"You sure don't disappoint, do you?" Nimaiya slapped Ichigo on the back like they were old friends, "I mean, damn, kid! Leave it to a weirdo like you to keep things interesting! All jokes aside, though, I'm really impressed." He beamed, bouncing on his heels as they trekked up the slope to his workshop.
Where did all of that super serious professionalism go? He'd returned less than an hour ago, but Ichigo was already regretting coming back. He shoved that idea to the back of his mind. "You're hilarious," he said, keeping his voice as flat as possible. No reason to reward this kind of behavior with a reaction.
"Oh, don't be such a sourpuss. Reforging your Zanpakuto went miraculously well! Smile! Or, you know, any other expression . . . Come on, man, you're really bringing the mood down." The blacksmith wilted, his enthusiasm vanishing into thin air.
Ichigo shook his head. He was excited. Way more excited than he'd ever been, in fact. So excited that if he let out even a trickle of that eagerness, it would burst forth like a flood from a worn down dam. He had to keep a cool head. He felt truly whole for the first time in his life. He didn't want to ruin that by bounding up the hill like a child in an amusement park. "Let's just get this over with. I want to catch up with Rukia and Renji."
Nimaiya dragged his feet, but perked up a little, "No need to worry on that front. I sent word to Senjumaru that you'd be coming on their heels. She'll delay them until you get there." Straightening his back and blocking the entrance, Nimaiya hit Ichigo with the thumbs-up and smug smile combo. It didn't do much.
"Yeah, yeah," Ichigo sighed, "Get on with it already." Nimaiya's deflated face made him feel a little guilty-he was grateful, really-but he said nothing as he was led into the workshop.
The furnace blazed, turning the rickety shack into a sauna. Nimaiya's assistants tended the flames while he donned his apron and tied his hair back. "The sword is basically done. All it needs is one last quench and BAM, good as new." He pulled a sled from the furnace, but Ichigo couldn't see what it held. The contents were glowing so intensely that he had to shade his eyes. As Nimaiya quickly moved the sled to a barrel of water, however, Ichigo felt a tugging.
He knew that feeling. He didn't know how he knew, but it felt so familiar. It was Zangetsu. That much was sure.
The explosive hiss of the sword being cooled overwhelmed the roar of the furnace and filled the shack with steam. Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath; partly to shield his lungs, partly in anticipation. It was so close.
He hadn't realized just how badly he wanted to hold his Zanpakuto again. Standing there, waiting, was tortuous as the moments stretched.
When he opened his eyes again, he was startled to see Nimaiya stepping out a back door, a cloth wrapped bundle in his arms. "Hey! Wait a second!"
"Hmm? Something wrong?"
"Where are you going?!"
Nimaiya tilted his head innocently, then he chuckled, "Isn't it obvious? This is a momentous occasion. It deserves a proper backdrop." He left and Ichigo scrambled around the workbench after him.
The hill continued a short distance past the shack, ending in a sharp point. There was a platform at the peak, and Nimaiya laid the bundle down atop it. He stepped back and gestured for Ichigo to come up. When he did, he was mesmerized. The hill fell away before him into a sheer cliff, and beyond that was an ocean. There was no other way to describe it. The inner walls of the palace were imperceptible causing the great body of water to seem to extend out to the horizon. A fake horizon, Ichigo knew, but no less breathtaking.
He managed to rip his attention from the scenery to look down at the wrapped bundle on the platform. It was pulling at him, beckoning him to tear the covering away and seize what was inside. His hands were doing the work before he realized and he felt himself sweating despite a cool breeze coming from over the water. He flicked the corners of the cloth back and stared at what rested there.
"What . . . is this?" Zangetsu was there-there was no mistaking this feeling-but it wasn't the Zangetsu he knew. His sword had become swords. He lifted the two blades, one in each hand, and inspected them closely. One was longer and more bulky than the other, but they weighed the same. Both swords felt right in his hands no matter which hand held which sword. It was so different, yet so comfortable and familiar.
"Now there's a nice expression." Nimaiya spoke from the side, giving Ichigo space. "Let me tell you, I made a similar face when it started taking this shape. It isn't every day when a Zanpakuto changes so drastically."
Ichigo tried to face him, but he couldn't turn his eyes away, "But how? What happened?"
"You happened, of course. More specifically, that soul of yours. I'm sure you can tell what a huge transformation your entire being has undergone."
That was an understatement. Ichigo felt his soul, its wholeness, and wondered how he ever managed to get by before. Thinking about how he was just a little over a day ago made him shiver. The difference was that staggering.
Nimaiya continued, cleaning his sunglasses with his apron, "Physically speaking, nothing's changed. You've got quite the reliable look in your eyes, but other than that, you're the same. But remember," he placed the glasses on his face with the finesse of an artisan and sauntered over, "that Zanpakuto of yours is an extension of your soul. This change reflects the change in you, you could say."
That made sense . . . but wait. Didn't that contradict what he said before? "You told us that Zanpakuto stay the same when the soul that spawned it changes."
"I said they stay largely the same, sure, but I also told you that I would be reincorporating them into your souls. Follow?" Ichigo managed to pull his eyes away from his sword. He didn't understand at all, honestly. Nimaiya, leaning in to inspect his work, saw his confusion and smiled. "That little talk you had with your pops was more than a touching heart-to-heart. Learning about your heritage, having your insecurities dug up and contradicted, and finally making peace with your trauma didn't just unlock a sealed aspect of your soul. It broke you apart and reduced your soul to its base components, allowing you to be reborn."
"When that happened, your Zanpakuto also broke down and lost its form. That's where I came in. I took that amorphous soul fragment that was your sword and reforged it to fit your newly complete soul." He snapped his fingers and pointed at the blades in Ichigo's hands, "This here is the result."
That made a little more sense, but still, "Why two swords? I don't really know how to fight with two weapons."
"That's just the shape this guy wanted to take. I helped him get there, but I didn't make any design decisions, you dig?" He patted Ichigo on the shoulder and started back down the hill. "I'll leave you two alone to get reacquainted, but don't take too long! Senjumaru won't keep the others for long."
Ichigo watched him retreat into his workshop then turned back to the view over the cliff. These swords were his as sure as his own hands were. He could feel the connection that he shared with Zangetsu in those blades, and it was much stronger than it was before. Had his Zanpakuto ever been this much a part of him? It hadn't, he decided.
"'Get reacquainted', he says . . . I suppose we've both changed a lot in the last couple days, haven't we?" He waited, letting the words hang in the air. A chilling thought occurred to him. What if this new Zangetsu was different from how he used to be? They should have been closer than ever, but that didn't stop those fears from sprouting. Tentatively, he reached out with his soul, following the solid connection he felt, "Zangetsu?"
No response. What would he do if he had to relearn how to communicate with his sword? Could he even use Bankai if he couldn't talk with Zangetsu? There wasn't time for that! The Quincies could attack at any time. He couldn't afford to tack all of that training on to what he was already doing. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to reach the soul within his swords.
Then his eyes shot open.
He smiled as a familiar voice filled his head.
+ Break +
Soi Fon was breaking. She shuddered, her legs buckling, her grip loosening, her vision blurring as beads of sweat slid into her eyes. Breaths came in ragged gasps, leaving her desperate for air.
She took a step, and then another. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to stop, give up, curl up and die. But she dismissed those protests. She had to. This exhaustion . . . her enemies wouldn't care how spent she was. They wouldn't give her a pass because she was out of breath. And the strength she sought wouldn't take pity on her either.
What would Yoruichi-sama say? That was a silly question; of course her former master would poke fun at her. Pushing herself to the point of collapsing was pure foolishness. If she couldn't raise her fists, then no matter how strong she got, no matter what techniques she mastered, she wouldn't be any good in a fight.
But could she afford not to take that risk? The Quincy she fought wasn't terribly strong in hindsight. He was fast, and his reflexes were top notch, but Soi Fon couldn't imagine any of the other Captains struggling to defeat him. Remarkable defensive power or no, he was a push over. And yet, defeating him took all of her strength. She won, but she wasn't able to aid any of her comrades.
Normally, that wouldn't have bothered her. If they couldn't hold their own, then that was their fault. The death of Kuchiki Byakuya had her thinking differently. The enemy elite possessed strength on par with the Captains, and their numbers were greater. The Shinigami could not afford to let pride rule them in this.
Soi Fon slammed her fists into her quaking legs. She wouldn't stop. She wouldn't let her body give out.
Dirt crunched underfoot as she slid into a meditative stance. From there her body moved, rapidly flowing from exercise to exercise, pushing herself well beyond her limit. Sweat poured from her like rain and her hair slapped against her face and neck like wet rags. Her muscles cried out, quivering. She could barely make a fist. Her feet felt drawn to the ground by a force greater than gravity. Her lungs were melting.
But she kept at it, surging across the training field in a flurry of strikes and parries against a number of shadow opponents. She danced around Cang Du's impeccable forms and ended him with a swift, decisive blow. Hollows pounced on her from all sides, forcing her to move even faster, delivering ever more powerful blows. The other Captains came at her, each one demanding a different response.
She warded off a coordinated strike from Ukitake and Kyōraku, spinning between their simultaneous strikes. Hitsugaya's ice forced her to retreat, driving her into a confrontation with Zaraki. Even as a simulated encounter, his power was overwhelming, so she fought defensively, putting the entirety of her focus into deflecting his sword and slipping by his attacks. That exchange was interrupted by Kuchiki flooding the field with thousands of petal-like blades. A watchful eye revealed the pattern inherent in the flow of that deadly storm. She squeezed through ever tighter corridors of death and closed in to deal a death blow.
Kuchiki's shape changed, becoming smaller and coalescing into a shadow of Soi Fon herself. Without hesitation Soi Fon engaged her doppelganger, trying to keep her under pressure. But this shade was fast, and she had the advantage of being fresh. Soi Fon's attacks began to lag and she started to accumulate considerable damage. She opened herself up, inviting a finishing blow, and when her copy approached to deliver that final attack, She moved her arms in a blur, delivering a pair of crushing jabs that sent the other Soi Fon tumbling across the ground.
The shadow changed again, this time transforming into Yoruichi-sama. Soi Fon's body creaked and spasmed. She wouldn't last much longer. But if she could best this opponent . . . She raised her fists and watched her opponent closely. Yoruichi-sama's body shimmered and suddenly she was within arm's reach. Soi Fon kicked off, trying to create some distance, but her former mentor stuck close to her, making the same moves beat for beat. Again and again she failed to avoid or deflect her opponent's attacks. Desperate for a reprieve, she flailed wildly, forcing the fake Yoruichi-sama to back off.
The shadow's form began to glow. A faint halo formed around her, growing brighter and hotter until it collapsed into a crackling mass of electricity that arced across her body. Shunkō. An incomplete form of the technique, but still devastating. In her current state, Soi Fon had no hope of defeating such a powerful enemy. Her legs trembled and her arms fell limp. The shadow exploded towards her, driving a single, power-filled punch at her chest.
Soi Fon's body finally gave out. She sat, hanging her head between her knees, and gasped for breath. She wouldn't be getting enough air in that position, but she could barely lift a finger let alone uncurl her whole body. She had indeed pushed herself too far.
It took several minutes to catch her breath. Her arms regained a small amount of strength, enough to prop herself up. So she uncurled, leaning back and ignoring the tiny stones digging into her palms. It was only then that she noticed another person sitting a short distance away.
Captain Ōtoribashi of the 3rd Division sat cross legged beneath one of the spindly trees sparsely dotting the training field. He was scribbling in a notebook with an irritatingly relaxed look on his face. "How long have you been there?" Soi Fon called out. She wanted to hit him with a proper glare, but her muscles weren't doing exactly as she'd like, so she settled for sneering at him from the side.
"Not long," He looked up at her just long enough to smirk, "Long enough, however, to see a splendid display of reckless abandon. Truly inspiring."
"Why don't you come over here so I can show you something really inspiring?" She growled, frustration building. How was she supposed to show him anything if she couldn't move? "What do you want?"
He didn't answer. Pen scratching against paper was the only sound to be heard besides the breeze blowing by her ears.
"Well? Are you going to answer me, or am I going to have to come over there and beat an answer out of you?"
He chuckled, snapping his notebook shut. "In any other situation, I'd find myself enamored by your grit, Captain. A throat grinding rock ballad would suit you well. Alas, I can do naught but dream while the threat of the Quincies still looms."
"What?" Soi Fon jerked her head to the side, sending a wave of pain up her scalp and across her shoulders. She shouldn't have expected anything different from an eccentric like the 3rd Division's latest Captain. Why were people like this so unbearable? She grunted, forcing her body to lay flat against the ground. She allowed the tiny pinpricks of pebbles to distract her from her aching muscles.
As she lay there, Ōtoribashi stood and walked up beside her. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring off into the distance.
"Tell me, Soi Fon," he finally said, "what would you do if you had lost your Lieutenant in our clash with the Quincies?"
She cocked an eyebrow. Was he looking for advice? "I would carry on. Change my battle plans for the next time to avoid such casualties."
"So simple, is it?" He looked amused by her answer, "You approach the possibility with such cold pragmatism, and yet here you are, having lost little in the invasion, yet pushing yourself so far that your body nearly fails."
"And what's your point?" She growled, taking the opportunity to glare at him properly.
Ōtoribashi looked down at her, eyes glinting in an unsettling way. "My point is that you prepare for the coming battle with a fervor that the other Captains seem reluctant to approach, and I admire that. You see, I find that I, too, possess that fervor. We are of a similar mindset. I felt that if I observed you pursuing strength at the risk of your own destruction, it would inspire me further."
Soi Fon stared into his eyes and felt her hair stand on end. She had impressions of this man, Ōtoribashi Rōjūrō, starting from well over a century ago, but his behavior here did not match what she knew. That look in his eyes made his usual enigmatic nature seem like a facade. It was almost frightening.
"Instead of looking for inspiration, you should be honing your own strength," She said, pushing herself into a sitting position. "If I were you, I'd seek out a new technique that might prevent further losses."
He nodded, smirking. "For you, perhaps, that is the ideal course of action. But I can assure you that I am well prepared for what is to come. The tools I am most comfortable with will suffice."
"Rather arrogant of you, Captain."
"Indeed. But is it not also arrogant to assume that simply mastering a new technique will give you the edge in battle? I know my enemy as best as can be expected through second-hand reports. I know what he looks like. I know what kind of power he possesses. I know that when I find him, I will play the most beautiful, sonorous tune, and his life will end. What do you know of your enemy?" He redirected that manic gaze towards the scenery once again, but Soi Fon could still feel it on her. That unsettling energy formed an aura around him, seeming to thin the air itself.
She knew what he was getting at. She fought a single opponent during the Quincies' invasion, and she killed him. The 2nd Division hadn't encountered any other notable enemies. From his perspective, he was saying, she was preparing a solution to a puzzle that she did not know the shape of.
That did not sit well with her.
At all.
"I don't need to know what my enemy looks like, or what his powers might be. Those superficial details won't matter if I'm strong enough to destroy those that threaten the Seireitei. If I don't know what kind of puzzle needs solving, then I'll prepare a solution that is powerful and versatile enough to handle anything." She stood. Her legs shook, but she stood, and glared at her fellow Captain for all she was worth. "If all you're going to do is find faults in my training, then do me a favor and get out of here. I have work to do."
He shrugged, "Fair enough." As he walked away, he called back to her, "At least keep this in mind, Captain Soi Fon: When your new technique fails to live up to your expectations, don't forget the tools you are most familiar with. There is elegance in simplicity." He didn't stick around to hear her rebuttal, but that was for the better. She wasn't sure how much more of that smug attitude she could take. And she wasn't sure she wanted to see how deep that crazed aura was.
Taking a deep breath, Soi Fon focused her mind, body, and spirit. She needed something more. Something that could cover her weaknesses and overcome her inadequacies.
Shunkō, she thought, if there is any technique out there that can take my abilities to the level I need, that's it.
She launched herself into another round of shadow bouts, allowing the scope of her opponents to broaden. She couldn't be satisfied with the familiar.
Heedless of her body's erosion, Soi Fon fought against the possibility of defeat.
+ Break +
Ichigo slumped back in his seat, grinding his teeth. The tightness of the space made it difficult to ignore his friend's laughter.
Renji slapped his knee, wheezing. "You should have seen your face!" he gasped, going over their visit to Shutara Senjumaru's palace for the umpteenth time, "It was so red! I swear I heard steam escaping when she started measuring your waist!" He burst out in another fit of laughter, nudging Rukia, who was sitting next to him.
"How would you expect me to react in that situation, huh? Suddenly being stripped by some woman in front of my friends isn't something a normal person could take calmly!" Ichigo tried defending his embarrassment-his ears still felt warm-but that only made Renji laugh harder. He listened with no way to fire back. He just had to take it.
In these cramped quarters, there wasn't much else he could do. The spherical vehicle that was ferrying them to the next palace was soft, apparently constructed of cloth-however that worked-but was only large enough to accommodate four small passengers. So, while Rukia was perfectly comfortable, Ichigo and Renji had to compete for leg room. There was nowhere to run, and they were close enough together that covering his ears would hardly muffle the irritating mockery at all.
Rukia leaned in and tapped Ichigo on the knee. She covered her mouth so that Renji couldn't see it and arched an eyebrow. She didn't bother whispering, though, "He's giving you a hard time, but when he was disrobed, Renji went bright red from head to toe. So don't feel too bad." She snickered, shooting her fellow Shinigami a sly look as he flushed. She was enjoying this way too much. At least it got Renji to stop laughing like an idiot.
And that gave Ichigo an opening, "Are you serious?" he roared, letting a mist of spit escape into the air between them. "You were talking big, but you were way more embarrassed than I was!"
"Shut it! I've got my reasons!" Vengeance sure was sweet. "I wouldn't have been so flustered if she wasn't looking me up and down like she was sizing up a cut of beef!" He turned his ire towards Rukia. Her entire face quivered under the strain of holding back laughter. Renji's expression darkened, "Hey, Ichigo, did you know that while we got stripped in full view of everybody, Rukia here got a private room?"
"No, I hadn't heard that, Renji . . ." Ichigo turned towards her as well. How dare she enjoy their suffering while she got special treatment! He glared at her, matching Renji's expression, but she wasn't fazed. Oh, tears leaked from her eyes, and her body shook uncontrollably, but she wasn't intimidated in the least. The uproarious laughter when she couldn't hold back any longer was proof enough of that.
Ichigo and Renji opened their mouths to give her a piece of their minds, but the cloth ferry lurched to a stop before they could get the words out. They had arrived at their destination.
The final palace.
The stitching on one side of the vessel unraveled, unfolding into a doorway. Swallowing their complaints, Ichigo and Renji followed a giggling Rukia onto the balcony where the ferry had landed. They were immediately buffeted by a powerful spiritual pressure, the owner of which came to greet them with open arms and a frightfully broad smile.
"You've finally arrived! I was beginning to grow worried." Hyōsube Ichibē's voice rang like a gong even speaking in a conversational tone like this. It was disarming.
Rukia and Renji bowed their heads as they had for the other 0 Division members. Ichigo, too, inclined his head just a little. He still didn't feel the reverence the others did for the Royal Guards, but in light of recent events he did think a little bit of respect was in order.
"Now, now, no more of that. There's work to be done. That sort of posturing can wait until after you've successfully repelled the threat bearing down on the Seireitei. Come." Ichibē turned and started towards the palace's inner chambers at a brisk pace. Falling into step behind him, Ichigo and the others braced themselves.
The "training" that they'd received up to this point had been unconventional, to say the least. It was strenuous in ways that Ichigo at least had never encountered. He certainly felt stronger than before. He was complete, so what else could be done?
The inside of the palace was as jarring as the others had been, but the style was thankfully more familiar. Just like the Seireitei at large, Ichibē's palace had a traditional Japanese feel; sliding paper doors, pristine wood floors, and the occasional garden nestled within the network of rooms. It felt like a dojo of some sort, except that it was enormous and labyrinthine.
Rooms lined with tatami mats opened up into sandy workshops which then led into tiered kitchens complete with fire pits and back to well-groomed halls. There was no rhyme or reason that Ichigo could tell. It was almost like the rooms were shifting at random every time a door opened or closed. Ichibē set such a pace that he couldn't wander off to test that, though.
Eventually, Ichibē stopped, "We've arrived at the final destination of your journey with us. I do hope you are prepared." As if on cue, the two larger than normal doors beside him slid open on their own, revealing a spacious room ripped straight out of some temple. Tapestries filled with scrawling mantras lined the walls, and statues-some small enough to fit in the palm of a person's hand, others easily twice the size of a grown man-stood intermittently along the perimeter.
"Please," Ichibē said, gesturing to three cushions placed in the center of the room, "take a seat. Oh, and brace yourselves."
Ichigo led the way, passing through the doorway. As soon as he crossed the threshold, he stumbled, a tremendous spiritual pressure bearing down on his shoulders. He took another step and nearly fell to his knees. The weight he was feeling, it wasn't just on his shoulders. It was covering his entire body, pulling every inch of him to the ground. He got the feeling that if he allowed that to happen, he'd be crushed.
"Don't dally, young ones. Take too long to reach your seat, and you may find yourselves too exhausted to continue." He wasn't kidding. Every step Ichigo took was a battle. By the time he reached one of the cushions, his face was moist with sweat.
The others made it to the cushions, looking as worn out as Ichigo felt. They sat, crossing their legs, breathing heavily. The pressure of this place was so oppressive that even breathing was a challenge. What the hell was this room?!
Ichibē strolled to the center of the room, standing between the cushions. He didn't look burdened at all. "Congratulations! You've successfully completed the first step of your training here."
"The . . . first . . . part?" Ichigo's lips moved lethargically, like they were numb. The voice that crawled out of his mouth sounded as if it were also being distorted by the intense spiritual pressure.
"Yes, the first part. Simply making it to the center of this room is a grand accomplishment and shows how far you've progressed in the last few days. Without strengthening your souls the way you have, my Reiatsu would have flattened you after a couple of steps." The jolly monk chortled as if that weren't a terrifying idea.
Did he say his Reiatsu?
"I call this place the Density Chamber," he continued. "Here, in this room, your souls will be subjected to tremendous pressure. This will temper your souls, finalizing the process of strengthening that began in Tenjirō's hot springs."
"How long . . . will we . . .?" Rukia managed to get the words out better than Ichigo had, but she was sagging dangerously.
"As long as it takes for you to be tempered," Ichibē said, his tone mercilessly flat. "You will meditate for a time, then you will be allowed a break to stand and stretch. That will be followed by more meditation. You will continue like that until I am satisfied." He offered no room for questions. It was going to be the way he said it, his expression implied. No exceptions.
Ichigo focused on breathing in and out. Not an easy task in this environment. He felt like his chest was being clamped in a vice. His shoulders began to droop, but he was too focused on keeping his eyes open to worry about that. It might actually be easier to take if he was lying on the ground. Maybe he should just . . .
"Sit up!" The old monk's shout blasted through the fog threatening to consume Ichigo's mind. His first impulse was to snap up, back straight, but the weight was too great. He forced himself upright, though it felt like trying to swim though syrup. He raised his chin, meeting Rukia and Renji's eyes. Their faces drooped, and they were struggling, but they were holding on too.
"Meditation implies discipline. I expect you to maintain proper posture and demeanor until your first break. Is that clear?" He paused to allow them to respond, but that was stupid. No way they could stay upright and speak like this! "Good," he nodded, "let's see if you can survive for one hour to start."
Ichigo would have groaned at the prospect, but every fiber of his being was dedicated to maintaining his composure and posture. His muscles strained. His mind strained. His very soul strained under the unforgiving weight of Ichibē's spiritual pressure.
It was too much.
But even so, he had to endure.
+ Break +
The main audience hall of the Wandenreich was packed to capacity and then some. A stage had been erected on one side of the vast chamber, limiting the space a fair bit, but even so, Quincies found places to stand. They squeezed together, shoulder to shoulder, climbed up on decorations and the molding on the walls. The balconies were all dangerously over full. And yet no one seemed the least bit concerned for their safety. Why? Because His Majesty was speaking, of course.
"Today marks the true beginning of our conquest! Today, we bring salvation to the worlds, both living and spiritual!" Yhwach struck an imposing figure, dressed in that deep black cloak of his. His voice boomed, filling the entire hall, "Bringing the fight to our enemy's doorstep was draining beyond expectation, but at last, our most powerful soldiers have recovered their strength!" The crowd cheered, managing a volume that eclipsed His Majesty's speech. Even the Sternritter lined up at the front added their voices to the racket.
Askin Nakk le Vaar rolled his eyes. Even with the stage's harsh lighting he knew no one would notice. All of those puppets out there were far too enthralled by His Majesty's grace. Oh, they would cheer for Askin and the other members of the Shutzstaffel, Yhwach's personal guard, but their attention could never be torn from the object of their loyalty. He couldn't imagine Haschwalth letting any of them have that much agency.
So he let himself slouch and yawn as the circus dragged on. It wasn't healthy to be so stiff when your heart wasn't in it. Sure, picking at his ear drew a pretty pointed glare from Lille, but it wasn't like that bootlicker's opinion of him was worth anything. The other Shutzstaffel had the good sense to mind their own business. Why couldn't he?
Groaning, Askin straightened up. No sense in starting a fight in front of the rank and file. His Majesty would probably scold him, and then Haschwalth would definitely have words for him. Too much trouble for such a boring conflict.
"And now," Yhwach announced, finishing off his rousing pep talk, "one among you, a member of my royal guard, would like to say a few words. His loyalty and endless dedication to our cause compels me to grant him this chance to speak to all of you." He stepped aside, making way for a new speaker.
Gerard stepped out of the line and approached the edge of the stage. "Comrades! Seeing you all gathered this way makes my soul swell with pride! If only our venue was large enough to allow every last one of us to attend. Alas, we have not the means to make such a thing possible. Not yet, that is!" He raised a cheer and the crowd responded with fervor.
His bulging muscles and winged helmet painted quite the picture. Perhaps that was why he was so popular among the indoctrinated masses. He fit the bill of the holy avenger better than anyone else. "Today we fight the most just battle to have ever been fought! Today, we bring an end to these so-called Shinigami and their twisted system of death and rebirth!" The crowd continued to cheer as he stepped away, smiling and waving like some kind of celebrity.
Yhwach returned to center stage and Haschwalth joined him. Those two, the two halves of the Wandenreich's brain together, brought an oppressive silence to the chamber. The moment stretched on as His Majesty swept his gaze over the soldiers of his grand army. What was going through his head? This enigmatic spirit of vengeance nursed a grudge for a thousand years . . . How did his brain work? How did he see the world he was trying to make?
That question alone saw Askin join in with the rabble for once. He watched His Majesty's back, intent on the possibilities he brought forward.
"Our legacy is one of perseverance. We were betrayed, but we survived. We were forced out, but we have endured. No matter how low we may have seemed in the last millennium, my presence here, our presence here, proves that we were not wrong. That our cause is just! That we are the true inheritors of the world!"
"Our path is clear. We will break the Shinigami and take the cursed power of the Soul King for ourselves. We will purify that power and use it to purify all of existence. The Hollow threat will vanish! There will no longer be any need for the Shinigami and their corruption! We will guide all people through a new, illuminated world. At last, there will be peace!" Yhwach's voice shook the walls well before the cheers erupted. In an instant, the entire foundation of the Wandenreich was trembling with excitement.
Askin didn't even try to resist getting swept up in that fervor. He raised his voice alongside Lille, Gerard, and Nianzol. He even felt a little annoyed that Gremmy didn't join in. At a time like this, the entire Shutzstaffel should be leading the cheers. But he let it slide. His mood was too good to let something so insignificant bring him down. He didn't have a stick up his ass the way Lille did.
The lights, the sounds . . . it was such a trip. Once again Askin was thrown into that maelstrom of probability that was the future. The uncertainty was simply intoxicating.
His Majesty marched off stage, but Askin paid him no mind. Blessed leader of the Quincies he may be, Yhwach himself was far less interesting than the goals he pursued. It would have been nice to stew in that euphoric feeling for a while longer, but Haschwalth still stood on the stage.
"That's enough!" The noise in the room cut off. His influence over the minds of these soldiers was well beyond creepy enough to bring Askin's mood down. "You are all dismissed. Return to your posts and prepare for the coming charge." The entire chamber shifted as the regular army turned to file out as one. The groans of those who still had some semblance of free will were drowned out by rhythmic, coordinated footsteps.
"You all should go prepare as well," Haschwalth said, turning to the Shutzstaffel. Nianzol leaped to obey, the poor bastard. The others left at their own pace, but none of them stuck around for more than a few seconds. Soon, it was just Askin and Haschwalth standing there. "Well? Are you telling me you are prepared to attack already, Nakk le Vaar?"
"You could say that. I plan on moving independently for a while. So long as I keep the rendezvous time and place straight in my head, it's fine right?" Askin narrowed his eyes at the second-in-command of the Wandenreich.
Haschwalth responded with his own suspicious glare. "One would think that being given freedom to act on one's own would instill a sense of loyalty towards those who granted it."
"I'm plenty loyal. To His Majesty," it was more loyalty to his ideals, but Haschwalth didn't need to know that. "You know full well that I'm a more effective tool when I can think for myself. It isn't like you could comprehend the best ways to use this power I've had since childhood even if you did decide to bless me with that power of yours." That earned a full on scowl. Yhwach's right hand man didn't like to have his abilities questioned. How did someone with so much power and influence end up so insecure?
He regained his composure, putting on a mask of control. "As long as you respond to His Majesty's summons, I suppose it doesn't matter what you do. Just don't get yourself killed, Nakk le Vaar."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Number Two."
.He stormed off with a huff, leaving Askin alone on the stage. It was never wise to get on the bad side of those that stood above you, but it really couldn't be helped. Haschwalth was a loathsome creature. Simply being in his presence was enough to give Askin the shivers.
Yes, he understood the necessity of it. Without someone like Haschwalth to bind the regular forces of the Quincies together, they wouldn't have been able to gather such a formidable force, and would therefore be unable to launch an attack on the Seireitei in the first place. But did the benefits really outweigh the costs? They gained coordination unachievable by any normal force of this size, but they sacrificed the individuality of the soldiers.
How many of those "weak" soldiers held powers that could be used to the Wandenreich's advantage? Powers that would now be lost as their ability to cultivate those abilities was crushed under Haschwalth's influence? If he pumped enough power into them to overcome loss of competency, as was done with Nianzol, Haschwalth wouldn't be able to empower nearly enough soldiers. His ungodly amount of spiritual power was still finite, after all.
How many Shrift did they sacrifice for this million-armed monster? All of that potential was lost forever. They would save the world, make it safer, but with so many of their number rendered unable to think for themselves, that new world was destined to be more dull than Yhwach imagined it.
It was all so sad.
Still, it would be better than the current situation. That alone kept Askin from bringing his grievances into the conversation. When this was all over though . . .
He chuckled to himself. That sort of divergent thinking wasn't going to do anyone any good at this point. The enemy in front of them was the Seireitei and its Shinigami. He probably come up with some kind of plan, but that felt so confining. He just wasn't the type to keep to a plan like that.
Askin Nakk le Vaar was the kind of man who followed where his curiosity led, so why do things differently now? He made his way up to one of the Wandenreich's towering battlements and looked out over the enemy's territory.
Where should he start? Where could he find the most interesting interactions?
He wondered, the edges of his mouth curling up into a hungry smile.