THE WITCH'S COVENANT
Author's Note: Hello everyone. I just wanted to say hello, and welcome to my story. This is my first attempt at a writing project in many years, and I am very excited to share it with all of you. I love Bleach, its my favorite anime/manga series, and with all the cool new stuff coming up in the near future I decided that this would be the best place to get back into writing.
This story is set after Aizen's defeat in a timeline where Ichigo did not lose his powers. Vizard Ichigo has long been my favorite version of the character, so I knew that I wanted to use that version of him for this story. As such, this story takes place around the same time that the Blood War arc would normally occur, but will basically not acknowledge most of the narrative elements introduced after the end of the arrancar arc. I love all that stuff, but it just doesn't fit in with the story I wanted to tell.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the story, and I encourage you to leave a review if you do. Or, if you don't like the story and have an idea on what would improve it, then feel free to share. And thats all I really have to say, so let's get rolling.
Edit: I have updated the prologue with a new section. I had originally planned this scene to be shown later in the story, but I felt that it would better serve the tone and structure of the narrative if I placed it here.
The distant past...
Hina Takahashi winced in pain as the carriage rolled over yet another uneven section of the forest trail. The nicely paved roads of the Sereitei were days behind her now, and even the relatively even dirt roads that spanned much of the inner and middle sections of the Rukongai were now nothing more than a fond memory. It seemed now that the road was comprised entirely of jutting roots, protruding rocks and surprisingly deep divots. It would have made for an uncomfortable ride even at the best of times, which these were most assuredly not.
She lurched forward in another violent coughing fit. She wasn't sure how long she spent doubled over this time; minutes or hours, it hardly mattered. When it was done, fresh blood stained her mouth. One shaking hand lifted a cloth to delicately wipe the crimson fluid away, but the pain and the taste both stayed with her.
She didn't know exactly what this illness of hers was, and nor did any of the myriad healers, mystics and shinigami who had been called upon to treat her over the last few months. She'd simply woken up one morning coughing up mouthfuls of blood all over her covers, and things had only gotten worse from there. It was almost impossible to keep food down, and she had grown terribly thin as her admittedly small amount of reiatsu had eaten away at her dwindling reserves of energy. The pain which had started in her chest had gradually spread throughout most of her body. The headaches were the worst of it; sometimes they were almost blinding in their intensity.
Her family may not have been one of the five great noble houses, but they still possessed considerable wealth, wealth which had gone first to the purchase of all manner of medicines, and then to every credible healer the Soul Society had to offer. One and all had failed in turn. Even the kindly Retsu Unohana of the Gotei 13 had only been able to ease her pain, but not cure her.
Hina didn't have long left, she could feel it in her bones. Death loomed over her, drawing closer with every wheezing breath. She had been prepared to abandon her hope and accept her miserable fate when she had happened to recall an old tale she'd once heard as a child. It was said that there was an old woman, a witch some claimed, who dwelt in the very furthest reaches of the Rukongai. It was said that this witch hoarded knowledge that no one else knew, and that she could do things no one else could. It was a small hope, little more than a rumor really, but what else was there to try?
So it was that she had left her family estate under the care of her most trusted guards, trained warriors who had once served as shinigami during the usurpers invasion. It had taken many days to travel this far, or maybe it had been weeks. It was so very hard to keep track of the time now that she viewed all the world through a feverish haze. But her guards assured her they were close now. What few people lived this far out had told them that they were on the right path, had even pointed the way out for them. She just had to hold on a little bit longer, and salvation could still be hers.
She wasn't sure when she passed out, or for how long, but when the guard knocked on the carriage door the sun had already sunk low. Only a few strands of reddish orange light broke through the thick cover of the pine forest.
"My lady, we seem to have arrived," A strong, familiar voice said.
"Oh, good, thank you Kenji. Would you please help me out? I feel so weak." And it was true, her whole body felt heavy, almost numb. Kenji pulled open the door and offered her a steadying arm as she carefully stepped out onto the ground. They had come into a clearing in the woods, occupied only by a small cottage with an odd looking thatched roof.
Hina gathered what strength was left to her. "Wait here."
Kenji looked aghast. "But my lady-"
"I'm sorry, but you cannot help me any further. If this so called witch can't or won't help me, then I'm already dead." She tried not to notice the pained look on her old protector's as she stepped forward on shaky legs and entered the cottage.
A small, hunched and shriveled woman regarded her with blackened eyes. "Ah, welcome, welcome. Yamauba has been expecting you."
Hina paused in the doorway, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Expecting me? But I had sent no word of my travel."
A chuckle. "There is much that this one knows which others do not. That is why you have come to this place, no?"
Hina frowned, but nodded and stepped further into the room. "Yes. I've already tried everything else. You're the only one that can help me now."
The witch circled around the small table that, along with a small stool served as the small homes only furnishings. "Ah, yes, a terrible illness has befallen you, one said to be incurable to the shinigami arts. But you needn't be afraid, girl, for Yamauba's arts are far older."
"Truly?" Hina dared to hope. "You mean to say you really can cure me."
"Oh, yes," The witch procured a small, hooked knife from beneath her dark robes. "Let me see your hand, girl."
Hina extended her hand reluctantly. It was silly, she knew, but the sight of that knife filled her with anxiety despite the desperation of her situation. The witch dragged the tip of the knife across Hina's palm. Blood welled up from the red line, but there was little pain. Her whole body felt almost numb now. The witch made an identical cut across her own palm and extended her hand.
"Now seal the covenant, girl, and Yamauba shall drive the illness from your body and give you the long life you desire."
Hina hesitated. "You haven't named your price."
"Ah," the witch smiled. "Helping you will be reward enough." Something about that smile didn't seem right, but what choice was there. She'd be dead before morning without a cure, there was no other option left to her.
Hina took Yamauba's hand.
Modern Day...
A chain rattled somewhere in the darkness ahead. The lone sound echoed throughout the vast looming space; a stark contrast to the silence that had first greeted Benjiro when he had entered this place. The cold air, the utter stillness, and that ever present feeling of something truly immense hovering just overhead even though an upward glance revealed only more darkness had nearly been enough to turn the man back. But he'd made a promise, and one he had no intention of breaking regardless of how much this place made his skin crawl.
Benjiro reached for the canteen hanging from the belt of his threadbare robe and took a long, slow drink of water. He drew out the process as long as possible, hoping that the extra few seconds would allow him to push down his rising anxiety. He wished that he'd brought something stronger, but that would never do. He would need a clear head for this. He replaced the canteen at his side and wiped away the few drops that clung to his short, scraggly beard.
"Go time." He muttered softly, and winced as even that small sound echoed through the darkness of Muken. Muken, the lowest level of Soul Society's prison, an extra dimensional space reserved exclusively for those prisoners who's crimes warranted nothing less than death, yet who the Gotei 13 lacked the ability to kill. Nobody really seemed to know how many prisoners might call this hellish place home, every prisoner sentenced to this place had had their prior existence scrubbed from the records. To be buried and forgotten was the fate of all those sentenced to this awful place.
Benjiro shuddered at the thought as he started walking again. He wondered if the Muken prisoners regretted the power they had gained, viewing it now as a curse, or did they wait patiently in the dark for the day when they could make their escape? If so, at least one of them was in for a lucky day.
He also wondered where any of them were. He'd been walking for almost an hour, being careful to follow the exact instructions he'd been provided, yet the only prisoner he'd yet laid eyes on was the Shinigami traitor, Sosuke Aizen. The traitor had been only a few minutes walk from the entrance, completely mummified in special reiatsu suppressing bandages and bound to a chair. Benjiro had gotten the distinct feeling that Aizen had been aware of his passage, despite his eyes and ears also being covered, and the reiatsu concealing cloak which was hopefully keeping Benjiro's presence here unnoticed. The sensation had unnerved him deeply though he tried to tell himself that it was just his imagination. He was not looking forward to passing that space again on his way out.
Besides that encounter there had been no trace of anyone or anything else, at least not until he'd heard that chain somewhere up ahead of him. Now it was silent again, save for his own tightly controlled breathing and the scuffing of his sandals on the cold stone floor.
But he wasn't alone. He could feel something watching him, perhaps even assessing him. His hand itched for his Zanpakuto, but he dared not reach for it. He forced himself to maintain a confident posture, eyes focused straight ahead as he walked. He would give to his audience no sign of fear.
The chain rattled again, closer this time, just beyond the range of his vision. The chain was accompanied by a thin, rasping voice. "Have you come to feed me? Its been so very long since they sent me anyone."
Benjiro came to a stop and fixed his gaze on the point where the voice had come from. He even thought he could see the vague outline of a figure crouched an huddled. This must be the one he'd been sent to find; he'd followed the directions exactly. "Are you the one called Yamauba?" He called out. He was pleased to note that his voice didn't shake.
A faint chuckle came in reply. The huddled figure began to rise to a standing position. Benjiro felt a powerful urge to look away, and it took everything he had to keep his eyes forward as the figure hobbled forward on shaky legs. Shivers ran all over his body as the creature drew closer. Its appearance was like that of an older woman, but pale drawn and gaunt, her eyes sunk so far into her skull that they rested in perpetual shadow, though a faint hint of pale green light shone in the center of the black orbs of her eyes. She was wrapped in an old tattered robe, and pitch black chains that held her in place. Despite this, Benjiro's instincts were screaming at him that he was in danger. Try as he might, he could not resist the urge to step back int a more defensive posture, one hand resting on the hilt of his blade in a fashion he hoped looked casual, though somehow he doubted it did.
"Yamauba, Yamauba." Again that chuckle. "Poor old Yamauba never gets visitors anymore." Several sharp intake of breath through the nose. "You smell incredible. Please, come closer darling, let me see your face."
"I'm comfortable here, thanks." Benjiro replied. "I've come to talk."
The old woman let out a weary sigh and seemed to shrink back. "Please come closer, these old ears don't work the way they used to. And I'm oh so hungry."
He narrowed his eyes. "You can't fool me that easily, I know you aren't so frail." She cocked one ear at him and let out a confused moaning sound. Benjiro shrugged. "Fine then. I was going to offer you the chance to eat as much as you want, but-" Yamauba suddenly lurched towards him with blinding speed. The chains snapped taught holding her back, her long mess of tangled black hair whipped out towards him, and he let out a gasp of horror. As the strands of hair reached out towards him, some coming withing just a few inches of his face, the rows of mouths filled with fangs that had been concealed across her misshapen skull. The green light in her eyes flared, and Benjiro found that he had withdrawn several steps, sword in hand and his Shikai release command at his lips. He caught himself. Yamauba couldn't reach him, no matter how much his pounding heart seemed to think otherwise.
"Feed me!" The voice was still raspy, but there was power in it now, power that had cold sweat pouring down the shinigami's face, and his flesh breaking out with goosebumps. A cold, devouring reiatsu washed over him, and he felt himself compelled to step towards her. He resisted that urge, forced himself not to move at all even as fear and adrenaline flooded his system. "You will feed me! I'll strip your flesh from your bones, devour your organs and drink your blood!"
"Sorry," Benjiro said quickly trying to insert some steel back into his voice, though he found he couldn't make himself stop shaking. "I'm not on the menu, but if you'd be willing to listen, I'll give you the chance to eat your fill and more."
"My fill?" A bitter laugh. "I will never be satisfied, I must eat!"
"Well you won't be able to do that if you're stuck down here. What if I told you I could give you your freedom?"
The hunger in her eyes receded momentarily, along with her hair, and instead she regarded him with a more curious gaze.
"A deal?" She asked.
"Yes." Although he was beginning to wonder if that was a good idea. Could this creature really be controlled? If not, how many would die before she could be caught again?
"Well, well, I can't remember the last time something interesting happened. Go on, tell me all about this deal of yours." He shuddered at the almost ravenous tone of her voice.
Benjiro stood straight and composed himself. Business time. "I represent House Nosaku, and I have come to you at the behest of Lady Haruka Nosaku, the sixth head of our noble clan. She has-"
"Oh please, spare me all this drivel." The old witch all but rolled her eyes at him."Tell me what you want or you will feed me."
Benjiro swallowed his fear. "Fine, I hate being formal anyway. Put simply, Lady Nosaku is willing to offer you a degree of freedom in exchange for your services."
"Yamauba will be able to feed freely?" She asked hopefully.
"No." Gods no, he thought. "Your presence must be secretive, which will be difficult if you're running around killing people indiscriminately."
She smiled wickedly at him, her eyes shining. "I can be discriminate, subtle. I could feed upon your people for years and they'd never know. I've done it before."
He shuddered, but forced himself to speak steadily. "That was when you haunted the edges of the Rukongai. Things are different in the Sereitei. If someone goes missing here, people pay attention."
Her smile withered away. "I must eat."
"You will be, ah, 'fed'." Benjiro said. "In exchange you will use your magic at Lady Nosaku's command."
"You want to keep me on a leash, is that it. Am I to trade one prison for another?" The witch spat on the ground.
Benjiro shrugged. "I'll just leave then, if you're not interested." He turned to walk away. Unfortunately she took the bait. Another wave of cold power slammed into his senses. In a moment he felt all of the strength be driven from his body, and he fell to his knees. He felt a breath on his ear, accompanied by a whisper in his mind.
"Silly boy, you can't walk away from me. I'm already in here, and I AM HUNGRY!"
He winced as a lance of pain stabbed through his mind. He tried to reach for the clasp of his cloak. If he could just remove it he'd be able release his own power and regain control of the situation. Just one problem, his hand refused to follow his directions.
"Tsk tsk." That whisper in his mind again. "Why don't you come back here and sweeten the deal?" His body stood of its own volition, and in short order he found himself standing face to face with the witch yet again. He was uncomfortably aware that this time he was standing close enough for her to reach him if she so desired.
"I will not be confined." She hissed at him.
Alright, time to compromise. "We could arrange for you to haunt the grounds at night, but you would have to remain inside the compound."
"Hmm, that will do. I will enjoy feeling the light of the moon on my skin. I so loathe this endless darkness." One clawed hand reached out and brushed his cheek. "You shall feed me then. Live prey, the younger the better." She licked her lips. "I especially adore children, so sweet and delicious!"
Benjiro considered going for his cloak again. Unleash his power and destroy this foul creature. Of course if it was that easy to kill this thing then the Soul Society would have done it years ago. Instead he said "You will be fed from our dungeons. That's the best offer I can make."
The Witch sighed. "Fine then." She drew the claw of her left forefinger across right palm, and dark tar like substance began to ooze out. She extended her hand towards him. "I accept your terms."
Benjiro considered that hand, considered how badly he wanted to cut it off. Instead, he drew the blade of his sword across his own palm. Blood welled up from the wound and dripped from his hand. He winced, but extended his arm. When their palms met he felt a surge of energy between them. He watched with genuine fascination as an ethereal mist swirled up from their hands. If their research had been correct, then the witch's magic would now bind both of them to the terms they had agreed upon.
He looked into her eyes, and shuddered at what lay there.
Fuck, I need a drink