Abarai Renji breathed slowly, deep in meditation. He did his best to shut out the goings on outside, but with so many horribly powerful bursts of energy flashing on the edge of his awareness, maintaining focus was proving too much to bear. He stole a peek at his friends seated on cushions around him. Ichigo was being uncharacteristically well behaved. The guy looked like a statue. Wasn't he itching to get out there and bust some heads too? Renji couldn't be the only one, right?
No way, Ichigo was definitely the odd man out. Rukia at least looked a little anxious. Her skin glistened just slightly as beads of sweat rolled down her neck. Even when meditating she exuded an intensity that took Renji's breath away. He could get lost in that . . .
This really wasn't the time. He shook himself, banishing those distracting thoughts as well as the stiffness in his shoulders. He breathed in, holding the air in his lungs and feeling his heart beat. He was supposed to be reflecting on himself.
He still wasn't sure what that meant, though. He felt stronger after going through the 0 Division's training, but that was about it. Aside from a slightly unfamiliar impression from his Zanpakuto, he was still the same Abarai Renji that he was when they started. He was a Shinigami of the Gotei 13. He was Lieutenant of the 6th Division under Kuchiki Byak-
He was Lieutenant of the 6th Division. He'd have to learn not to add that second part. Until a new Captain was appointed, he was all the 6th had. He should have been out there leading them. Instead, he was here, sat on an increasingly uncomfortable cushion with his eyes closed, breathing in and out. In and out.
Things wouldn't go back to how they used to be. Captain Kuchiki was gone. Defeating the Quincies wouldn't change that. So then, what was Renji supposed to do? He couldn't be Byakuya, no matter how hard he tried.
Then don't be him, a voice said in the back of his mind. It was Zabimaru, he knew, but so much had changed. For one, their voice sounded a lot like Renji's now, except not. The voice he remembered was still there, but it felt more like an echo of his own voice.
He mulled over his sword's words. Don't be him, huh? That's easy. I'm already not him. That's the problem. He wanted to dismiss the notion right there. He didn't want to think or feel. All he wanted right now was to finish his training and join in the battle.
The implications behind Zabimaru's words were apparent to him, though. Something about their bond gave him impressions beyond the base meaning of the statement. Don't be Byakuya. Be Renji. But then, being Renji wasn't as simple as staying where he was. It was a plan. The Renji of right now wasn't as important as the Renji of tomorrow or the next day. Zabimaru was saying he needed to decide who he was going to be.
Why did it make so much more sense when his sword said it? He tried to wrap his head around the idea-he couldn't see the future, so how was he supposed to figure any of this out-but only made himself more anxious.
He grit his teeth and tried asking Zabimaru to explain, but then, "Look at you, Lieutenant Abarai!" Ichibē's voice boomed right by his ear, causing Renji to leap off his cushion. When did he come back?! "You've just about consolidated your spirit already! Well done!" The bald priest laughed, his beard bouncing.
"Thank . . . you?"
"No need for thanks. Simply show me your Zanpakuto." Renji shrugged and held out his hand. Zabimaru dropped into his open palm in its sealed form. He marveled at the ease of it. The weight felt so natural. He held the weapon out so the Head Priest could inspect it. Ichibē scratched his chin, looking over the blade with bulging eyes. "I see."
For some reason, Renji started to sweat. The 0 Division was already a group well beyond his reach, yet here was their leader, mulling over his sword. Why had he been singled out when the other two were much more exceptional?
"You are almost there, Lieutenant Abarai. All that is left for you to do is learn this blade's new name."
"New name? You mean this guy isn't Zabimaru anymore?"
"Don't be silly. Zabimaru will always be Zabimaru. In this more complete form, however, it will have acquired a new epithet. If you do not learn this, you will not be able to use Bankai." He said it so plainly that it took Renji a second to understand his meaning.
His jaw dropped. "I thought you said I was almost done! I can't fight these enemies without my Bankai!"
"Not to worry. I am sure that you have noticed how much closer you are to your Zanpakuto's spirit. Reacquiring Bankai will be nothing like your first experience." Ichibē clapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the cushion, "Back to it, Lieutenant! You are on the cusp of completion. That goes for you as well, Lieutenant Kuchiki!" Rukia's shoulders jumped, but she looked happy. It was nice to see her smile like that.
"So, when we reach 'completion' you'll let us go?" Renji asked, crossing his legs.
"Indeed. I suspect you and Lieutenant Kuchiki will be out the door within the hour."
"What about me?" Ichigo said, eyebrows knit with concern.
Ichibē shook his head, "You will need more time, Kurosaki Ichigo. Please understand."
Renji expected an argument. Ichigo had been acting more level-headed since he caught up with them at Shutara's palace, but being left out like that would have had his blood boiling. He didn't talk back, though. Instead, he took a deep breath and returned to his meditation. The concern disappeared from his face entirely.
Seriously, what happened to the guy?!
Renji exchanged a glance with Rukia, and in that brief, wordless moment, they came to an agreement. They couldn't have a hot-headed kid show them up like that. She closed her eyes, and Renji followed suit. He breathed slowly, deliberately. Zabimaru's voice echoed in his mind.
Have you decided?
Not at all, he responded, I have no clue how things are going to play out. Who I'm going to be . . . there isn't any time to worry about the future. I have to focus on the now! There was silence as he waited for Zabimaru to reply. It was starting to feel awkward. Hey, if it's any consolation, I know who I need to be for the next few hours. I need to be the kind of Shinigami that can stand against the Seireitei's enemies. The kind that can stand with our strongest warriors. The kind that can support the people I care about. In other words, I need to be the kind of guy that can use your power to the fullest.
There was another round of silence, but this time it felt more contemplative. After a few breaths, his Zanpakuto spoke, That will suffice.
Alright! I knew I could count on you, partner! He had his sword's approval. Ichibē was right, that was way easier than the first time. That just left one more thing. So, what should I call you from now on?
In the brief quiet before Zabimaru responded, Renji could practically see the snow-white monkey scratching his chin. He could feel the two heads of his Zanpakuto nod in agreement. They were satisfied.
Call us . . .
+ Break +
Mask de Masculine soared through the air like a comet. Brilliant! Splendid! He spun, tucking his head between his knees before thrusting his legs out. His dazzling visage slammed into a cluster of Shinigami. They crashed through stone and wood, disappearing in an avalanche of rubble.
"Is this a joke?" He laughed. Planting his fists on his hips, he turned his body so that his pristine uniform, stretched over his bulging muscles, caught the light in just the right way to make him shine. The star emblazoned on his mask glittered proudly. "How can so many of you come at me at once and still fail to lay a finger on me? I almost feel bad for you all!"
He leaned down and lifted a large chunk of stone. It was light, much lighter than it should have been considering its size. Were this stone quarried in the Northern Regions, where the Wandenreich was initially constructed, he would have had to seriously exert himself to lift it. To think that their enemy's stronghold would be built with such flimsy material! Mask chucked the too light boulder and grabbed an armful of Shinigami that were buried beneath it.
There had been some fairly strong opponents in this bunch, stronger than many of the Shinigami Mask had encountered so far. None of them were Captains, however, and it showed. What a shame.
Oh well. Mask bundled the Shinigami up in a disappointing lump and threw it after the other group, burying them all together. Rabble was so boring. He had imagined facing down hordes of Shinigami, a lone hero fighting tooth and nail for the fate of the world. He would struggle, but his unending willpower would see him through. And then everyone would cheer and celebrate his display of power!
The reality was proving to be much less exciting. It was a given that the Shinigami would crumble under the Sternritter's might, but there was supposed to be some challenge. His Majesty and Lord Haschwalth would never praise his efforts if he didn't accomplish something more impressive.
He needed to fight a Captain. Someone like that Kuchiki fellow. Now that was an exciting bout! Weakened by the Wandenreich's transfer into the Seireitei, he and Äs almost failed to kill that lone Captain. He'd had to share the glory then, but this time he was on his own. For the most part.
"Hey, James!" Mask called, summoning his biggest fan.
"Sir!" The diminutive man leaped out from behind a pile of stones and bounded around Mask like an excited puppy.
Mask smiled, bathing in the admiration. "How many is that now, James?"
"You're just under eighty, sir!
"Hmm, that is a fair amount . . ." Mask scratched his chin, running through the Shinigami he'd defeated up to now. As far as he could tell, none of them were worth remembering. "Fair amount or not, if I don't find someone truly powerful to defeat, I'll never leave a mark on history! Isn't that right, James?"
"You're absolutely right, sir! These small fries are just wasting your time!"
"You've got that right, my friend." At this rate, the world would be remade before he could make a considerable contribution. "How am I supposed to find a Captain in this mess? Do I sit and wait, or should keep searching at random?"
"Isn't what you've been doing fine?" James asked, tilting his head. Mask blinked at him, prompting him to explain. "Think about it, mister. You've been working your way up the ranks, fighting stronger and stronger guys as you go, so if you keep going you should eventually run into a Captain."
"James, you genius! What would I do without you?" Mask's biggest fan blushed furiously and jiggled with excitement while the man himself prepared. "We'll press on, then. It might take all day and through the night, but we will find and defeat one of the dreaded Captains of the Gotei 13! But first . . ." Mask stepped through the wreckage from his previous fight until he reached the unconscious bodies of the Shinigami. "I'll finish these off."
Mask raised his fists into the air. He was going to slam these stepping stones into the earth. Before his arms could come down, though, a pitch black chain wrapped around his wrists. He cocked an eyebrow.
"Look out, mister!" James cried.
Mask looked around, but saw nothing to be concerned about. What was James-
A sudden impact sent Mask skidding across the ground. He tried to stand, but the chain binding his hands pulled taut. Without solid footing he was helpless to resist being flung up into the air and then slammed back down.
The chain loosened and slid away as a black blur dove in from above. It slammed into Mask's chest, giving him his first clear look at his new opponents. "That is a brilliant mask for a heel," he said, denying the knees trying to force the air out of his lungs. He couldn't see her face, but the Shinigami on top of him started, shocked that he was still in good condition. He reached up with both hands to tear that mask off, but she leaped away.
"Are you alright, sir?!" James scurried up to him, teeth chattering. He wasn't accustomed to such violence, innocent as he was. That he would come so close in the middle of a battle showed just how shaken he was. Poor, naive James.
Mask jumped up and struck a magnificent pose, "Worry not, my friend! Such cowardly tactics could never wound me!" He laughed and the pudgy little man's demeanor brightened.
Mister! You're the greatest!" Mask drank in James' cheers. His muscles felt more firm and his senses more acute. His chest thumped as his heart beat harder, pumping blood through his veins like a champion.
He smiled, "These two are strong, James, so be a good lad and take cover." The tiny man saluted and skittered away while Mask cracked his knuckles. The one with the chain was on the weaker side, for sure, but his presence was much greater than the trash he'd encountered thus far. The masked woman, on the other hand, was the genuine article. A chimera with both Shinigami and Hollow Reiatsu . . . Such an evil creature must possess great strength indeed!
If only they didn't look like they already had one foot in the grave. What a shame.
Mask ran at the man with the chain, descending on him before he could raise his arms to guard. A swift combination should make quick work of him. Mask managed to get two solid hits in before the woman reacted. She was fast, leaping in like in a blur to help, but not fast enough. Mask's blood simmered.
He released the man with the chain, allowing him to stumble back, and grabbed the masked woman out of the air. Then he started spinning. He whipped her around, building momentum until he felt the centrifugal force trying to separate them. He let go, sending her crashing into her partner.
The elbow drop was next! This one-two punch had spelled the end for dozens of Shinigami so far. Mask laughed, soaring into the air. As he reached the apex of his jump, he leveled his elbow, drawing a straight, parallel line with the ground.
He fell, gaining speed that would add destructive force to his perfectly executed move. He would do these villains one courtesy. They would have an end fitting for the foes of a spectacular hero!
A glittering golden cord wrapped tightly around Mask's body and yanked him out of the air. He flexed, trying to break free, but the cord only squeezed tighter. I've had quite enough of being lassoed like cattle! He braced himself against the coming crash, tensing his muscles and funneling Reishi through his veins. Blut Vene was akin to wearing pads in the ring and only those unaccustomed to combat should ever use it. However, against this sneak attack it was only fair.
Even with his reinforced body being slammed against the ground was incredibly painful. His muscles and Blut absorbed much of the force, but when the back of his head bounced off the stone, his vision swam.
". . . ster! Ar . . . alright?!" James' voice barely made it through the fog enveloping Mask's mind.
It did make it though, though.
"Please be okay, sir! I believe in you!" Those wonderful cheers cut through the haze like a hot knife, restoring his senses to full capacity. Mask leapt up, laughing and striking poses for his adoring fan.
He squatted, raising his hand. James jumped-he was too small to reach otherwise-and completed the high-five with a satisfying clap. "Well done, my friend! Once again your support is invaluable!" he said, grinning wide and shooting James a heroic thumbs up.
He turned back to the Shinigami. The cord that slammed him had retreated while he was incapacitated, no doubt, but its wielder should still be around.
There, standing over the foes he was so rudely prevented from finishing, stood a Shinigami in a white coat. His sleeves were torn away, giving the man a rough and tumble sort of air. Appearances could be deceiving, though. Mask's senses, on the other hand, often spoke true, and right now they were telling him that this man was incredibly strong.
"Oho! A Captain finally appears! You took your sweet time, didn't you!" He laughed, approaching slowly. Bravado was all well and good, but caution was essential against opponents of true strength. "Come to rescue your comrades, then? If only you'd arrived sooner, then we could have had a marvelous bout indeed! The lone hero standing against three villains in a desperate battle! It doesn't get more exciting then that!"
The Captain clicked his tongue. "Do Quincies only have one volume or something? Put a cork in it," he said, fussing over his injured compatriots. He didn't even look up.
Mask smiled wide. Cocky bad guys were the best! No other type of villain was so satisfying to put down.
"Jeez. I tell them to take it easy and this is how they end up." The Captain finally stood, stepping between Mask and his fallen comrades. "I expected as much from Mashiro, but I figured Shūhei wouldn't be so stupid."
"Now, now. Don't be so hard on them. They made a good show of it. At the very least, they were a good warm-up." Mask's eyes flicked up and down, taking his new opponent in. No golden cord. "Good thing they both came at me at once. I'm fairly confident I can take both of you out. Even if one of you is too much of a coward to show himself."
The Captain sighed, tossing his head, "What did I tell you, Rose? He saw through you in an instant."
"That's too bad. I was hoping to get at least one more sneak attack in. But Kensei, you didn't even try to fool him." Another Shinigami emerged. A refined air and a long, gaunt face . . . he certainly looked the part of the coward. He also wore the white jacket that indicated a Captain.
"You know I can't act."
Mask slammed a fist into his chest and laughed, "Excellent! My luck has suddenly improved a great deal!" Two Captain's at once! Could he ask for a better opportunity to prove his worth? He most certainly could not!
"Yeah, I've had enough. Bankai!" The less refined Captain, Kensei, spun a large knife on his finger. The blade glowed and that light enveloped him, wrapping around his arms and shoulders. When the light faded, he was armed with what appeared to be a weaponized armor.
Bankai: A Shinigami's ultimate technique. That should have placed it on the same level as Vollständig. Having faced it once before, however, Mask wasn't impressed. He turned to the other Captain, "And you? Not going to join your friend and release your sword?"
The man called Rose shrugged. "Later, perhaps. It depends on how well you fare against his attacks." A coward through and through. If Kensei was the type of villain who solved all of his problems with violence, then Rose was the thoughtful type. A schemer. Fighting someone like that one-on-one was never very fun. With one of each type, though . . .
"Fine then. I'll see to you after I've had a proper fight with him." Hirenkyaku launched Mask at the Shinigami. He threw himself at Kensei like a missile, thrusting both boots into the villain's chest. Solid contact.
The Captain didn't budge.
"Wha-?!" Mask blinked as he was brought to a complete stop in the air. With that much force, the Shinigami should have at least slid a short distance!
"You've got to be shitting me," Kensei grumbled from behind Mask's boots. "They were taken out by something this pathetic?!" He pushed Mask back, and before he could get both feet back on the ground, Kensei was right in front of him.
"Your speed and power are incredible, Captain, but not-"
"Shut your damn mouth!" Kensei grabbed Mask's collar and pulled him down to his level. In the same motion, he threw a punch into Mask's stomach.
A shockwave burst out from the impact scattering the rubble from the earlier fights. Mask stumbled back, clutching his obliterated gut. He couldn't breathe or stand up straight, and it felt like his eyes would pop out of his skull. That was just one punch?! He dropped to his knees, still trying to get air to flow into his lungs. He was denied.
Kensei grabbed him again and pulled him up with ease. How was he so powerful? How could the gap be that wide?! Kuchiki didn't give them this much trouble! He might have been weakened by The Fear, but even then! The Captain's knuckles cracked as he threw another punch into Mask's already devastated abdomen. This time, he kept his fist buried in his gut.
Another impact racked the area, then another, and another. Mask's mind went blank with pain as he was assaulted over and over again. Each strike felt deeper and more powerful than the last. How?! A thought occurred to Mask as he felt blood surging up his throat.
Ah . . . Bankai are strong after all.
As the blood reached his open mouth, Kensei let go of his collar, and the repeated blows sent him flying. He crashed into a building, and the entire structure collapsed on top of him.
+ Shift +
The building collapsed, burying the boisterous Quincy. Icing on the cake at this point. Unless he had some miraculous healing ability, Kensei's Bankai would have liquefied his insides long before he let go.
Not that Rose was complaining. He didn't need a distraction like that taking up his time. He had only one target. All of his wrath and anguish were meant for a single enemy, and he couldn't be bothered to give anyone else a taste until he found the flamboyant Quincy that devastated his Division.
That being said . . .
"What should we do with him?" Rose crossed his arms and studied the strange little man having a fit at his feet. Tears leaked from beneath the goggles covering his eyes and he pulled and scratched at his overalls. It was a wonder he didn't hurt himself writhing and screeching on the ground like that.
Kensei dusted off his hands, barely sparing the pathetic creature a glance. "Forget about him. Not like he's a threat."
"True enough."
The blubbering cue ball didn't have any sort of Spiritual Pressure that Rose could sense. That either made him a run of the mill Quincy, so weak that he couldn't even absorb Reishi from his surroundings, or a completely normal, powerless human being. If anything, treating this man as a danger would have been cruel, all things considered.
Leaving him to fend for himself wouldn't be much better, but as long as the fighting continued, they couldn't waste time getting him to safety. He was weak enough that no one would consider him a threat, so he'd likely survive.
When this was all over, Rose would make sure he got grouped up with the Quincy deserters, safe and sound.
"Oh, mister!" the poor sop cried, pounding his fists against the pavement. Each impact made an amusing squeaking noise, but his shrieks were starting to get annoying. "You can't lose here! You have to keep fighting!"
"Let's go, Rose. I need to get my Lieutenants to the 4th Division. Again."
Rose shrugged. "I'll help you part of the way, but I have my own duties to attend to." He raised his voice to be heard over the crying. It really was starting to grate on his nerves, but at the same time, there was a beautiful depth to those wails.
The little man's voice carried anguish and desperation; the sorrow of one whose beliefs were being shattered in front of their eyes. It was a siren of betrayal, of denial. "I still believe in you, mister! You can beat anyone! You'd never lose!" His refusal to accept the reality in front of him was captivating, in a way. But not so captivating that Rose would stick around to grab hold of inspiration.
He turned to follow Kensei, then the air grew still and heavy.
"Fight on! Superstar!"
That scream pierced Rose's ears like a high pitched whistle. He froze. Kensei did too. They both felt everything shift. They were being pulled, like something had wrapped around their bodies and started reeling them in. Their focus was drawn to the collapsed building and the surging power radiating from the rubble.
That growing power suddenly vanished from the wreckage and reappeared behind them. Both Captains spun, blades flashing. Rose managed to catch a glimpse of the masked Quincy, perfectly unharmed and looking a size or two larger in the physique department. That glimpse was all he managed to get before the Quincy swung his arm and sent them flying.
The masked man's laughing voice reached Rose through the rubble he ended up buried in, "How is that for a heroic comeback? That look of pure disbelief on your faces was priceless!"
Calling that a comeback didn't do it justice. It was more like a reset. It was as if the Quincy hadn't been hurt at all. In fact, he appeared to be much stronger than he was minutes before. The more powerful Quincies had unique abilities, supposedly, so was this his?
"My name is Mask De Masculine! I am the greatest hero of the Wandenreich! And I will never fall as long as my adoring fans support me! Isn't that right, James?"
"You got it, Superstar!"
Well, that was one mystery solved . . . sort of. Rose considered that vague explanation as he dug himself out of the pile of stone and wood. That little man was the key, clearly. This Mask fellow received a power boost from his voice. The better question was how far did this power go? It would be wise to retreat until they could get a better grasp on his limits. Or so Rose would have liked to say.
Kensei emerged first, slamming his fists together. "Back me up, Rose," he said and ran off. Rose was still pulling his legs out of the rubble. At that moment, he made a very hard decision.
He wouldn't be giving Kensei the support he was hoping for. That put his old friend at risk, but they were both Captain's of the Gotei 13. They knew that sacrifices were necessary sometimes. Still, Rose bit his lip as he strengthened his resolve. He didn't want to have to write another song for a fallen friend any time soon.
While Kensei engaged Mask, Rose slipped through the shadows and watched from a distance. He would wait for an opportune time to strike. That was the best course of action.
Kensei moved fast trying to get in close again. Dirty, up close and personal brawls were his wheelhouse. Even if the opponent was the burly strong type like this Quincy, he always had the upper hand in close quarters. Mask disappeared.
He appeared again right in front of Kensei, who looked as shocked by that sudden burst of speed as Rose was. He barely got his guard up in time to block a series of punches so powerful that Rose felt them like nearby explosions. Kensei's guard fell, his arms limp, and Mask grabbed him by the collar. He lifted the Captain of the 9th Division off the ground and started laying into him with punch after punch. He was getting payback, Rose realized.
A devastating beating like that wasn't enough to take out Kensei, though. He lifted his arms and latched onto the Quincy's bulging arm. He curled his fist, the metal knuckles transforming into a blade, and plunged it into the arm holding him up. He kept it there, clearly putting his all into maintaining contact. All he needed was a few seconds to snap the Quincy's arm with his Bankai's ability.
But Mask didn't budge. His arm didn't even shake under the continuous blows. The Quincy laughed. "We're already past the part where the villain shows off his special move, Captain. From here on, the story is all about the hero!" He grabbed Kensei's arm and squeezed. There was a loud pop, followed by Kensei's agonized growling. He was too proud to let out a scream even now, the bullheaded idiot.
Mask released Kensei and vanished. The moment Kensei hit the ground, he reappeared, diving down from above. His knees slammed into Kensei's chest, sending blood spraying from his mouth. This was bad, but Rose had to persevere. He was close. Just a few more seconds.
"And so the villain is defeated!" Mask stroked his mustache and struck a pose, flexing and really testing the limits of his uniform. "That's one down. Now, where'd the other one run off to? Are you still here, mister coward?"
That was his cue. Rose stepped up to the tiny man called James and flicked his wrist. The little hype man barely managed a panicked croak before Kinshara sliced him in two with a snap.
The Quincy stared in horror as Rose stepped over James' corpse, "Well now, isn't this a tragedy? Your beloved fan is dead, and right before your eyes. That must sting for a righteous hero such as yourself." He taunted Mask. Goaded him. As long as he wasn't thinking straight, the next move would be more effective. "Bankai."
Kinshara glowed a blinding gold and released a note so high-pitched that it would barely be audible. It retracted and shrank until it was little more than a stick in Rose's hand. This delicate baton was the true form of his Zanpakuto. Not the most intimidating weapon on its own, admittedly, but that was fine. It wasn't what Rose made of it that mattered, but what Mask did.
The Quincy's eyes widened further and shifted rapidly. He was sizing up the illusory figures conjured by Kinshara Butōdan's music. Many enemies Rose had battled over the years were stoic as rocks. They wouldn't let their nerves show no matter what he showed them. That made it difficult to tell if the illusion had taken hold. Not so with this foe. He raised his arms as if anticipating an attack by Kinshara's Dancers.
"You fiend," he said, glaring from one imaginary familiar to another, "Does you deviousness know no bounds? Hiding in the shadows while your comrade took a beating. Striking an innocent soul like James. You are the most heinous villain I've encountered yet!"
Rose couldn't help but smile at that. All this destruction and death, and he was the villain? In one sense, the masked man was right. He was a soul consumed by vengeance. If he died now, he would most certainly be reborn as a Hollow. Perhaps he should embrace the role of the antagonist.
He laughed, forcing himself at first, but he slowly realized the cruel irony of the scene and soon he was hysterical. "When you sit so proudly on that high, high horse, I suppose I would seem devious. I owe you an apology, I believe. My vengeance is meant for another, and yet, I have taken the life of a defenseless bystander simply because it would weaken you." He took a deep breath, stifling the obscene humor, and started waving his hands.
His movements were swooping and graceful. He counted off each beat with a swift, crisp flick. The Dancers began to move, or so it would seem to Mask. They glided over the ground, leaping and twirling, responding to a music that only he and Rose could hear.
"I should apologize, but I will not. For you see, vengeance yet guides my hand." His arms cut wide, swooping arcs in the air as he conducted a grand symphony. Waves crashed, a storm raged. This battlefield was the most turbulent sea. Deep, booming percussion accompanied the perilous whine of heavy bass strings.
Mask gasped and started thrashing. He would be seeing the Dancers circling him now, their bodies rocking back and forth, interpreting the scene. There was panic in his attempts to ward off those specters. He could feel the effects of the song, but he could not see the picture Rose was painting. Not yet.
Kinshara Butōdan rose in a wide arc, then crashed down sharply, and Mask's arms shot down to his sides. He struggled, but he was already enveloped by a whirlpool. Rose could see it now, a faint hint of raging waters, like a ghost of the sea he was conducting. Mask could see it too. The roaring waves closed in around him. He opened his mouth to shout, but no sound came out. He writhed, realizing that he could not breath. Of course he couldn't. Not while he was held underwater.
Rose held the illusion just long enough to be tortuous, then stopped it abruptly with a quick flick of his wrist. The Dancers retreated and Mask fell to his knees, gasping for air and choking on water that wasn't really there.
Even with that mask, he looked haggard. And yet, "I didn't take you for the type to fight with water. Consider me shocked," he chuckled, actually managing to look amused as he spat up imaginary seawater. "But now you've played your hand. It's only a matter of time until I plow through it with the force of Quincy justice!"
Incredible. His skull was thicker than Rose thought. "You think my Zanpakuto is associated with water? Understandable, I suppose, but ultimately incorrect." He swung Kinshara Butōdan. Slowly, at first. The Dancers shifted, languid and dull. Then a burst of energy. He conducted in tight, quick strokes. The tempo grew faster and faster, the beats irregular. The Dancers would be marching aggressively before lunging like wild animals. They took up positions around Mask and switched between sharp, ordered movements and frantic gyrations.
Their dance invoked pain. They were demons spreading flames over the denizens of hell with glee. Fires danced with them, rising and falling. Flickering with heat and an insatiable desire to breathe. To burn.
Mask began to scream. He desperately swatted at his uniform and face trying to stamp out the flames he saw leaping onto him. No amount of rolling in the dirt would extinguish these, however. He was burning. That was reality as he saw it and would see it until Rose chose to end the piece.
He did not stop, though. Not yet. The movements of his baton became more and more clipped and hurried. Horns blared, overlapping staccatoed strings which in turn rose to overpower the horns. This piece was chaos.
An inferno.
Mask slammed his fists into the ground. The paving stones shattered, but he continued to scream. There was nothing he could do. So long as Rose wished it, he would suffer.
"Sound is my weapon, Quincy!" He incorporated his voice into the piece, casting himself as a demon king come to terrorize the damned. "My music is your suffering! These notes grip your heart. Listen, and despair!" His desire to avenge his slaughtered Division bubbled up and drove him. His movements became wild and aggressive. Far more than was necessary. He should have been composed. A conductor could find himself pulled into a piece, but he should never forget that he was in control. A symphony without someone to guide it was doomed to collapse.
But it felt so good! More heat! More Pain! Make him suffer for what the Quincies had done! Rose could almost feel the heat of the flames himself. He was being pulled into his own illusion. Yet still he did not stop.
"Don't give up, Superstar!"
That piercing shout made him stop. His hands froze mid-swing, and he looked back at what should have been two lumps of dead flesh. There was life there instead. A tiny bald man in overalls with tears gushing from underneath his goggles, crying out for his hero.
"You can't be beat, mister! You're the Superstar!"
Rose collected himself and returned his attention to the Quincy. He had stopped conducting, but the music would continue for a short time on its own. As long as it didn't die off entirely he could resume his position without consequence. But even as he swung his arms, bringing the tempo back up, he knew something had changed.
Mask propped himself up on his knees. He no longer screamed. He held his mouth shut through sheer force of will. He looked at Rose, eyes filled with pain, yes, but also bravery and determination. He raised his hands and extended one finger each. Was this some sort of attack? Perhaps a ritual to regain his composure?
Mask plunged his beefy fingers through his mask and deep into his ears. When he pulled them out, his fingertips were covered in blood.
Rose stopped conducting. He stared at the Quincy, slack jawed. The madman had deafened himself! It was a barbaric and rudimentary counter to Kinshara's sound-based illusions. No one had ever crippled themselves to defeat his Zanpakuto before!
And it was crippling. If he couldn't hear, then he wouldn't be able to reap the benefits of his fan's cheers any longer. He had effectively sealed Rose's trump card by sacrificing his own. Suddenly, the difference in combat strength became inescapable.
Rose was far from being the most powerful Captain, and this Quincy was the definition of a powerhouse. If he decided to fight, he would likely lose. Badly. Which meant escape was his only option. Could he rescue Kensei and his Lieutenants in his getaway?
Just as he decided to flee, Mask appeared in front of him, bleeding heavily out of his ears. He pounded Rose's chest with a single earth-shaking punch that sent him flying.
With the wind knocked out of him, Rose struggled to stand, but he did so as quickly as possible. He couldn't afford to be caught in such a vulnerable position against this opponent. He turned to Mask and braced himself for another attack. But the Quincy just stood there.
James bounded up to Mask, saying something that Rose couldn't quite make out. It was likely something supportive. Mask cocked his head and held a hand to his ear. What was left of it, anyway. He couldn't hear the little man's voice. With that confirmation, Rose stood a little taller. He wasn't the strongest, but he was still a Captain of the Gotei 13. He could fight the same as the rest of them.
Mask raised another hand, cupping both ear holes now. "I believe in you, Superstar!" James unleashed his loudest shout yet. It shouldn't have had any effect, but Rose still felt the blood drain from his face.
The Quincy shook and blinked. He tilted his head this way and that, and snapped his fingers. Then he laughed. "And there we have it! Good old Mask De Masculine, good as new!"
Rose's knees buckled. Even without being able to hear, Mask could be strengthened by James' cheer. That meant Kinshara Butōdan was useless. The pudgy little hype man should have been an obvious target, but being cut in half hadn't killed him. Was he even alive to begin with?
The path to victory grew more and more narrow as Rose tried to formulate a plan. Nothing worked. He couldn't think of a single solution! Victory was well and truly beyond his reach.
His grip tightened on Kinshara's length. Shikai was his only real offensive option now. But it was also what he was most used to. If he was to have a chance against this enemy, he would need his trusty golden whip. There would be a chance. He just had to hold on until he figured out what it was.
Easier said than done.
"The time is nigh, dastardly fiend! Prepare for retribution!" Mask walked forward, striking poses while James scurried off somewhere. "I've been saving this special move for a climactic final battle, but I've decided that you will make a good enough target. Behold!" Mask planted his feet and arched his back. Pointing his chin down, he looked Rose right in the eye. His fingers came up, stopping just short of the star insignia on his forehead. The star glowed with a powerful blue-white light. "This . . . is my Star Flash!"
The power being gathered in Mask's star made Rose sweat. He could almost imagine being vaporized by that energy. Could he dodge? Or should he charge and try to interrupt the attack? There wasn't time to think!
The glowing star pulsed, primed to release its payload. A tremendous plume of flame erupted between them before it could. Rose wasn't sure if he should be thankful as another Quincy crashed down amidst the fire.
"Hold it right there, Mask!" The newcomer shouted, his voice harsh. He was smaller than Mask, with more reasonable proportions. His colorful mohawk made the hairs on Rose's neck stand on end. The one who devastated the 3rd Division wielded fire . . .
"What is the meaning of this, Bazz-B? I was just about to dispatch this villain with my new special move! Don't think I'll share the glory with you just because you were here to see it!" Bazz-B . . . so that was his name. The name of the man Rose needed to kill.
"I don't think so, big guy. I was fighting this jerk first."
"You most certainly were not. He didn't look the slightest bit burned when he arrived."
"No, see, my fight with him started back when we first invaded." Bazz-B scratched his head. He looked confused. "You saw the sign on his back, right? Three. That means he's the 3rd Division's Captain, right? I lit that place up when we got here, so we've got beef."
Mask cocked his head, clearly not following.
"So, uhh . . . Think about it! What would Lord Haschwalth say if you stole my kill? Right?" He said that like it actually meant something.
And apparently it did. The shadow of terror darkened Mask's face. " Now, Bazz-B, there's no need to be hasty. We don't need to get Lord Haschwalth involved. We can be civil, can't we?"
"I don't know . . . It sounded like you really wanted to hog all the glory. Pretty shameful if you ask me. Especially for a self-proclaimed hero." Bazz-B had the larger man right where he wanted him.
Rose should have been upset that these fools were ignoring him; that they deemed him so little a threat that they could have a casual conversation practically right next to him. But he wasn't. The way this conversation was going, Rose was going to get his shot at the flame-wielding Quincy without having to fight both of them at once.
"Fine then," Mask said, folding his arms, "I'll give you a chance to take him down. But I insist on sticking around. If you lose, I'll step in. Deal?"
"That works just fine. But you know, I ain't . . . What the hell is that?" Something drew their attention, but Rose was not concerned in the slightest.
If Mask killed him after he'd taken his revenge, then so be it. If another threat were on its way to destroy him, then so be it. If the world came to an end, then so be it. All that mattered was the man that killed his comrades.
"Since I was so gracious in allowing you to resume your fight, you wouldn't mind if I claimed that one, whatever it is, do you?" Mask stared off into the distance. A powerful Spiritual Pressure had appeared in that direction. Little more than a distraction.
"Be my guest. I have my mark." Bazz-B finally turned to face Rose. His face was exceptionally punchable. "Well, Captain, looks like I've got you to myself. I'm sure you've already guessed, but I'm the guy that set your barracks on fire before." He snapped his fingers and a ball of fire sparked into existence for a brief moment. "Oh boy, with an expression like that, you definitely knew."
Rose tensed. His eyes were wide and he was grinding his teeth. His entire face was contorted in what he could only presume was seething hatred. That wouldn't do. He took a deep breath to compose himself. He couldn't let any of the odium escape without good reason. All of it needed to be channeled into defeating this Quincy.
He cleared his throat. "It seems that I've shown my hand right from the start. Hopefully you can tell that my heart burns hotter than any flame you could possibly produce . . . Bazz-B, was it?"
The Quincy laughed. It was a derisive noise. "Nothing burns hotter than my flame. Captain . . . whatever. I don't give two shits what your name is."
"Ōtoribashi Rōjūrō. Don't worry about remembering it. I'm going to carve my name into your very soul so that you'll carry the weight of my hatred into your next life and every life thereafter."
Bazz-B wasn't laughing now, but he was grinning. He bared his teeth like a wild animal. "I am really glad I found you before Mask took you out. I'm going to enjoy burning you until even the ash goes up in smoke!" The ground around him went up in flames. The bricks at his feet were actually burning and melting.
Rose held up a hand. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Quincy. I'd like to suggest a change in scenery."
"I'm sure you would. But I'm done waiting. I'm going to finish what I started right here, right now!" Bazz-B took a step and the ground beneath his feet melted.
Retribution was at hand, even if the location was less than ideal.
+ Shift +
Mask shielded his eyes from the intense glow from Bazz-B's flames. How dare he make such a flashy entrance! He stood out so much more because of that fire. It wasn't fair.
"Looks to me like that guy is overcompensating for something," James said.
"Well said, my friend!" Mask laughed. His biggest little fan always knew just what to say. In an instant his mood was flipped on its head. He couldn't help but smile.
Still, it was a shame that Bazz-B showed up when he did. Two Captains and two Lieutenants? That would have been glorious! Now he had to settle for two Lieutenants and a single Captain. Not nearly as impressive.
Of course, he still did battle with both of them. And counting his participation in defeating the Captain of the 6th Division gave him a total of three Captain kills. He could just gloss over the fact he didn't deliver the finishing blow on two of them.
"Let's go finish off that other Captain, James. I need to have one confirmed kill after all of this." Then there was that mysterious surge of power that he'd claimed. He needed to finish up here quickly so that he could engage with the owner of the Spiritual Pressure before anyone else did.
"Yeah! Let's do it, mister!"
Mask left Bazz-B to his fight and made his way back to the Captain he'd defeated earlier. He was still unconscious of course. That was a shame. He would have preferred the man be awake to see the Star Flash coming at him.
Putting some distance between himself and the incapacitated Captain, Mask planted his feet and stood up straight. He struck a heroic pose-chest puffed out, fists on hips, chin raised and confident-and gave James a wink. The tiny fan melted into a giggling puddle. Satisfied with his preparations, Mask raised his hands, extending two fingers. He breathed in sharply as his fingers reached the star emblazoned on his mask. Reishi from his surroundings gathered there on his forehead, coalescing into a bright ball. Bazz-B's flames didn't hold a candle to this brilliance!
"Get excited, James! This is the new special move I've been itching to unveil! Star Flash!" A dense beam of Reishi surged forth in the wonderful shape of a star. It bore down on the Captain like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds. James cheered and danced. Mask knew he would appreciate such a glorious technique. He laughed, anticipating the disintegration of a heinous foe.
A powerful Reiatsu, the one that caught his attention before, fell from the sky, landing in the beam's path. So, some foolish Shinigami thought to save their comrade from certain doom, did they? That was just perfect! Dying in vain to rescue their cohorts was most fitting for foolish villains! Star Flash slammed into the newcomer like a train and exploded. Mask had never been one to appreciate explosions, but that ear pounding noise and those reverberations passing through him in waves were incredible!
"How do you like that, James?" He had to shout to overpower the echoing booms. "Not too shabby, if I say so myself!"
James laughed and bounced, holding his hands over his ears. It was a little too intense for him. Still, he seemed happy. Mask felt like jumping for joy as well. Too bad expressions of passion of that sort were unbecoming of a hero, let alone a Quincy. He could flex, though.
He raised his arms, stretching the fabric of his uniform to its limit and breathed in James' adoration. He was spectacular! He was marvelous! He was . . . still sensing that Reiatsu from earlier.
Suddenly alert, Mask peered into the smoke that was just now blowing away. Yes, he could see someone standing there. Had they actually managed to defend against his Star Flash? It wasn't his most powerful move by far, but it was still a finishing move in its own right. Could this be another Captain? With Spiritual Pressure like that it was certainly possible.
The smoke cleared and Mask was shocked to see that his new challenger wasn't wearing the white robe of a Captain after all. Was he a Lieutenant, then? Did it matter? Not at all! A powerful opponent was a powerful opponent! Defeating this oddly familiar Shinigami wouldn't increase his Captain points, but he could brag about taking down someone on the same level as one.
Mask raised his hand to hail his new opponent, but then another powerful Reiatsu fell from above. A young woman, dressed rather warmly, this time. Now he knew he'd seen these two somewhere before.
It was right on the tip of his tongue . . .
Oh well, no use fretting over it. He'd probably remember while he beat them into the ground.
+ Break +
Yikes, two more? That could complicate Bazz-B's duel with the 3rd Division's Captain. If one of them decided to step in he'd have to team up with Mask. That was the last thing he needed right now. The guy could be pretty amicable, but it had been a while since he'd gotten any attention. He was probably desperate to make a splash one way or another.
No way in hell was Bazz-B going to share this kill. Especially not with that glory hog. He could take care of the two newcomers alone. If he died, then he died.
That'd be ideal, actually.
"So, Captain, interested in how quickly your officers went down?" Bazz-B taunted, creeping closer step by step. "They barely put up a fight. Especially that Lieutenant of yours. I didn't even realize I'd killed the strongest guy in the room on the first shot until it was over. What a bitch, am I right?" He tossed his head back, laughing.
He was expecting some kind of reaction. Bared teeth, tears, shaking, anything really. But his prodding got him nowhere. This guy was a statue all of a sudden. He was snarling at Bazz-B like a devil a second ago, so what happened?
"Fine. Whatever." Bazz-B raised his hand and pointed at the Captain, aiming for his chest. Dead center. "Burner Finger One." A white-hot jet of fire shot out of his finger. This was his most basic move with The Heat, but it was effective against pretty much anybody, Captains included. All of his attacks were.
The ray of flame reached the Captain, grazing his shoulder as the Shinigami dove out of the way. His glittery whip transformed, shrinking into a thin stick. A group of . . . things-they looked vaguely like people, but their bodies were made of coiling golden cords-appeared before Bazz-B's eyes along with a steady, quiet tone. Were these familiars, like Mask's little cue ball, or what?
He aimed at one of them and fired off another blast, but when the fire reached it unraveled, allowing the beam to pass right through. Taking them out was no good, then. Fine, he could still burn their master to a crisp!
Bazz-B took aim, gathering power for a particularly intense blast.
Suddenly, he was treading water. Salty foam surged into his nose and mouth and a powerful current whipped him around in a tight circle. He tried to resist the flow, but was swept off his feet. A biting cold cut into his skin.
He couldn't stand. Every time he tried he was pushed around by powerful waves. Even moving his arms was difficult as the flow forced them to wrap around his body. His lungs were filled with water, but that didn't stop him from cursing the Shinigami doing this to him.
Bazz-B glared at the Captain through choppy seas. He met the other man's infuriating calm with fiery rage. If that was how that bastard wanted to play this, then fine! He'd melt that pathetic mask right off his face!
Two fingers were enough to deal with a little puddle like this. He swung his arm at the tempest holding him down. A trail of fire split the air and parted the sea, boiling it away like it was nothing. The burst of steam that followed left him feeling damp.
"How . . . do you like that . . . Captain?" Bazz-B taunted Ōtoribashi, coughing up as much water as he could. The Captain's shocked expression was downright delicious. "My fire isn't the ordinary sort. Douse me with water all you like. I'll just evaporate it!"
"That isn't . . . That shouldn't be . . ." Ōtoribashi sputtered. Was he the sort to have total confidence in his abilities? Idiots like that were the best to prove wrong. "Never mind. We'll try another piece, then." The quiet tone from before shifted. The weird cord creatures returned to their starting positions for a moment before breaking off into another odd dance.
They took long, almost lunging, steps. Their bodies trailed behind their legs as if they were being blown by a powerful wind. They surrounded Bazz-B and started spinning slowly. It looked like they were falling in slow motion, but they never got any close to the ground. The Captain's attacks probably had something to do with these creepy things, but Bazz-B came to the same conclusion as before.
If he took out the guy controlling them, it didn't matter how unsettling they were. He took a step forward, raising a finger, "Burner Finger-" His foot sunk into the ground. The stone had become soft, like sand. The sudden change in texture threw him off, but it wouldn't stop him. He kept going, raising his finger again, "Burner Finger One!" His other leg sank up to the knee, forcing him off balance. His Burner Finger shot off into the air.
"What the hell!?" Bazz-B pulled at his submerged leg, but couldn't get it out. It felt like it was being pulled further down. He plunged his hands into the ground, trying to dig his way out, but his arms got pulled under as well. Before he realized what was happening, all four limbs were stuck. Only his torso and head remained above ground.
At least this one didn't hurt. He didn't understand how this Shinigami's attacks worked, but that sort of thing had never mattered to him. When The Heat overpowered everything else anyway, who cared what was actually happening!
"As if something as dumb as quicksand could stop me!" He curled his fingers as far as they would go. Three this time. "Burner Finger Three!" He didn't need to see the white-hot jet explode from his hand. The ground trying to swallow him glowed brighter than the sun. That was all the confirmation he needed.
Captain Ōtoribashi's Bankai wasn't strong enough to beat him. Bazz-B pulled himself free of the molten pond and regarded the Shinigami with an admittedly cocky grin, the type that made weaklings shake in their boots. Or sandals, in this case. Ōtoribashi's reaction didn't disappoint. He backed away, grimacing. Was that sweat rolling down his cheeks?
It wasn't quite what Bazz-B was going for, but it worked. "Is that really the best you can do? Is your rage really that weak? C'mon, Captain, you've gotta give me more. I won't be satisfied unless you burn yourself out trying to take revenge!" He wanted to goad the Shinigami into attacking recklessly, but the guy didn't budge. Fine then. He didn't hate one sided slaughters like this.
In fact, they were his favorite.
Four fingers. A molten blade formed around Bazz-B's arm, lighting his face from below with its intense glow. "You had your chance to avenge your lackeys. Sorry to say you wasted it. Now die!" He rushed in and swung his sword, aiming to chop him in half, tip to toe.
Ōtoribashi dodged back to widen the gap between them, but that was the worst move he could have made.
Bazz-B's burning Reiatsu slammed into the ground and exploded. Molten rock flew through the air, setting nearby buildings on fire and pelting the Captain with fiery debris. Ōtoribashi recovered quickly, but instead of launching an attack, he turned tail and ran.
"Get back here, you coward!" Bazz-B gave chase, flinging waves of energy after the fleeing Shinigami. Each attack caused a lot of destruction as they slammed into the roads and buildings, but he couldn't manage more than glancing blows on his actual target. Ōtoribashi was a squirrely one.
A glancing blow was still an attack that connected. If he took much more, Ōtoribashi was going to end up not being able to fight back. His body would give out on him and he'd have to wait for Bazz-B to bring death down on him. What a pathetic way to die.
Bazz-B felt a sharp pain accompanied by a golden flash. "Real cute, Shinigami." The Captain had finally decided to make a direct attack. He was still running away, but there was a gold cord trailing behind him now. Much better! The chase continued, but it was a hell of a lot more exciting.
The Captain's cord writhed through a barrage of molten waves, making its way to Bazz-B. He dodged or deflected most of them. The ones that got through tore chunks off of his uniform but left negligible scratches on his skin. He wasn't even using Blut! How was someone this weak one of the Captains of the Gotei 13?!
Not that it mattered. No one was going to care how weak this guy was as long as he wore one of those white Captain's coats. It didn't do anything to prove how powerful The Heat-and by extension Bazz-B-was, though.
"C'mon! You can hit harder than that, can't you? If you can't, then just roll over and let me kill you already!" Should he just use Full Fingers? He could do a ton of damage to the Seireitei and vaporize this coward all at once if he did . . .
But that wouldn't be satisfying at all, would it? He wanted to watch the life leave Ōtoribashi's eyes. He wanted to see the frustration and pain frozen forever on his dead face.
He wasn't going to resort to his most powerful attack.
Not for this weakling.
+ Shift +
"Done running, Captain?" The Quincy taunted, stalking closer. His uniform was in tatters, particularly his sleeves and pants, but the overall damage inflicted was minimal. It was shameful for one of the Gotei 13's leaders. Fortunately, nobody was around to see.
That was fine.
Perfect, even.
Everything was falling into place in spectacular fashion. And all he had to do was risk his life. He lifted himself off the ground. His footing was firm, but pain from numerous burns made him stagger. His entire body was burned at this point. There was easily more scalded skin than not. All of this was necessary. This pain was nothing.
As long as he could stand and swing his sword, he could execute his plan.
The stage was set. At last.
Rose took a deep breath, just to confirm that he was still firm enough to meet his foe. "I no longer need to run. We've arrived at the ideal stage for your execution. Do you recognize it?"
Bazz-B looked at the charred remains of the facilities around them. His disinterest was plain to see. "You know, practically everywhere I go in the Seireitei looks like this, so no. One smoldering pile isn't any different from another." He held out his arm and a fiery power coalesced around his wrist. It extended into the shape of a sword made of flame. "And pretty soon the entire Soul society is gonna look the same. But don't worry, you'll be dying here, so you won't have to see it happen."
"That would be poetic in its own way, certainly, but it's a little different from what I had planned. After all, you will be the one dying here today." Rose flicked his wrist and held his Bankai delicately in his fingers.
"That again? Don't you think you've embarrassed yourself enough for one day? Whatever you throw at me, it won't work." That confidence wasn't unjustified. Kinshara Butōdan was a Bankai that used sound to create true illusions. Typically, the only way to counter its influence was by silencing its song. This man had overpowered the music by sheer force of will. He was convinced that his power was stronger than any other, and the illusions that assaulted him couldn't overwrite that impression.
He didn't have to worry about drowning or burning to death because he could blow those hazards away with ease. Real or imagined, there was unlikely to be anything that this Quincy wasn't sure he could destroy with his flames.
That was true for physical phenomenon, but what about the conceptual?
"After you Quincies invaded the Seireitei, I composed a new piece of music," Rose said, setting the tempo for the Dancers. "I was feeling many powerful emotions at the time, and I tried to fit them all in this one song. I call it, 'Lamentations for a Fallen Hero in b minor.' It is a bit on the somber side, as to fit its inspiration. I hope you don't mind."
"Nah, I don't mind. It's not like I was going to listen anyway!" Bazz-B laughed, scornful. Bloodthirsty. It was a disgusting, bestial noise that fit the villain of this piece perfectly.
The Dancers began to move. They stepped in response to the music, sliding quickly forward and then dragging their trailing leg to a neutral position. Step-rest-rest step-rest-rest-step. They held one arm stiff against their chest, parallel to the ground. The other was held out to the side, a blade ready to be unsheathed.
"These are the ruins of my Division," Rose spoke as narrator, guiding the Dancers through their routine. "This is the place where many bright, brilliant lives were cut short, never to shine again. This is the place where one wondrous soul was snuffed out unceremoniously. A tragedy in the truest sense."
The Quincy scoffed, raising his burning blade. "Am I supposed to feel bad? Keep dreaming!" He ignored the Dancers as they approached. Step-rest-rest-step. "If this is the place I destroyed when we first got here, then you should be thanking me. You'll die here, just like your poor underlings."
One of the Dancers twirled, flourishing beautifully. The end of its glittering limb, finally drawn, passed through Bazz-B's sword arm. Then it moved on as if nothing had happened. And at first, it seemed as though nothing had.
Then Bazz-B's arm began to tremble.
"What the hell?" The fiery sword jutting from his wrist began to droop. Bazz-B's face contorted with the effort of holding his arm steady. He braced it with his free hand, but still it descended. Slowly, but surely.
Two more Dancers approached. Step-rest-rest-step. They spun, drawing their metaphorical blades and slicing the villain's legs. Again, they stepped back without any indication that they'd done anything.
Bazz-B fell to his knees, eyes wide. His weapon dissipated and the hand that held it hit the ground. His entire body was trembling now. "What is this?! What did you do to me?!"
Rose walked slowly, carefully up to the villain. He took special care to maintain the song. This performance had to be perfect. "This is the power of that soul, that monochromatic resplendence you so cruelly crushed. It is the weight of betrayal and sorrow, of responsibility and duty, and of determination. How does it feel, slayer of beauty?"
The Quincy licked his lips and raised his remaining steady arm. A small, handheld crossbow appeared there, loaded and ready to fire. "Screw you!" A Dancer swiped at that arm. The appendage shook and fell, just like its sibling. Both of his arms and legs quivered as they sank into the ground, leaving impressions in the stone with their exaggerated weight. Bazz-B screamed. Guttural. Desperate.
Beautiful.
"You can try disrupting this illusion if you like. Melt the earth beneath you. Explode. Do whatever you like, but know that nothing will free you from this fate. Your defeat was sealed the moment you returned here." Rose watched, relaxed and cold as a Dancer swung its arm through Bazz-B's neck.
Bazz-B's glare was death. He seemed to be trying to burn Rose through sheer force of will. That would not work, even if it were possible. He held that violent gaze until the ever increasing weight of his head drew his eyes to the ground.
To his credit, he held that position for an impressive amount of time. His entire body was trying to crush itself, but he resisted. Propping himself on leaden arms and legs he fought to survive. A flash of rage tightened Rose's jaw. His Lieutenant never even got the chance to resist so passionately.
"What is that? Hey! What is that?!" Bazz-B's cries were panicked. Despite his efforts, he was being pulled down. His face sank closer to the stones below, bit by bit. At this point in the song, he would be seeing the centerpiece.
A blade slips into view. Is it a sword or a guillotine? Perhaps they are one and the same. Its razor edge was angular, forming an inescapable cage. It was, at once, both the executioner's axe and the basket the criminal's head would be deposited into.
"Quit screwing around! I-I give, okay?! I give up! You win!" The Quincy's body continued to sink. His neck drew closer to the blade. "Didn't you hear me? I'm surrendering! I won't fight you anymore! I'll fight for you, so stop!"
Rose had initially imagined a chaotic string accompaniment for this particular phrase. They would have been representations of the doomed man begging for his life. In the end, he was glad he refrained from including them. The screams themselves worked so much better.
The villain's cries became incoherent wailing as he drew closer and closer. The Dancers continued to drift around him. Step-rest-rest-step. Theirs was a sorrowful, yet triumphant procession.
Then everything was quiet. The music stopped. The Dancers stopped. The screaming stopped.
There was a thud, and then another immediately after.
Rose lowered his arms. He dismissed his Zanpakuto and turned away. On legs that grew weaker by the moment, he carried himself into the burned out ruins of his Division's barracks. He found a pillar that was still mostly intact and sat, resting his head against it.
Finally, he breathed, letting out a long, labored breath. Exhaustion washed over him. He closed his eyes.
His revenge was complete. He'd taken the power inspired by his Lieutenant and used it to avenge him and the rest of the men he lost that day. The relief was palpable. So, why did he feel so drained?
It wasn't just the toll of the fight or the injuries he received. It went so much deeper than simple fatigue. He just felt . . .empty.
"Hey, Izuru . . ." He spoke quietly. There was nobody around to hear. "Do you remember that time, shortly after I was reinstated as Captain? I was lounging outside my office, playing whatever came to mind on my guitar. You yelled at me. Called me lazy. A good-for-nothing. You carried the scars of betrayal with you everywhere. You shouldered the burden of the entire Division for so long. You really fought to hold on to those burdens, didn't you? And yet, when I asked you to take a seat, you did. With a huff and a grumble, certainly, but you sat. And when I played for you, do you remember what you did? I'll never forget it for as long as I live."
Rose felt darkness approaching. He couldn't open his eyes. He waited for a response knowing full well that none would come.
"That's right. You listened. And then you smiled."