The distance between them had begun to disappear. His stride slower—to accommodate—hers revitalised to cover more ground, the desire to keep far from him a waning memory.
The tide of acrimony had quelled to a lazy trickle, overcome by a wave of relief and appreciation. Staring upon Aizen's back no longer daunted, but carried with it a promise of refuge. Like a crutch, a beacon of deliverance. Unwittingly she hung onto it, latched herself to the security he presented with avid eyes, illusions of trust and reliance steadily warming body and mind and maybe, Rukia thought, just maybe the air of perpetual tragedy would finally begin to fragment and crumble.
For amidst the absurdly deafening silence and pale ash plains, there were no more wars to be had, no disagreements and contravening philosophies. There were no reasons to fight and old wounds could be left in the past. Here and now—post-war, post-end, post-everything—it was just the two of them.
Undefined and inconsequential, just two wandering souls pitted against a world-not-world deader than dead.
Such was life now. Irrevocable and unforgiving.
Adding to the air of perpetual morbidity, a cool, thick mist danced before her. It inundated everything in an opaque white and carried with it the ghostly flakes of Heaven bled.
Loath to lose sight of Aizen she picked up her pace, watching as he created deep marks in the grey ground as he walked, forever determined and purposeful. The destination remained elusive, bordering on the non-existent, the path before her inscrutable. So she whimsically fancied they were heading east, if such a notion still existed.
East for beginnings, for rising and commencing.
Even as she quietly mused and contemplated competing possibilities, she toyed with the idea of simply asking him. Parted lips and waited for the words to unfurl, only to wordlessly exhale, a wave of sudden uncertainty gripping her. Slivers of trepidation joined in, coiling around her mind and tainting thoughts. Stymied, she couldn't bring herself to break the silence between them.
Too soon, she thought.
It no longer held true to define him as an enemy, and yet a brittle barrier she wasn't quite ready to breach hung between them. Even with the puzzling, imperfect understanding they'd wordlessly fostered, she was still reservedly numb to him. So Rukia kept close yet quiet, acquiescent but guarded.
Before her Aizen had slowed his pace, silently examining the rocky path. Eventually he stilled and she followed his lead, pausing several steps behind and watching on curiously as he studied a large dip in the ground. Seemingly having made up his mind about something he turned to look at her.
It was a familiar occurrence turned pattern; he would wordlessly decide upon something and she would be given no choice but to follow his lead. It annoyed her still; the loss of so much agency, his domineering outlook that cared little for her opinion and wants.
And yet, she was still alive because of him.
So she reminded herself, again and again, and dispensed with the lingering, nagging qualms. She would forgo even a small measure of pride for the preservation of this newly forged alliance that kept her whole and grounded and not forgotten. Living and breathing and not reduced to mere ice-dust flying over spectral moons and heavens. So Rukia tilted her head enquiringly, confusedly, resigned to wait for the words to unfold into a declamation of dictates and whims, all imperious and absolute.
"Take off your clothes."
She blinked.
…What?
Bewilderment swirled with the static humming in a mind poised to burst with animated speed. Heart-palpitating fear followed the mind-numbing shock. His words echoed inside her skull incomprehensively. Then stronger, louder, clearer. More demanding.
On instinct she took a step back, arms crossing over her chest in a pitiful show of defence.
"What… what are you thinking?!" she yelped, fear tainting her tone even as she made her outrage known.
Tiredly stoic, Aizen merely arched an aristocratic brow and gave her a look that had her unexpectedly feeling like a slow, dim-witted child.
"You may be content to resemble a walking tragedy, but I'd rather be spared having to gaze upon such a pitiable state any longer."
With that he turned slightly to the side, revealing a cloud forming mid-air and the pitter-patter chorus of water dripping. The torrent steadily picked up, quickly filling the dip in the ground.
Oh.
Slowly, her arms fell away, her entire being deflating from its defensive posture. Internally she winced at her reaction, humiliation flaming her cheeks. As her gaze found a point on the ground, she contemplated disappearing entirely, dispersing into light-dust and escaping once and for all his affected, grandiose insouciance that left her feeling unbearably drained and wrung out. Like a white cloth left out to hang for days on end, all sun-bleached and muted. And yet, despite the creeping fatigue, her mind would not still or quiet, and she wondered whether he actually expected her to disrobe in front of him.
Given his nonchalant airs, she wouldn't be surprised if he did.
Furtively, she risked a glance his way, trepidation still weighing heavily on her limbs. Aizen gazed back with uninspired, patient indifference that had her nearly doubling over from shock—and horror—and forget it! along with a few choice expletives stood ready to unleash from the tip of her tongue in a violent, turbulent frenzy. Dismissing passivity, overcoming inertia, she swirled to face him fully, readying herself for a verbal onslaught.
Only to be brought to a still instead.
Perfectly astute, a skilled virtuoso, Aizen anticipated her outrage and doubts and discarded them with a sickening twist of his lips, a mocking smirk.
"You needn't worry, ojousama. I'm enough of a gentleman to extend to you basic courtesies, privacy included."
"Well… good. As you should!" she harrumphed after an indignant pause, bitter with the knowledge that he was deliberately baiting her.
It was uncanny just how deft and adept he was at crawling his way under her skin, leaving her with the tell-tale sensation of resentment rising. There and then he may have been her haven, reliable and valiant, yet was vainglorious and vexing. Some things never changed, no matter how many years and evolving circumstances stretched in between. And Aizen Sōsuke, she decided, was destined to be a constant, irritating thorn in her side.
"I'll have returned by the time you're done," he added, far too cheery at her dreary pallor.
At that, her gaze darted back onto him, her irritation quickly forgotten. Eyes unwittingly wide, silently imploring. She couldn't help it, suddenly bombarded with recollections of a similar occurrence turned misfortune, thinking of endless, horrible possibilities that might occur in his absence. Fear and anxiety screamed at her, and an underlying bitterness followed, taunting her ineptitude and frailty.
Her absolute dependence upon him.
Like a poison in the mind, the sliver of self-loathing spread, slowly breeding, festering, feasting on her squirming insides—
"I won't be long. You have my word."
Pulled back from her maddening descent, she blinked away miasma and focused on Aizen once again, surprised he'd heeded her silent unease. She doubted she had even heard him right, and so played the words over and over, speculating on their sincerity. Absent were the predictable hints of mockery in his tone, the note of something sombre underlying words instead.
Commiseration, perhaps, spurred by the solemn vacuity of their deadened surroundings.
Perplexed at the attempt at reassurance—that he'd even bothered with such a thing—she stared at him curiously. Contemplatively. A breeze picked up as she watched him turn, hair fluttering around her face like a lone snowflake caught by the wind. With an upturned flick of his palm the familiar golden barrier of Tenchū rose up around them. Aizen took several steps before pausing, turning back instead and closing the distance between them. Removing her blade from where it hung by his side, he held it out to her.
Quiet, stunned and almost cautious, Rukia stared down at the offering, fingers numbly twitching. She fought the urge to snatch it away with greedy eyes and darting hands; worried he'd change his mind and leave her to nurse the renewed agony of having a part of her soul cruelly excised.
Not quite believing what he was proposing, she looked up into his eyes, seeking some further validation. Aizen said nothing, features indulgent and patient. So she took back Sode no Shirayuki with a nervous tremble, gulping down a dry lump in her throat. As soon as her hand made contact something within her fell into place, unwinding and easing, as if no longer locked down, bound down, head to toe. The sensation of a gorging abyss vanished, a gaping wound steadily closed, leaving her feeling whole once more.
"Thank you," she whispered sincerely, gratefully, holding her zanpakutō close to her heart.
"Whatever you may think, I can appreciate your earlier despair, Kuchiki-san," he began, gaze trailing off into the distance.
"In a world devoid of meaning, ending one's life seems the greatest possible comfort. But such a solution is mere concession, a choice consciously made to succumb to anguish. Though just as much as one can choose death, one can choose life. One can choose to affirm existence, including all the suffering it entails. That is power, Kuchiki Rukia; the power to overcome hell itself. That is power over life and death."
His gaze narrowed as he paused, as if in contemplation as she stood there—thin, wry, and frail—watching him. Listening to him, contorting minds and twisting words, only she knew—
He was speaking truth.
"If the world offers no meaning, it is up to you to create it. To shape and mould reality as you would see it. Given recent events, I can only suspect you've since found your meaning," then another pause as his eyes found hers. "I no longer have to worry you'll attempt something foolish, now do I?"
Rukia quickly shook her head, hold tightening on her blade, eager to dismiss lingering suicidal notions spurred by a perfectly distilled dystopia.
"Good. If the thought should ever cross your mind again, you would do well to dispel it. Your life belongs to me, Kuchiki Rukia. Has from the moment I stilled your blade and resolved to keep you alive. Only if I permit it are you allowed to die."
With that he turned on his heel and disappeared beyond the barrier of light, white coat billowing. Carried by surreal winds, his frame swallowed whole by the thick white fog, inch by inch. He was gone before she could even register what happened.
Then, quiet disbelief set in. Incredulous, Rukia could scarcely believe what she'd heard.
God… what an arsehole!
Slowly the feeling of abhorrence, of hatred recollected, set in. It ploughed grooves and seeded pincer splinters of weary doubt inside her.
Her life was his? His to end should it catch his fancy? Just what was she even doing? How was she supposed to live on wholly subject to the floating whims of a deranged megalomaniac?
As the ire in her nerves grew, she began to see his face everywhere—reflected in the pane of gold light, shifting in and out of focus in the dense white fog—haunting her. The multi-changing façades escaped reality and embedded themselves inside her head, his taunting words echoing callously.
With a frustrated scream, she tugged at the roots of her hair, the urge to vent in a cataclysmic shower of wrath thick in her veins. Her blood boiled, her limbs trembled, the passing moments weighing heavily with an oppressive static, buzzing. His voice still echoing, pounding against her ears.
Pounding… pounding….
Stop.
Everything suddenly quieted; his voice, the inert buzzing, the panic in her heart. It all vanished as she was steadily immersed by deadened silence once more. As her heartrate slowed, an inexplicable, tired calm came over her. With idle, near-robotic movements, Rukia gingerly laid down Sode no Shirayuki and began undressing.
Even her body knew that a cyclical maelstrom of emotions was lethal, destined to end with a battered mind and scorched soul.
So with banished thoughts, eager to forget conceited proclamations, to do away with layers of ashes and dust, Rukia eased herself into the makeshift pool. To her muted surprise the water was perfectly hot, wafts of heat blending into the cool dense fog. She'd been expecting and bracing for the sensation of ice on her skin, not the currents of liquid flames already easing weary muscles. It felt… wonderful. Comforting, like an old, loved memory. It wasn't something she thought she'd ever experience again, not in throes of barren nothingness.
Rukia almost quivered from the anticipation. Closing her eyes, she submerged into misty paradise.
And there she remained, blanking out apocalyptic nightmares, counting insignificant minutes, reciting meditative numbers. Her lungs burned but she insisted on reprieve—turned absolution—allowing the dirt and grime to wash away from skin, bleeding into lapping currents like trails of night-froth. Only when the ablution had finished, skin left alabaster white and blemish free, did she resurface and breathe in a lungful of cold, brisk air as her thoughts began to wander.
It had been a long journey of a thousand miles. But now, there was time to rest, even for a little while. Floating along the surface, she stared heavenward in quiet contemplation. Recalling all that was lost and about to be—
Lost. In transition, in translation.
As swirls of fog filled her sight, thoughts of Aizen managed to weave in and out of her musings, trapezing as if through wire-hung clouds. She would have grimaced but the vitriol was, strangely, already gone, replaced by tired reflection. Confusion. The man was a complex puzzle, equal parts munificent and despotic. One moment he was returning her blade, commiserating her plight; the next he was laying claims to her life with all the brutal intents of a ruthless deity.
She couldn't make sense of him, couldn't quite pin him down as the memory of his words clawed away at the edges of her consciousness. Only for the warm lapping currents he created to caress her skin as she shifted, her budding ire swiftly fading.
Once again he left her thoughts and emotions scattered, dragging her to the depths of contradictory extremes.
Leaving her bereft of answers once again.
With a sigh, she slowly excised herself from the pool. There was no use lingering, not when Aizen could re-appear at any moment. With quick movements, she washed her shihakushō and dried it with a modified blend of Tenran and Shakkahō. When done and dressed once more, Sode no Shirayuki securely at her side, Rukia exhaled deep and content. She felt renewed, revitalised, ready to begin anew. The days wouldn't cease, not even in purgatory, but something—somewhere—had changed, had shifted.
Rukia fancied herself ready to take on the world.
It was at that moment the glimmering barrier dissipated into the cloudy heavens. Turning around she saw Aizen emerge, arms filled with a pile of golden pears arranged in such a way so as to belie gravity itself. His gaze met hers, appraisingly. Approvingly, as he looked over her refreshed form.
"Much better."
. . .
The light of the phantom day had snuffed out, the white fog smothered along with it. Night of the blackest black enveloped the flat plains once again.
Rukia had expected a lull in their perpetual wandering, a moment of rest to ease tired feet. Absent any source of light it only made sense that their pilgrimage would be put on hold. But Aizen wasn't a man who bent to the laws of nature and mortal boundaries.
He lived by his own dictates and whims.
At the first signs of a thick velvet dusk he wordlessly raised an arm and conjured a facsimile: a silver moon in the sky overhead. Gleaming like a ghost that couldn't be grasped it cloaked the world in a stream of pale iridescence, lighting their path. Rukia could only watch on in quiet marvel, contemplating the means of such a feat. Whether an innovative Kidō or the work of his zanpakutō, the effect had her musing with outrageous praise and awe just what else he was capable of.
The source of her wonder maintained a steady pace up ahead, figure pale and white in the moonlight, mirroring a smooth reflection shifting in water as his coat rippled in the quiet wind. All his secrets and vaulted knowledge seemed so much more pronounced in the pale shadows. It left her yearning for the radiant glow he usually emanated, like the first golden rays of sunlight awakening at the brink of dawn. He seemed so much more tangible then; something she could hope to one day grasp. Under the silver light he appeared all the more elusive, surreal. As if he could disappear at any moment; breeze past outstretched fingers like a boreal gale blowing over a desert, leaving only ice dust and sand in its wake.
Suddenly anxious she picked up her pace, eager to close the distance. Her rational mind knew her survival hinged on him and her subconscious found comfort in that, even though she still wished otherwise. Even though the solace was frangible and carried with it a nasty tinge of guilt with the knowledge that it was Aizen Sōsuke who, at the moment, was proving to be all too dependable, reliable—
Safe.
And all things he shouldn't be.
As she fell into step beside him she mentally scolded herself. A sliver of warning weaved its way into her mind; a reminder not to wholly dismiss the truth of who he really was.
Of what he was capable of.
With sobered thoughts, Rukia stared ahead even as she felt his gaze fleet over her as she kept up with his stride. If he was surprised at her willingness to remain close, even if she had to occasionally flash-step to keep up, he didn't voice it. And for that she was thankful. She couldn't put to words what she felt, the internal maladies turned ritualised forms of torment and torture that mirrored his conceited, callous words. Nor the equally grateful relief that warmed blood like recitations of wondrous poetry, of marvel and blessed deliverance.
The obvious contradictions continued to gnaw away at her, frustrating and confusing, drilling invisible holes on the edge of her tongue.
When his pace slowed she momentarily fancied he was being considerate, however rare a sentiment that might be. But as her gaze focused she took in a strange sight before her: a castle. Painted in the sky, only not. White spires and domes floating amidst a wide expanse of pure black that expanded as far as the eye could see. As they drew closer moonlight revealed the veil of night was, much to her surprise, a sea.
Rukia had never seen so much water, not even in the World of the Living.
Without a word, Aizen came to a pause at the water's edge, features inscrutable as he simply stared at the submerged monolith at the centre of that vast inky darkness; ice-cracked, caved in, deeply burrowed, and resembling a haggard phantom. At first she surmised his interest lay in the novelty of finding any kind of residual edifice in purgatory. But as she continued to study it a sensation of familiarity tugged away at her mind until the truth of what she was seeing finally revealed itself.
Las Noches.
Surprise set it, though she imagined it was nothing compared to what Aizen was feeling at that moment.
"Do you regret what you did?"
The question escaped her lips before she even realised it. She almost winced at the cold, heartless delivery, but her curiosity kept her grounded and patient, any potential answer a prize she would not willingly forsake.
Rukia wanted nothing more than to know what thoughts plagued his mind.
Aizen didn't reply or acknowledge her, his attention solely on the sight in front of him. She gathered that was preferable to a more hostile reaction; Aizen's fury was not something she wished to be on the receiving end of ever again. It was only when she relinquished all hope he'd respond that a composed soliloquy filled the void.
"I do not. Regret is a decrepit folly. There is nothing to be gained by troubling oneself over lingering memories and expectations. To do so speaks of a depraved character, of someone incapable of coming to terms with fractures and inconsistencies in their actions, preferences and beliefs."
"You may not believe me, Kuchiki-san, but I have only ever acted in light of what I perceived to be the highest good. And what is good can never be a source of regret. If I were presently faced with the same choices, I would make the exact same decisions all over again."
Rukia stared at him wordlessly. With bated breath, as if even the mere act of inhaling and exhaling air would distract from his words. Aizen appeared to contemplate something as his eyes narrowed, his gaze suddenly a shade darker. Harsher.
"Though, in light of the present, I suspect my actions would be far more resolved, and my beliefs all the more justified."
Rukia felt her heart nervously beat, stop, then drop. It lodged itself in her throat and she could not speak, only choke. For the first time ever she was forced to consider the fact that—maybe—Aizen had been right. That—maybe—if he had succeeded, the world would not have come to such an unholy end.
And the thought terrified her.
Made her question her own beliefs and past actions, whether they were in the right and not wholly foolish and vainly foolhardy. Not ultimately squandered, so as to bruise and sting upon reflection.
Suppressing a tremor verging on the endemic Rukia inhaled crisp, brackish air. She needed to quiet a mind screaming at her with haunting, unapologetic, vitriolic laced truth.
Squatting down, folding into herself and knees pressed together tight, she worked on her breathing, deep and slow, telling herself there was nothing to be gained by revisiting the past. The mantra only marginally helped as she mindlessly reached out for the shallow water, thinking it would further calm quaking thoughts. An inky trickle weaved past her fingers and she was shocked to see that it was the water itself stained an opaque black, and not merely reflecting the midnight heavens above.
A shiver made its way down her spine as she flicked her hand, wrestling the remaining drops away. It was then that she heard it, a soft humming. Sitting up she looked around for a source only to come up empty. Aizen still hadn't moved, closed off to the world in quiet contemplation.
Shaking her head, convinced she was hearing things, she rubbed at her tired eyes and stared mindlessly at a point in the distance as black as the rest of the world. Only, the longer she looked at it, the stranger it seemed. Almost hazy, a shifting mass of pure black void and pulsing shadows.
What… was that?
Taking several steps forward she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The light of the counterfeit moon offered little aid as she continued to watch, a cold sense of foreboding lodging itself under her lungs. The humming steadily intensified, drawing near, carrying with it a vibrating chord, a crackling in the air.
Rukia traced that shifting movement with her eyes, trying to pinpoint where it began and where it ended. Up and up her gaze went, where it finally touched the starless heavens above. Like a colossal wave spread wide across the world's flat plains, towering with giddy vertiginous heights—
A… wave….
Realisation dawned and her blood ran cold. Quickly she whipped around and ran back to her immovable companion.
"Aizen!"
Instantly snapping out of his stupor, his eyes landed on her with palpable surprise at hearing his name part from her lips.
"What—"
"We have to get away from here!" she cut him off, seriously debating just grabbing his hand and flash-stepping far and away with all the force of an exploding star.
Instantly alert his gaze left her and quickly took in the scene before him, swiftly probing, analysing and assessing for any potential threat. A second later and grim comprehension coloured his face.
"Get behind me, now!"
Leaving her with no opportunity to act he grasped her arm just above the elbow mid-step, grip hard like a vice, and unceremoniously shoved her behind him. She didn't have time to react or respond to the rough handling, the momentum almost sending her toppling. Just as quickly his reiatsu flared around them, the heat and overwhelming force causing her to yelp as she pressed closer to him, knowing straying even an iota too close to the periphery would result in evaporated limbs. A Kidō barrier rose up next, completely shielding them on all sides as a cosmic roar sounded overhead.
The watery surge had already reached them.
With unforgiving, crushing force, the wave descended. The air itself crackled under strain, bringing her to her knees with a cry as she prayed the bones wouldn't break or tendons tear. The deluge continued, crashing down, splintering the ground with bursts of dark steam and flaming vapour as it battered and ignited against Aizen's reiatsu.
Rukia covered her ears at the oppressive roar and closed her eyes, blanking out whatever she could because all of a sudden she was back in the Seireitei on that haunting, tragic day. On hands and knees as the force of a dying universe belted down upon her back. Her hands shook in fear, body trembling from the renewed trauma, heart palpitating like a leviathan thrashing in its net as she shrunk further into herself so as to evade the ruthless, phantom blows.
"No… no… no, no, no…no…. I can't go through that again… I can't… God, please, no… not again…."
Whimpering incomprehensive murmurs of denial, of penitence, Rukia yielded to the tears of despair trailing down her cheeks as she tried to breathe through a chorus of chokes and gasps.
With anxious, fluttering eyes she slowly—nervously—reached for Aizen's back. For his white coat. For something, anything, to allay her fears and crazed descent and keep her grounded and rooted in place. Her fingers brushed against the soft white fabric….
And the world splintered and cracked beneath her.
Fighting for purchase and balance Rukia scrambled to find solid ground as burning mist thrashed against her, drowning out her screams. In the midst of the chaos Aizen centred himself as the ground shook, resembling an immovable mountain as he darted around in search of her.
"Kuchiki!"
His hand shot out towards her. She heaved forward with all her speed and might, reaching out for him—her protection, her deliverance made physical and visible.
Her salvation.
Their fingers briefly touched just as the ground fell apart under her and Aizen's fist closed around air. Rukia fell, dragged down with the ensuing deluge. The moment stretched slow and stagnant, her hand still outstretched and widened eyes locked on his. A soundless scream escaped her lips.
The descent crashed and took her with it, sending her into an unconscious abyss.
. . .
Cold. Dark. Empty.
That was all she could comprehend of the world.
With dull, muddled senses, Rukia slowly opened her eyes and found herself crucified within immobile, liquid ice; form prone, arms floating out to her sides. The realisation came to her slowly, hazy and listless, suspended as she was in a watery grave. All sound dispelled save a muted pounding that reverberated all the way to her frozen core.
Subconsciously she sought it out, mind working amid lassitude and ennui. It was everywhere and nowhere, mirroring her heart—was her heart. Hammering against her skull, vibrating in her ears as she gazed out at an otherwise quiet, eternal night.
Overwhelmed by an inescapable, residual horror, her body trembled from cold-laced fear.
She could feel the water down her throat, in her lungs. A slow burn building at the base of her chest as she futilely sought air, an accompanying ache growing at the forefront of her skull. Like a fly caught by an aberrant wind—dizzying and spinning off course—she felt her head descending in vicious circles.
The physical and mental pressure weighed down on her, tugged at her limbs and rejoiced at keeping her still. Leaving her heavy with a lingering sense of dread knowing she was all alone—
And there was no one to save her.
As her mind slowly worked, awareness resurfacing, a madness began to form, slow and inexorable and she was unable to deter it. To strangle its progression. Its corrosion, and Rukia was struck by one lone thought:
I'm going to die.
The words echoed. Transfixing and all-consuming; there would be no mercy. Not this time and a prayer died on her lips.
Unspoken, unbidden—mercy had always been a lie.
Her eyes drooped closed just as a budding, all-encompassing light began to grow. Somewhere far off and away, it cast a faint glow and softly brightened the eternal watery depths.
Rukia could only mindlessly stare as her sight blackened at the edges, that one lone thought resurfacing in her mind, persistent, again and again.
I'm going to die.
Slowly, a sound pierced the silent stillness and carried through the violet depths so as to reach her, first in whispers, muffled as if by a thin material like the stuff of moths' wings. Then slowly it took shape, formed a delicate accord. Something light and gossamer like a spider web woven from crystal, and Rukia heard a peculiar voice. Equally deep and melodic, ancient, spanning as if across universes and resonating inside her mind just as clearly as it sounded all around her. The world turned stiller than still, time itself seemingly stopping in reverence.
Confused at the spectacle and altogether breathless, she unwittingly grasped the unfolding words with uncomprehending euphoria as her heart throbbed and tightened.
"Not yet."
The world turned black once again.
. . .
Air filled her lungs and Rukia gasped, eyes darting wide open.
Her body jerked, mind a jumbled mess as she thrashed about for something solid, something to ground her against the ever-present sensation of sinking.
"Easy there."
For a moment she was falling and then came a clutch in the form of an arm, wrapped securely around her waist. Rukia took a moment to physically and mentally centre herself, not quite certain what was happening. Her last memory was of being trapped in midnight waters, alone and drowning… a soft light… and then a voice.
Not yet.
The words echoed some obscure sanctified finality, and so engraved themselves onto deferential bones and ligaments. Her entire being powerless to resist the sovereign truth they heralded. And it was at that moment Rukia finally realised—that by some fantastic, sadistic miracle—she was still alive.
Shocked, she slowly took in the scene around her. Darkness still permeated everything far and wide, the only source of light coming from the elongated sphere of pale white she found herself floating within. Gradually, her attention shifted to the hard mass she was pressed up against, along with the arm holding her tight and close. Eyes trailing over white silk, she slowly looked up.
"A-Aizen?!"
He met her bewildered gaze with an amused smirk. "Were you expecting someone else?"
"I…," she began, but trailed off. "No."
Rukia shifted uncomfortably in his hold, mind working at frantic speeds trying to place and string events together into a coherent whole.
"When did you pull me out of the water?"
Aizen looked back down at her with a curious tilt of the brow. "I didn't. I was able to reach you before the waves fully descended."
Rukia blinked incomprehensibly. That… wasn't right. She had been submerged in water; lost, buried dark and deep. She had been drowning in tides of boundless black. She could still feel the burn in her chest, the cruel suffocations that preceded a watery death. It couldn't have been mere delusion or a dream….
It couldn't be.
And yet, there was no reason for Aizen to lie.
Rukia shivered, heart quivering and turned all the more anxious, his reply like a veiled dagger in her mind. What she assumed, what she felt, it all fell apart around her. Thoughts scattered, she didn't know what to believe.
A veil of silence descended once more. Unwilling to break it Rukia stared absently at the shadows, seeking and cataloguing tiny morsels of certainty. She noted that Aizen was completely dry, and for the most part, strangely enough, so was she. The glowing Kidō barrier was slowly ascending upwards, taking them with it. The world beyond remained dark and still, submerged as they were deep underground.
Dimly she wondered just how far down they were—just how far down Aizen had fallen in order to reach her.
Once again she was still alive because of him.
The truth of it was like a lingering melody, tempering her sorrowed confusions, her tattered and worn asunder pains and sacrifices. It caused her heart to tremble and swell with untold respite and gratitude. Impulsively, her hands rose up from where they hung limp by her sides, quietly seeking. With nary a thought, she gripped onto white layers, onto something really-real.
There, she could feel him, see him. If nothing else made sense, if nothing else was true, in that one single moment, he was.
There and then, she told herself, that was enough.
"Thank you," she whispered demurely. For far more than saving me.
Aizen's hold marginally tightened in response and it finally occurred to her just how close they were. Her entire body was pressed against his front-to-side. Immaculately sculpted, she could feel the hard muscled contours betraying a strength and inner power beyond comprehension. He was all firm lines, broad and tall, and a large, cut frame.
Something stirred inside her, a budding awareness, and for the first time ever she wasn't faced with Aizen Sōsuke—Captain, traitor, foe—but a man.
The realisation was foreign, alarming. Insistent, it left a ghosting trail of tender burns and shivers all over her skin. The flames reached their zenith as she blushed, couldn't help it; pink spreading violently into crimson over taut cheeks.
Scandalised, her heart was suddenly racing, burning in chaotic delirium, mind immolated with wayward recondite thoughts. Rukia unconsciously tightened her grip, staggered by the strange development. Reason crumbled and deteriorated like summer blown winds. Confusion took reign, swarming around her head and refusing to disappear.
What… what am I thinking? What am I feeling?!
"We've reached the surface."
Pulled from her nervous musings, Rukia chanced a glance at the unfolding scene, still aware of a burning plague all over her cheeks. She prayed Aizen hadn't noticed.
The world beyond appeared a fraction brighter as the moon came into view; picturesque and still, exactly where Aizen had left it. Their upward ascent continued through the sky, black currents shifting lazily below. Unhurriedly the barrier shifted horizontally, gliding past sparse low hanging clouds before coming to a still. As it blinked out of existence, Aizen easily brought them down, landing softly on a high-high cliff with surprising elegance and grace.
Rukia detached herself from him as soon as her feet found ground, careful to hide her face and thankful for the cool breeze against her hot cheeks. Below, the quiet roar of a restless ocean surrounded them, tides pulsing unremarkably. All signs of the previous chaos had vanished thin and swathed into the surrounding night. The only tell that anything had ever occurred was the disappearance of Las Noches, its imposing towers and dome swallowed whole and no more.
Curiously, Rukia risked a glance her companion's way. His features betrayed nothing as he stared out at the world below; bereft of a thousand-and-one anecdotes, frame neither stilted nor stifled. With an air of finality and a sharp flurry of his coat, he turned and began to pace anew.
Lingering a moment longer, Rukia gazed out at the moon reflecting serenely—deceptively—on the water's surface; painting fleeting hopes, internal fears and inescapable reflections across the midnight view.
All things must come to pass.
With a heavy sigh she turned to follow after Aizen, their journey resumed.
. . .
On one routinely quiet day, the sky ablaze and white, Rukia wondered whether all this would one day come to an end. Whether, once a thousand ages had been sung, the obscure sun would set and eternity would sink into dusk into end.
Whether the end would, in fact, truly end.
One day.
And perhaps it was the heat that was turning her all the more philosophic—pessimistic. Thoughts doused in explosive paraffin and turned all the more incoherent. As nothing stretched on and on before her eyes, the days and nights melding into one, she concluded existence was a tragedy, a comedy, equally burlesque and caricature. By the time she worked through grottos and beyond canyons—the physical and the mental—her theories on existence were rendered obsolete.
How do you explain creation in seven days, evolution in nine, and divinity in three?
…Rukia scarcely knew what she was even thinking.
The cyclical seasons were driving her mad, were all too cruel and ill. One moment the world was heralding a bruising cold that caused thoughts to pool into half-melted icicle drops. Next it was writhing in a blaze of fiery tongues that left her comatose and delirious and on the crux of something terminal. Days and nights proved equally chaotic and mentally catastrophic. They could stretch on and on—a hundred days in one—or last a mere breath in time. There was no reason or rhyme behind the shifting extremes and Rukia could feel her sanity slipping with every lapse of the ordinary and expected.
She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
The only remaining, predictable constant in the world was Aizen. Forever ahead of her, carrying on with his incessant, nonsensical search. They'd been walking, and walking, and walking for so long now with no revealed insight to speak of, no great discovery. The only marker for the passage of time was her hair, having grown just past her shoulders. In the damnable heat it proved yet another encumbrance.
As she trudged along, futility and weariness crawling their way under her skin, she could feel lamentations and sweat trickling down her limbs to patter the ground like puddles of molten flesh. She was tiring of this tedious wandering masquerading as existential necessity. For a moment, Rukia imagined herself screaming her exasperation loud enough to raise the dead. To demand he stop!
Just stop!
And still she continued to fester in silence.
Resolved to maintain a level of obscurity, on edge for entirely different reasons than once upon a time. Short of breath, rapid in beats—heart-wrenched and palpitating like mad—Rukia stilled, taking a moment to calm herself. Further ahead Aizen appeared as a hazy silhouette; brief, intangible, and silent. Her heart twisted at the sight even as imaginary warmth and comfort filled her lungs. Setting off once again she made to close the distance, mind feverish and jumbled. Something was nagging at her, tugging at fleeting thoughts. Something she couldn't identify. Enunciate.
For once the barriers and illusions were hers, and she could not see past them.
Her leaden limbs proved cumbersome as she pushed on ahead. And then, a distant howl filled the void. Eyes widening with chilling awareness, adrenaline hitting her between organs, Rukia dipped into lost reserves and sprinted to her companion's side.
As the world drowned in her budding, stifling fears, Aizen appeared as a pillar of sureness to ease her troubled heart. Safe. She was safe with him, she needlessly reminded herself.
The chorus of grisly wails and screams grew louder, closer, with every step. Though her worries had been reduced to little more than dust blowing in the wind with the knowledge Aizen was there, by her side, unease still gripped her at what new terrors awaited. She knew she was being senseless, too imaginative—paranoid—but the idea continued to eat at her like a plague.
Reality soon proved far horrifying than imagination.
It began with a hazy blur in the distance. Whizz and fizz, it streaked across the flat dunes and straight towards them. Closer and closer, revealing a pale, bald, deformed figure scurrying with frightening speed, dragging a torso cut off below the ribs solely by its hands. A grating screech echoed from an angry mouth wide open, gums bloody red and mangled teeth sharp and thin. Thin red scars criss-crossed over closed lids like chaotic knife strokes. Though physically blind it seemed to know exactly where they were, wailing forebodingly as it came right at them.
Rukia stared at it blankly. Like a lens out-of-focus her vision swam incomprehensively as she slowly grasped it was moving too-too quick and would soon be right upon them. Pulled from her stupor, she contemplated unsheathing her blade even as she instinctively darted behind Aizen. Aloof, unperturbed, he carried on his path. When the demonic creature was less than a meter away and poised to leap he raised his palm without pause, a single Kidō blast shooting forth, sending it flying with a wounded shriek. An unmoving lump of bone and flesh was all that remained.
Swallowing uneasily, Rukia huddled close behind—where she was safe and concealed and whole. From where she could see the ash turned mountains and earth, where she could lament a sickened world and its hellish relics.
With every step new horrors emerged: bodies split open down the stomach and torso, guts and limbs on display, hacked organs littering valleys and chasms. Cleaved hearts, torn open skin, it all made for a gruesome feast as tall, spindly ghouls partook of their deadened kin. Silently they stared after them as they passed on by, little more than frozen effigies. They made no move to attack, didn't move at all save their hollow, vacant eyes trailing their every move.
Quiet, shocked, and mournful—of what was and had become—Rukia moved closer still. The howling screams had reached a zenith. At a peak, at an edge, Aizen glanced down a splintered gorge. A moment. A deep, shaky breath later, and Rukia followed after him.
Eight levels below purgatory, she saw a million living corpses and smelled the pits drowned by blood and ashes. She heard their screams as they mutilated, tortured and cannibalised one another. Flayed and crucified. Skewered, sodomised and immolated. Just below to her left a group of them held one down as another plunged its arm down their victim's throat, dragging out and gorging on its gleaming entrails. To her right, one was hanging upside down, howling as others tore off and feasted on slivers of its rotting flesh.
The chaos and carnage continued as far as the eye could see, thousands of dreadful scenes bleeding into one another, testing her sanity and fortitude. Frozen senseless, Rukia fought the repulsion rioting in her stomach.
"Oh Lord… oh Heavens…!"
"The lowest of the low, the blackest of fractured souls, castoff and fashioned by sins far unholier than hell. There is no limit to their depravity and evil. If you sink far enough, reach the furthest depths, you'll bear witness to much, much worse. It's a fate that not even death can overcome. So degraded is the existence they lead, they viciously look upon with envy any and all other fates, seeking to debase and destroy all in their path."
Aizen's calm exposition washed over her, doing little to temper her horror. So deep, so entrenched, her mind and heart lacked the reason and rhyme necessary to make sense of any of it.
Stunned senseless as she was, she slowly became aware of a lull in the air, the howling screams steadily easing into silence. The sensation of a thousand-and-one eyes on her shortly followed. The chaos had stilled as hell's fiends focused solely on them.
With shaky, frantic movements she darted around, spying the previous ghouls they'd passed directly behind them just as thousands upon thousands below began to scale the large abyss. Scurrying and ascending like a swarm of roaches, surrounding them on all sides.
"Stay behind me," he coolly ordered, moving in front of her and drawing his blade.
Rukia saw no reason to object. Back to back, she studied their adversaries—frozen still, staring at them with voracious hollow gazes—as she released Sode no Shirayuki. Beads of sweat coalesced on her brow as the silent stand-off continued, dripping down slowly along a fine-carved cheek. The invisible sun flared and shined bright overhead, leaving no shadow with which to melt into and hide. Rukia wet her lips and swallowed, the sound far too loud in her ears.
And that's when they moved.
With a simultaneous roar they all descended upon them. She was in the middle of her Second Dance when Aizen drew a horizontal arc in front of him, slicing the first few waves in half and sending hacked pieces and oncoming ghouls flying across acres with the force of the strike. Turning and extending an arm over her head, a burst of golden lightening was set loose just as she formed an avalanche of freezing wind.
"Tsugi no mai, Hakuren!"
"Hadō no 63: Raikōhō."
Their spoken commands overlapped, extinguishing the oncoming onslaught. It still wasn't enough as more and more of them surged towards them with hateful shrieks, scrambling and scaling up valleys and pits. Another means of attack was needed given the sheer numbers they were facing. Her eyes frantically scanned the unfolding scene as her brain calculated potential means and consequent ends; a hundred different options and a thousand more different risks.
And from all those possibilities, Aizen had seemingly decided on one.
"Hallowed light, cast no shadow. Reveal all, vanquish falsities. Idolatries. Leave no stone unturned. Ashes to ashes, bones crumble and perish. It rains, it pours. As Heaven bleeds may no usurper remain standing. Hadō no 97: Mantengokukaji."
Her breath stilled and her eyes went wide. In short bursts her mind processed what was happening—
Aizen…
…full incantation…
Hadō… 97….
…Oh dear.
The blinding white sky above turned a glowing molten orange. It pulsed once, then twice; two perfect ripples spanning the wide expanse. The gratings shrieks turned muffled in her ears as she stared heavenward in shock and awe, dusty texts and centuries-old manuscripts affording her only an inkling of what was to come.
The reality was apocalyptic carnage.
A deep rumble drowned out all other noise and then a primal roar as hundreds of flaming meteorites came hurtling down, violently crashing into the ground. Untold masses of bodies were instantly pulverised, torn to pieces, limbs and pulp flying in violent reddish showers. Those not torn apart by the collision were burnt to a char to a crisp. Immolated inside out as pained, dying screams formed a chaotic symphony amid colossal dancing flames, purging all in their path.
Several burning corpses continued to stagger towards them, dragging themselves despite missing parts and immobile limbs, howling their wrath and spurred purely by a vicious will demanding both their demise. Aizen stepped forward to meet them head-on, zanpakutō at the ready.
His movements were a ritual, were captivating. Swift and elegant, he decapitated and impaled. Dealt strikes by the full, thorough and quick. Beautiful and furious, perfectly timed; no move was wasted. One by one their would-be attackers fell, a string of forgotten casualties in an artful massacre.
Rukia stood still, watching on, wholly enthralled: so this was what it was like to fight alongside Aizen Sōsuke.
Watching him was… intoxicating.
His movements were strong and graceful, his command of Kidō perfect and astute. Behind mental vaults were hardened and tested pieces of knowledge she had only read and heard about. Things she could only imagine he was capable of conjuring, forging; made solid and actual. And it was so unfair, so cosmically unjust, that she should be stranded behind watching on as he fashioned miracles and made the impossible possible.
That he, a single man—no, not just a man—should be privy to and capable of so damn much.
That she, with all her modest bearings and mortal shortcomings, should remain absolutely helpless and dependent on him.
As the air quieted in a cloud of ashes and dust, as the phantom sun shone bitterly and forebodingly and made lurid circles darken under her eyes, Rukia was left contemplating her uselessness yet again. She may as well have done nothing in the end for how futile her so called contribution was. Disgust coloured the inside of her throat and she almost choked, but reeled it in. Breathed deep as a thought suddenly occurred to her—a chance for redemption. For growth.
Rukia was done with passivity.
"Aizen."
His gaze instantly found her, staring at her curiously as he resheathed his blade. The grim severity of her tone and determined features weren't lost on him as she steadily, resolutely, walked towards him. Burning embers and ashy flakes floated lazily around them, polluting all whilst he stood tall, all immaculate and pristine white.
Tch. Stop being so effortlessly perfect, you bastard.
Brushing aside her annoyance, mind firmly on the task at hand, Rukia came to a stop in front of him. Looked up and held his dark eyes; saw the twinkle of amusement shining there. Silently he regarded her, waiting for her to speak.
"I want you to teach me. Train me. Whatever you know, I want to know it too. All of it."
His brow arched in quiet surprise. Rukia didn't care how blunt and demanding her request was; her mind was set on this and she would see it realised. She would allow him no quarter with which to ignore. To refuse. She readied her defences, her arguments and whys. Prepared herself for a verbal attack—
"Very well."
starting with the enunciation of a hundred different gains to be had… wait. What?
She had not expected him to agree so readily. The possibility hadn't even occurred to her and surprise jumbled thoughts. For a long moment Rukia could scarcely think straight.
"Uh… that is… I mean… good!"
An amused smirk played on his lips as he turned around. "Shall we be off, then? I believe a change of scenery appropriate for such an affair."
Numbly nodding even though he couldn't see it Rukia followed after him, looking forward to a break from the tedious, never-ending wandering. Steadily, her mind quieted and put to rest uneasy memories, terrors and griefs just as a novel emotion began to inflame and spread in her veins.
Excitement.
The opportunity before her beckoned and she reached forth to grasp it; leaping, plummeting and soaring with magnificent wings exploding underneath. Silently, she ordered herself to get stronger so that her name would not be scattered to the lilac winds born of Heaven torn. To hold her own, not left to rely solely on the man in front of her.
A man who fancied himself a God—with all the feats to prove it.
Gazing upon his back, Rukia was yet again left wondering: who really was the man behind the arrogant smirk and cold, confident eyes. More than ever she wanted to peel away the layers, expose the truth.
Do away with the lies.
And find answers to her thousand-and-one whys.
A new task loomed before her, formidable and daunting, and yet she embraced it with an ice-swept resolve accrued over centuries. She would embrace his teachings and in the process learn everything she could of him; his motivations and inspirations, his aims and ends.
She would finally see the world as it looked through his eyes.
So she decided, knowing she had all the time in the world—an eternity, to be exact. And so began the count to infinity-minus-one.
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