had sovereignty over his vocal chords or his lips, and his body had already seen fit to defy him once. His eyes remained his, but only to see out of, and as the battle progressed, he realised that this was more a curse than a blessing, for the expressions on both Shunsui and Shikiki's faces tore him open inside.
His chest was burning, but still the spider's evil will pushed him on, fighting blade on blade with the boy who had become his closest friend since they had begun at the Academy more than a year before. Shunsui was a better swordsman, Juushirou knew that, but the pain in his friend's eyes was almost more than the District boy could bear.
I'm betraying you. I can't stop it, but I am. You can't understand why, can you? You don't want to hurt me, but I...my body...it wants to hurt you.
It's all right, Juushirou. You can kill him now. Sometimes spilling blood is necessary when you want to move forwards.
The voice was soft and enticing, but to Juushirou it only increased his panic, and he redoubled his efforts to break through whatever power it was that had latched itself so firmly into every inch of his body.
Let me go! Let me go!
A sudden jerk and jolt of pain resonated through him, as Shunsui's foot stamped down on Sougyo no Kotowari's left blade, pressing it deep into the frozen snow. Though it hurt, Juushirou felt a faint flicker of relief that his friend had overpowered him.
Someone who betrayed you after you'd been betrayed so much before...how must you feel right now, Shunsui? I can't tell you...I can't explain why this is happening, or what's going on. This isn't my will...please don't believe I've really turned on you. Please understand, Shunsui...this isn't what I want.
A surge of resolution crested inside his body, resonating beyond the raw pain of the overflowing spirit power, and for a brief moment he managed to regrasp control of his vocal chords, forcing words out into the icy ether.
"Stop..." he whispered, but before he could speak another word, the spider's web tightened like a garrotte around his throat and he coughed, blood spilling onto the pure white surface.
A bright flare of vivid spiritual energy burst out from the surface of Juushirou's right blade, cannoning into Shunsui's upper body and sending him flying across the frozen landscape. Juushirou could only watch as his friend's body was smashed against the rocky mountain wall, the crack of Shunsui's bones seeming to echo for miles.
If he had been able to cry, Juushirou would have shed desperate, frightened tears, remorse and dismay welling up inside him as he watched himself round on the injured Kyouraku, preparing to launch what would be the final blow. He raised his sword, and Juushirou knew that whatever had taken up home inside of his body intended to make him kill his friend. He intended Juushirou to kill Shunsui - and know that he had done it.
Had Juushirou been able to scream, the sound would have been heard all the way back in District One.
A sudden rumble of thunder overhead brought Juushirou back to his senses with a thump, his entire body trembling with the force of his emotions. Silent tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks and he slowly raised his head, struggling to comprehend what had happened and why the world that had been snow and ice a moment before was now muddy grassland, the heavens black with storm clouds but not like it had been moments before.
Where was he? What had happened?
A second rumble of thunder rocked through the skies, bringing with it the first few droplets of frozen rain, and Juushirou felt his senses slowly returning to him with the cold liquid spattering against his skin, soaking dark circles into the sleeves of his bloody school uniform .
He had been following Keitarou. He had pretended to be under the shinigami's control, but had been found out and had been in mortal danger. The next moment his head had been full of pictures...and with a jolt, Juushirou understood what those pictures were.
My missing memory. The fight in the snow...that Shunsui didn't want me to recall.
He shivered involuntarily, the pain and fear of those sensations still vivid against his senses.
The rain woke me up. The storm called out to me. Is this your doing, In'you?
It isn't us, Juushirou. It isn't your storm.
That was You.
Don't try any sudden movements.
In sounded concerned.
You're bloody and confused, and your enemy is still not far away.
Enemy?
Juushirou's eyes widened, his hand going automatically to his chest as he realised the pain from his delusions had been largely real. His hakamashita was torn at the front and stained with red on the left side, as though something had been forcibly dragged out of his body, but as he felt his way cautiously along his ribs he found none of them had been broken, for though the skin was ragged and ripped through, the threads had been tiny enough to slip through the muscle and tissue nestled between the bones.
Keitarou? Or the creator of the storm?
Whatever had been removed had almost certainly come from deep within his heart, but he could feel the reassuring beat of his pulse as the organ stubbornly continued to contract, pushing blood firmly around his body. Had the wound been more spiritual than physical beneath the skin? A memory of that stifling spider's thread flitted through his thought and he frowned, knowing he could not rule out either possibility.
Shikiki fixed my heart to the way it was beforehis magic touched it. His spell hasn't been lodged there at all - it was pushed to the outside by Shikiki's healing and there it's been ever since, trying to burrow back into me but not being able to. In'you, you helped keep it there, didn't you? Those memories, everything...you sealed it away from me in order that I could get stronger and move on. Keitarou's magic wouldn't have worked on me a second time, because the heart that beats inside my chest is from a time before I met him. Even Keitarou's zanpakutou can't break through Shikiki's time barrier.
That doesn't mean he couldn't release the spell on me again, I suppose. If he released Bankai now, it would probably do the same to me as it did before, if his will was really superior to mine a second time. Still, those shards that were stuck inside of me were dead and useless the moment Shikiki healed me. He would never have reactivated them - that's why he had to kill me, or remove them from me by force.
He rubbed his chest again.
I'm sore, but more or less in one piece. There's blood, but I'm not concerned by that. I'm more concerned by what that mad scientist has planned for me next. If he does release Chudokuga to Bankai, In'you, we have to be strong enough to resist it. Even if that sounds impossible, it's what we have to do.
We've kept guard over those severed threads of his spirit power for almost three years, Juushirou. We and you have become stronger in that time. There's no way that we'd let him overwhelm you a second time the way he did back then.
You's voice was soft, yet firm in its analysis.
Now stop daydreaming and pay attention. That's not the only attack his zanpakutou has, and this time I think he's serious about causing you harm.
Juushirou's brow furrowed, and he nodded.
Yes. I agree. I'm sorry. I'm distracted, when I really shouldn't be.
He put a hand to his head, glancing all around him for any sign of the scientist, seeing him standing a few metres away with Chudokuga still clutched in his hand. The knife blade was speckled with blood, testament to the fact that Keitarou had forcibly removed elements of his spirit power from Juushirou's body, but instead of using the weapon to put an end to the District boy once and for all, Keitarou seemed suddenly distracted. His eyes were trained on the sky, and Juushirou gazed upwards once again, feeling the oppressive crackle in the cool air as a third peal of thunder rippled through the clouds. Something ominous washed through his body, cresting like a tsunami against the shore, before dragging back out towards the wild ocean, taking fragments of Juushirou's composure in its pull and scattering them like pebbles along the sea bed. He swallowed hard, for a moment losing his bearings under the weight of the strange, foreign spiritual aura.
What is it? Who is it? How?
"This isn't your storm, is it, Juushirou?" At length Keitarou turned his head, a question in his pale brown eyes. The malevolent glitter from moments earlier was gone, his expression curious and faintly genial once more, but to Juushirou this was all the more terrifying now he could remember the stifling grip of the other's spirit power deep inside his soul. "This doesn't feel like Sougyo no Kotowari's reiryoku, raw and pressing though it is all the same. I thought for a moment you'd chosen to defy me and we were going to have a proper battle of it - but I suppose you're too battered and bloody to raise your sword to me now."
"I'm not afraid...of some spilled blood." Juushirou pulled himself to his feet, meeting Keitarou's quizzical look with a defiant one of his own. He was dizzy, he realised, his head heavy and muggy from something he could not explain, but he forced himself to stay upright, knowing that the moment he fell down would probably be his last. Had he lost more blood than he thought, or was it just that alien presence spreading through every nook and cranny of the mountain ledge?
But right now all Juushirou could do was focus on the danger that was right in front of him. He did not know from where the storm had come, and, for the moment, it would have to take second place. Keitarou was not here to play games with him this time, or to manipulate his thoughts. Having claimed what was his, Juushirou's life no longer had any material value. This time Keitarou did mean to kill him, and he could not afford to be a moment off his guard.
Yet something had made the air thicker and harder to breathe, and though he tried to drag oxygen forcibly into his weary lungs, his body was finding it hard to cooperate. It wasn't that there was no air, just that the entirety of the clearing was now choking in thick, dense waves of reiatsu, the like of which Juushirou had never felt before. Slithers of panic began to seep through the corners of his consciousness for not only the dark clouds and the heavy air but also the rain that had now begun to drive down in determined shards were being controlled by this unknown reiatsu - and more, it was unknown not only to him but to Keitarou as well.
The scientist was still tense, and Juushirou realised he too was having trouble quantifying the source of this new influx of power. Feverishly Juushirou racked his brains for anyone who might have the power to summon a storm at will, but his mind came up blank. Though he had summoned storm clouds before, it had never been anything of this intensity, for it was as though someone had taken hostage the whole of the sky. Lightning crashed down through across the ledge, splitting a tree in half and making the scattered District boy jump almost out of his skin, seeing for the first time something that had surely not been there moments before.
Silhouetted by the sudden flash, and wrapped in a heavy hooded cloak that concealed most of his features from view stood a figure, something long and glittering clutched in his right hand.
It was unmistakeably a sword.
A spirit sword.
A zanpakutou.
A zanpakutou had brought the storm, and was now controlling it with intense, yet closely controlled ripples of spirit power.
The lightning crashed down again, striking through a boulder as though it was no harder than butter and sending fragments of stone spinning across the muddy grass. A faint prickle of light danced across the gleaming blade in answer to the storm's call, but still the figure just stood there, making no attempt to either speak or move. Juushirou's hand went to his chest, and he stumbled to his knees, feeling his own reiryokusurging to defend his body against the spiritual onslaught.
There was a long silence, punctuated only by the rattle of wind and thunder through the heavens, and then, at length, Keitarou spoke, addressing the figure on the rock and ignoring Juushirou completely.
"I suppose, then, I should put it down to you."
His words were calm and even, but Juushirou thought he sensed something unsettled in the scientist's tones.
"Whoever you are, I imagine you're the one responsible for the rainstorm? A shame on you. For this time of year, it was a passably pleasant day, but now you're making the air thick and cloying for all of us."
"Aizen Keitarou, I presume."
The figure seemed unmoved by Keitarou's banter, and the voice was low and rich, its smooth, cultured notes unfamiliar to Juushirou's bewildered ears. It would have been a beautiful voice, perhaps even at times gentle or full of laughter, but right then the words were spoken coolly and without emotion, and they sent further shivers through Juushirou's young body.
"You have the advantage."
There was no doubt now that Keitarou was unnerved, for though his tone did not change, Juushirou could see his grip tightening around the hilt of his tantou knife.
"It seems unfair if you know my name for you not to introduce yourself to me. I don't believe we've had the pleasure, and I do like to know whose aura I'm being forced to inhale."
"I can't say it's a particular pleasure for me, so I'll dispense with the niceties and cut to the chase."
The figure blurred and disappeared, re-materialising a few feet from where Keitarou and Juushirou stood. At this distance the District boy could make out the fine weave of the black cloth the man was wearing, and as the wind tugged at the edges of the cloak, he thought he caught sight of a flash of green fabric beneath. From this distance Juushirou got his first clear look at the man's weapon, still glittering with prickles of ominous blue light. It was an old fashioned tachi in shape, both long bladed and obviously sharp. Its appearance was deceptively simple yet, as the light danced across the surface, Juushirou realised there was a pattern engraved into the metal – perhaps a writhing sea snake or the curl of a swirling wave. Its hilt was polished in a dark sapphire blue, sharp white barbs like fangs gripping the blade tightly on either side and giving the impression of a piece of silver trapped in a serpent's jaws.
The faint sparks of lightning that continued to pulse across the metal gave the sense of a living instrument with a spiritual heartbeat of its own and the drops of rain ran across the blade, evaporating into steam as the two elements collided. Juushirou found himself drawn to this unique weapon, his spiritual senses greedily reaching out to the swirling energy that surrounded it like metal to a magnet or a moth to a flame. As though reading the student's thoughts, the hooded figure turned, and Juushirou caught the briefest glimpse of a pair of grey eyes, looking at him thoughtfully from behind the heavy folds of cloth.
Although it was for no more than a split-second, that brief connection between them made Juushirou suddenly feel at ease. The terrifying waves of reiryoku still bombarded his brain, but now they seemed more to be trying to protect him than they were trying to beat him down.
"I don't need to name myself to an outlaw and an exile like you," those cold words were back, but this time all the ice seemed aimed in Keitarou's direction. "All you need to know is that I'm a student of Genryuusai-sensei's, and I don't take kindly to my kouhai being victimised by a coward like you."
"A student of Genryuusai's?" Keitarou snorted, derision and disbelief in his tones. "Do you expect me to believe any of Genryuusai's current group of young hopefuls would be in possession of a reiryokulike that? I should be insulted - I've not lied to you, but you seem afraid to tell me who you are, as though you think I'll use it somehow as a weapon against you."
"Names and identities aren't weapons, Urahara exile," the coldness in the stranger's tones was echoed by a disgruntled rumble in the clouds overhead. He raised his right arm, the gleaming weapon shimmering with each droplet of rain that fell across its smooth surface.
"This is a weapon," the hooded figure continued slowly. "Unfortunately for you, it's a very good weapon and I've not let it have its head for a while now. I didn't say I was a current student of Genryuusai-sensei's - only that I had trained under him and his blade and as such you should assume I'm not someone you can walk all over with smooth rhetoric, delusion or manipulation. I know all about you, son of Urahara Keitsune, and about your petty quest to prove your life to be worth something in eyes other than your own."
"Don't you dare speak my father's name so casually, student of Genryuusai," Keitarou's eyes darkened, his tones becoming colder as the stranger hit against a nerve. "You know nothing of him or of me, so don't pretend that you do."
"On the contrary, boy, I do," The hooded figure took another step forward on the soft, puddle-marred ground, and Juushirou caught sight once more of a brief flash of rich green beneath the heavy folds of black. "Urahara Keitsune, a scientist who experimented once too far and was put to death for his crimes against Soul Society. You are his son, who fled into exile with your mother and decided to declare war on the world for the loss of your father. I know your grievance, but I also know what you do not. I saw the effect your father's poison had on innocent lives. It decimated families and warped hereditary lines for generations. Some families are still recovering from the after effects of your father's work."
"My father was a genius," Keitarou's aura prickled with indignation, and Juushirou realised he had been completely forgotten, the stranger's words having distracted the scientist's attention.
Had that been the intention? Was this unknown newcomer baiting Keitarou in order to allow Juushirou to escape?
But with the swirl of spirit power still rocking his senses and the ache in his chest growing more and more oppressive, Juushirou knew he could not walk anywhere, let alone run.
"Perhaps he was." There was a faint note of something close to derision in the hooded figure's voice now. "Genius is not an excuse for causing suffering. People should always take responsibility for their own actions. He was made to take responsibility for his, and you should take responsibility for yours."
He drew the weapon through the air pensively, before lowering it to his side.
"You lied to me also," he said softly. "Your name is Urahara Keitarou. Not Aizen. You hate the Clans, yet you are Clan at your core, just as much as the people you revile. It was Clan who gave you both the knowledge and spiritual ability you use to cause suffering with - yet you pretend you've moved away from that and hide under a foreign name instead. You pretend you have a cause for justice - but your cause is simply the killing of others in order to further your own reputation. You seek proof of your life's meaning, just as your father did and just like him, you will fall. I have no sympathy for you nor did I have any for him. Nobody who saw the suffering of those afflicted with Keitsune-dono's spirit poison could possibly doubt the judgement cast down against him. You may have idolised your father, or you may have loved him too much to see what other people saw."
"Shut up!" Keitarou was visibly trembling now, his grip on Chudokuga so tight that his knuckles were white. "Shut up!What do you know about scientific discovery? Father was a peaceful person who only sought to help Soul Society, and in return what did they do to him? His research was flawed, but it could have been perfected! It's Seireitei's fault for pushing him before he was ready! It was Seireitei's greed that exploited his experiments and then blamed him when they went wrong! It was Seireitei that..."
"It was your father's work, and as such, the only one who should have held responsibility for it was him," the hooded figure spoke calmly. "We all do things we don't like in life, and we all make mistakes, Urahara Keitarou. The thing that separates us out into those who are great and those who are not is that those who have greatness also take responsibility for their failures, even if that costs them their lives. Keitsune was misguided, but if he had never created reidoku, many people would not have died. He wouldn't have been punished and you would not have been robbed of his presence in your life. You would have grown up Clan if not for reidoku - if not for your father's misjudgement, your life would have been a normal Clan life, and yet you can stand there and say he caused no suffering through his misguided experiments? Children like you would also not have lost their parents if he had been a little wiser - yet none of thoseorphans have declared war on Soul Society, have they?"
"You have no idea how we were treated!" All pretence of geniality was gone from Keitarou's slim frame now, an ugly expression crossing his rain-spattered features. "Used by the Endou, treated like slaves, looked on by all of Seireitei as scum not worth the ground we walked on. When you talk about innocent people suffering, you know nothing of what happened after Father was killed. Don't begin to lecture me on right and wrong in Soul Society, student who won't give me your name! You know nothing about it. For the Clans, it ended when Father was killed. For me and for kin like me, it wasn't so easy. I might be the last one left now - or one of the last who survived the persecution. You have no idea what we went through, so don't pretend that you do!"
"Considering the suffering you've inflicted on other lives and other families, I have no interest in hearing about it," the hooded figure dismissed this with a casual flick of his hand. "You should only talk of grief and persecution if your hands are free of blood, Urahara Keitarou. You know and I know that they are not."
"Who areyou?" Keitarou demanded, raising his right hand and Juushirou saw the faint glittering of silver around Chudokuga's blade as he prepared to release his weapon. "Who are you that you think you can stand there and preach to me without even revealing to me your face?"
"If I did so, you would still not know me, for we have never met," The stranger slowly reached his left hand up to the thick fabric that framed his face, sliding thin fingers beneath the folds and pulling back the hood to reveal for the first time a head of dark, silver-streaked hair, two stormy grey eyes fixed firmly on the scientist's features. "I sought not to hide but to shield myself from the weather - even though it's my spirit power, I can still get wet, you know."
He unfastened the cape at the throat, lifting it and flinging it across the grass towards where Juushirou huddled, transfixed by the exchange of words and sparking reiryokubetween the two men.
"You can make more use of it than me, I expect." As Juushirou stared at the crumpled fabric without comprehension, the stranger offered him what might in other circumstances have been considered the faintest of faint smiles. "You're bloody and wet through already - and this isn't the kind of storm a student should be out in without due protection. Genryuusai-sensei will be cross if one of his deshi comes to serious harm - so for my sake and your own, you'd better take that and use it as best you can."
"I...thank you," Juushirou was at a loss to know what else to say, reaching out a dazed hand to scoop up the heavy cloth. It was thick and well-woven, of expensive origin despite the mud that now marred its edges, and though it was damp in places, it was better than nothing against the cold and rain. Slowly and clumsily he wrapped the cloak around his shoulders, staring at the interloper in bewilderment as though trying to work out the man's motives.
Grey eyes, dark hair, fair skin. Green and cream is the colour of the Kuchiki, isn't it? Someone from District Six, then? Genryuusai-sensei came here, and in his place, Guren-sama sent...someone? Didn't Ryuu say that Guren-sama and Seiren-dono have an older half-brother? Oh, but wait...surely this man is older than that? I've met Guren-sama and he didn't seem so very old to me, whereas this man's hair is starting to grey. A student of Genryuusai-sensei's from the past..before there was an Academy, obviously. Is he someone from Sixth Squad? But surely, with reiryoku this strong...surely...
"A Kuchiki?" Keitarou stared at the man for a moment, then he slowly began to laugh. "I see. Oh, I see indeed. Your ire towards me is not without motive, is it? You're not here on Genryuusai's account, but on Guren's. That's right, isn't it? The Head of a Clan can't enter a foreign land without express permission, but he can send lesser men of blood if he should so choose."
"There was a good chance you wouldn't stay around in District Six," the stranger offered a cold smile, his eyes softening yet there was not even the faintest flicker of compassion or fear as he met Keitarou's gaze head on. "Guren-sama knew it and so did I, which is why I agreed to come. You don't think Genryuusai-sensei would leave his school completely without protection, now did you? That was naïve of you, if you thought you could just walk in and take whatever trophies you wanted for your own."
His gaze returned to Juushirou, those eyes narrowing as he took in the blood that stained the boy's hakamashita.
"It seems you did think that way," he murmured. "Still, I appear to have arrived in time to prevent you doing worse. I admit, I did not want to release my weapon here today, and I was hoping to return home without having to do so. My spirit power is old and potent, and not ideal for use so close to those who are still in their studies. I know I'm making Juushirou dizzy and confused by using my sword to even this degree, and though you're tolerating it very well, it's probably putting your guard down, too."
Juushirou's eyes widened.
How did he know my name? Don't tell me that Genryuusai-sensei specifically asked this person to come and look out for me over everyone else?
"Juushirou," Keitarou's eyes became slits and he turned to glance at the huddled student, nodding his head. "He has a problem with reiryoku- both his own and other people's. It's a shame, because I could have found uses for him - but it seems he's a faulty test subject, so I was resigned to disposing of him entirely."
He turned his attention back to the Kuchiki.
"Your intentions are to bring him back unharmed rather than fight me," he added. "You seem concerned about him far more than you do about using that sword. I have no further use for him, and no more reason to remain here. My games at the school have been ended, and I have other things pressing on me now. Releasing that blade any further will only cause the boy more distress - if you understand that then you'll see it's better for you to let me go than it is to inflict more harm on one of Genryuusai's precious students."
"Regretfully, I have my orders from my Clan leader which must be obeyed," the nobleman shook his head, a faint, hollow smile touching his lips. "If I see you, I am to take you down. There is to be no mercy. Releasing my sword is not ideal for anybody concerned, least of all me - but Guren-sama has given me a particular responsibility and I must follow it to the letter."
"Do you think you can kill me?" Keitarou arched his eyebrow, and the stranger nodded.
"Yes," he said matter-of-factly, tilting his weapon so that the engraved flat of the blade faced upwards towards the rain-filled sky. "As a matter of fact, I do."
"You'd do so in front of a young, impressionable student?" Keitarou demanded, and his opponent laughed.
"I am not you," he said composedly. "I'm well aware of the consequences of my actions and I take full responsibility for each of them. I've always felt it better to be prepared for the worst, even when hoping for the best. It was a lesson my late brother taught me and one I've remembered well even after all this time."
He cast his left hand out suddenly across the flat of the blade, and Juushirou's felt a sudden rush of spirit power envelop the entire area, forcing him down to the ground and making him gasp air into ragged lungs in an effort to keep conscious. The rain which had been falling persistently ever since the stranger's appearance now began to swirl and gather around the surface of the man's weapon, knitting tighter and tighter together until they formed a virtual whirlpool of water spinning around the sword like the moon orbiting the earth. The tachihummed now with fresh energy, drawing more and more of the moisture towards it, and just when Juushirou felt that he too would be sucked dry and drawn into the swirl of blue, the unknown Kuchiki swung his sword out towards where Keitarou was standing.
The whirlpool of water burst forward as though it had been fired from a cannon, driving into Keitarou's midriff before the man could react and throwing him violently against a patch of trees, the force of the attack causing the first trunk to give way and crack right across before toppling back against two others. Keitarou cursed, struggling to pull himself to his feet, but his attacker did not seem too inclined to give him even a second to gather his own reiryoku, for he had already drawn the knot of water back around his blade, casting it out for the second time. This time it caught Keitarou's upper body, narrowly missing his head and neck, and the scientist was sent flying across the clearing once more, colliding with two or three more trees and uprooting them along the way.
It was as though Keitarou, the man who had rent holes through so many families and had caused chaos to so many people's lives had been rendered no more significant than a rag doll, tossed across the land by a raging, roaring tempest.
Juushirou's eyes became huge, and he struggled into a sitting position, wanting to speak but unable to do more than manage to take in lungfuls of air.
He had never seen anybody fight in such a determined, merciless way before.
But then, he reasoned absently, very few people had managed to fight Keitarou head on. The scientist's weakness was full on combat, his strength was in his intelligence. By manipulating others like Onoe to do his dirty work, Keitarou had mostly managed to keep himself out of the direct line of fire, using his science and other skills to escape the Council in District Seven and exploiting his complex spider's web of possibilities in order to put distance between himself and those he was trying to bring down.
That was, until now.
Was he afraid?
Juushirou did not know.
Was he worried for Keitarou?
The answer to that was even less clear cut, for though he was still boiling inside with anger and resentment, he could still not quite accept just sitting there and watching an enemy get killed.
He was helpless to do anything else, though. The heavy reiryoku that filled the air had sapped the last of his physical strength, and he knew that if he tried too hard to move he would probably bring on a violent haibyou attack. His spirit power was already surging violently within his body, and it was taking every ounce of his concentration to keep it from spilling over and going out of control.
I can't easily manage my own reiryoku in a situation like this. It's drawn to that man's sword. Maybe it's because he has storm and so do I or maybe it's just because it's so potent and powerful and I can't quantify it in my mind. Either way, if my spirit power surges too much more it's going to scald through my lungs and choke me like it used to do back when I was still training to release my sword. Seeing those memories unsettled me and reminded my body of having to fight to keep my life.
The Council need to speak to Keitarou, and even with all he's done, he should still have the right to a fair trial before the Elders. Even if I tried to interfere, though, I'm not sure I could manage Sougyo's release without making the situation worse. I have no idea how this shinigami can manage to stay so calm, with so much energy swirling around. Did he say he'd trained against Genryuusai-sensei's blade? Maybe that's why. Maybe when you've faced something as terrifying as Ryuujinjakka is meant to be, everything else pales in comparison.
The stranger turned to look at him for a moment, and Juushirou thought there was a faint flicker of regret or apology in his grey eyes before he turned his back on the student completely, moving slowly but resolutely towards where Keitarou now lay huddled against the sheer wall of the mountain face.
An image of Shunsui's crumpled form after Juushirou's own magic had flung him against a similar rocky face flashed cruelly across the District boy's thoughts and he winced at the rawness of the recollection, forcing the thought back.
"I was told you weren't really competent with a sword," the stranger spoke softly, and Juushirou had to strain to hear his words over the howl of the wind. "You're even more disappointing than I thought, though."
He flicked his sword, scattering drops of water onto the ground.
"Intelligence can't always make up for every physical failing," he added evenly. "You've realised it as well, haven't you? You understand the true nature of Raiu's water cannon, and if you do, you'll have realised that right now you have no way to fight back."
"Is it in the nature of all Kuchiki...to just attack...anyone who crosses their path?" Somehow Keitarou still had enough strength in his body to respond, for Juushirou could just about see him pulling himself to his feet, his black clothing concealing the true effect of the attacks on his battered body but his grey cloak tattered and stained already with patches of blood. "You really are...a most tiresome...sort of a Clan."
"It's not really in our nature to kill anyone unnecessarily," the stranger spoke evenly, his words calm and Juushirou saw him raise the sword one more time. "However, when we have a grievance, we do like to settle it ourselves. From the way in which you treated Guren-sama's brother, I can see you don't share that same sense of honour. For all his flaws, I believe Keitsune-dono had that - I wonder what he would make of you, if he could see you now."
"I told you already, keep him out of it!" Keitarou's eyes became wild with rage, and silver strands shot out across the clearing, slipping past the Kuchiki shinigami and driving forward towards where Juushirou still sat. Belatedly he realised that he was once more Keitarou's target, but before he could force his heavy body to react, the stranger raised his blade in a sharp, upward sweep, slicing through the silver strands and severing them completely. The broken threads fell harmlessly to the ground, prickling with silver energy before fading into dust, and Juushirou swallowed hard, staring from them to the edge of the glittering zanpakutoublade.
"Raiu also has quite a sharp blade," the shinigami said quietly. "He's not had a chance to use it much recently, but he hasn't dulled from lack of action. You didn't think I'd forgotten my obligation to Genryuusai-sensei in light of my orders from Guren-sama, now did you?"
"If Guren wants to fight me, why are you here?" Keitarou seethed. "If you fight your own battles, why is it you and not him standing here before me? Guren already tried to kill me and failed - is he afraid and so he sends his kin instead?"
"You mistake me," now the cold note was back in the stranger's voice, and Juushirou was aware of a genuine instinct to kill pulsating through the surrounding area. "This is myfight, and I intend to resolve it now, one way or another."
"How is it your fight? You're just being used by Guren, just like every other Clansman in Seireitei is being used by his or her Head of Clan!"
"You hurt somebody very dear to me," the stranger's voice dropped, a dangerous note in his tones. "I could never forgive that, not for one moment. You've killed your way through the Districts, assassinated Guren-sama's only son and caused chaos and devastation to my Clan, but even those things could not have drawn me out to fight in such an uneven, ugly way as this. However, you made the mistake of hurting someone much much closer to me - and I am not the kind of person who ignores an insult against my blood."
He raised his sword one last time, summoning the swirl of water around his blade.
"I was told you were a man whose sword held Bankai," he added pensively. "Right now, though, your spirit power seems scattered and weak. No wonder you chose to hide behind your own chaos and lies when you tried to bring down my Clan leader. A weapon this feeble may have driven an Endou to his death, but I doubt it would work so easily on a man of Kuchiki blood."
With that he swung the tachi down in a final, decisive stroke, and Juushirou screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the impact of such a dense mass of water at such close quarters. There was a loud crash and a shriek which may or may not have been human, then he heard the sound of racing water and the whole ground juddered ominously beneath his feet. For a moment he thought the entire mountain shelf might be on the verge of collapsing, but as the tremors abated he cautiously opened one eye, then the other, his jaw dropping in fear and disbelief.
Where moments before Keitarou had been huddled against a thin wall of stone, now there was nothing - no Keitarou, no stone, and only a scattering of water-drenched mud and rubble around the edges to suggest that anything had ever been there at all. For the first time Juushirou realised how close to the cliff edge they had really been, and his stomach lurched giddily as he contemplated what kind of land might lie beneath.
The third cannon blasted Keitarou through stone and over the edge into the valley. District One is full of mountain terrain – is there anyone who could survive a fall like that, weak and injured in the way he must have been from the first two blasts?
Does this mean…Keitarou is dead?
Standing at the edge of the ledge, gazing pensively down into the canyon below was the shinigami, and with a heavy sigh the man lifted his weapon, giving it a little shake to remove the excess water before sealing it into a normal katanaand returning it to its sheath. He put a hand to his brow, pushing rain-soaked hair out of his eyes, and Juushirou was struck by the sudden sense of weariness that pervaded the stranger's aura.
"It's been a long time since we fought a battle like that," he murmured softly, and Juushirou realised he was talking to his sword. "I'm sorry, Raiu. I promised such antics were behind us, but some ties are just too strong. Doubtless we'll both be paying for it for a while to come – expending so much energy at once after so long doing nothing."
Juushirou struggled to get to his feet, but his mind blurred and his vision swam and he stumbled to his knees once more, scrabbling around on the ground for the forgotten and sealed Sougyo no Kotowari. Using his zanpakutouas a support, he forced himself upright, leaning heavily on the weapon and pulling himself forward one painstaking step at a time. With each passing second the sky became lighter, the storm clouds dissipating and the rain ceasing to fall, and as he drew within reach of the stranger, he sank back down onto the ground, raising fearful eyes to meet the man's troubled grey ones.
"Are you all right, Juushirou?"
The words were soft and gentle, totally in contrast to the cold words a moment earlier, and though Juushirou wanted to nod, he found that he could not even do that. The stranger crouched down before him, using a thin hand to steady his body against the muddy ground whilst using his other hand to touch Juushirou's blood-spattered hakamashita. He paused for a moment, then lifted his hand up to touch the lank waves of white hair that had come loose from their tie in the earlier struggle. As the man's fingers brushed against a stray lock, his eyes seemed to become pained, and as his lips parted, Juushirou heard the man mutter a single word.
"Haibyou."
Dearly Juushirou would have liked to have asked the stranger who he was, how he knew so much and why he had called him by his first name, but the strain of the whole ordeal coupled with the ragged state of his body proved too much for him. Darkness began to close in from each corner of his vision, and though he felt a gentle arm slip itself around his body, supporting him and then pulling him gently into shunpo, he was no longer able to place where he was going or who it was who held him.
In the depths of his consciousness he felt the swish of two anxious fish swimming deeper and deeper into the core of his being, and then all was black.
Author's Note: Kinnya and Senaya's zanpakutou swords.
There we go, Kinnya has arrived. Was it worth the wait?
I don;t want to spend too much time here talking about Kinnya's sword, but I remember clearly some time ago that in canon Yama's zanpakutou was considered the most powerful fire sword and that Hitsugaya's was the most powerful ice sword. I'm almost sure that his was meant to be the reincarnation of some strong elemental spirit, and it makes sense to assume that not only are other elements in existence, Yama's is also from that same root originally.
Kinnya's zanpakutou is the equivalent sword for "storm" or to be more accurate, "storm and sea", though he has lightning elements to his power too. Though it might seem contrived to push these two together to make him match to Juushirou, my original plan was to make Kinnya closer to water than to the full blown tempest. However, some digging around in Japanese mythology reminded me of the story of Ametarasu, Susano'o and Tsukiyomi. I'm not going to waste time here detailing those since it's easy to google them, but suffice it to say that Susano'o is traditionally the Shintou deity associated with - yep - "storm and sea". For this reason, Kinnya's zanpakutou is connected to him. The name of his zanpakutou is 雷雨霊 Raiurei, which means, "Spirit of the Rainstorm." Senaya's zanpakutou was its opposing part, representing the Sun Goddess Ametarasu and the sun - 太陽霊 Taiyourei(Spirit of the Sun).
During their youth, Kinnya and Senaya were too powerful for their father to train them, hence Yamamoto was brought in to do it instead. He is far more powerful and experienced than either one of them have ever been, but they were both extremely strong shinigami and even now, at about 70% of his original power, Kinnya is quite a formidable force. Given the fact Juushirou has exceptional spirit power and is noted among the most powerful canon Captains, I felt it necessary to illustrate where that gene came from. That and Kinnya wanted to get in on the plot action a little bit.
Kinnya's sword has probably become weakened by Senaya's death as much as it was by his self-imposed exile. If Raiurei and Taiyourei considered themselves brother and sister swords, it seems only logical that with the loss of Senaya, Kinnya's blade would have lessened in strength too.
In case anyone is wondering, it is not my intention to reveal Guren's zanpakutou during the course of this story ;)
P.S they may not read this for another 20 chapters but to the anon. reviewer who wants to steal Shirogane, hands off, he's mine xDDD. =D