Chapter 17: Hunter or Hunted?

*Long time no see, huh? Man, does it feel weird to be writing for fun and not for a grade. Anyway, please review. Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, just the OCs.*


If asked, Naoko would say she was having some alone time in one of the manor's study rooms. Not hiding at all, merely taking a break from everyone and everything to relax. She was certainly not hiding from her brother after their less than pleasant exchange earlier that day or from everybody else who wanted to know what just happened.

Hiding would be cowardly, and she was not a coward; thus, she was not hiding.

Naoko fell into an armchair and buried her face in her hands. Who am I kidding? I am hiding. I just can't

"You have no idea what happened, so don't you dare lecture me on what I should have done. But at least I faced his death and accepted it, Grandmother's too, yet you are too cowardly to."

Squeezing her eyes shut against the pain, she raked a hand through her bangs. I accused him of hiding like a coward, and yet here I am doing just that.

A knock sounded at the door. "Prin—Naoko? Are you alright?"

The door opened a crack, and James cautiously poked his head in. Sensing no immediate danger to his person, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "You weren't at dinner, and I wanted to see if you were alright."

The innocent inquiry elicited a bitter chuckle from her, "I don't really see how I can be alright considering I've been found not worthy of being a Quincy, and my own brother even agrees. My powers are shot and can't be used for reasons I have yet to understand. I have a group of murderous Soul Reapers after me who killed my ancestors and now want to finish the job. So I don't think I'm what anyone would call alright."

James fidgeted a bit, "Ah yes, well, I can see how that would make anyone not alright."

She sighed, "I'm sorry about that. I… I don't know what to do next. I don't know how to keep going."

The British Soul Reaper knelt beside her and lightly rested his hand on her shoulder. "You are not alone in all this. You will find a way to get your powers back up to snuff, for I can tell that you are the type who does not quit no matter what. And if it means anything, you're a Quincy to me. Not because of your spiritual signature or your ancestors, but because of your pride and determination to do the right thing."

"Are you saying Soul Reapers don't do that?" She weakly joked.

He laughed softly, "Yes we do, but what I mean is Quincies are the type to stand up and do the right thing for those who cannot, no matter who or where they come from. I always viewed Quincies as protectors of the living and the dead."

Naoko stared at him for a few seconds, taking in what he just said. Protectors of the living and dead, huh? Never thought of that. Before she could reply, the window behind her shattered, and a cloaked figure swooped in, landing on the desk.

"Oi, Jimmy boy!" The figure rose and pushed away their hood to reveal the face of Marc Hughes. "Gettin' cuddly with another princess? Is it girls you actually like, or do you have a Quincy fetish?"

James immediately pushed Naoko behind him and pulled out his sword. "Leave now, or I will kill you if I must."

Hughes snarled, "You're still choosing these Quincy bastards over me? Over us?"

"You killed innocent people!" James snapped. "People we swore to protect!"

"We grew up on the streets, you and I. Thicker than damn thieves we were, and yet you betrayed us for them?! A bunch of haughty, human royals? What did rich people like them ever do for people like us? Those who fight every day just to live?"

"It didn't matter where we came from; what mattered was what we did. And you," James pointed his sword at the other man, "you broke your vows and chose to go down a blood-soaked path. You can still leave, but if you step forward, your path will end here."

He glanced over his shoulder to Naoko, "Get the others, hurry!"

The Quincy turned to run and opened the door, but Hughes called out. "Not so fast, Princess! Demon Art 27: Mirror Door."

A clear barrier appeared in the doorway, blocking the exit. Naoko laid her hand upon it and pressed, but it felt like pressing against a brick wall.

Hughes smirked with satisfaction, "And you always said my Demon Spells were weak. Impale, Oíche Fabhcún."

James almost looked saddened by his former friend's choice. "If that's how you want it. "Fly, Gawain."

His simple sword morphed into a white gold knightly sword. The hilt was gold and shaped like a falcon with outstretched wings. Hughes snarled and dove at James. The two exchanged blows, neither really able to land a hit on the other. Their moves appeared so coordinated like they knew what the other was going to do. The drawback of being friends, Naoko supposed. You knew each other's moves and tactics as well as your own.

She left James to it and turned to the barrier. You can do this; it's just like deconstructing another kidō spell like you practiced with Nanao. Placing her hands on the smooth surface, Naoko searched for some thread or chip she could exploit in tearing the barrier apart. Her searching proved futile. It was like trying to find purchase on an even surface of ice.

Damn it! Come on; there has to be something! Frantically, she clawed her spiritual senses all over the surface. A crash from behind tore her attention away from the door. James was thrown across the room, crashing into one of the bookcases that lined the wall. The impact left him dazed and buried under a pile of heavy tomes.

"Well, Princess, I guess that just leaves you and me then, eh?" Hughes snickered darkly.

No staff. No bow. No help. Naoko raised her hands and spread her feet in a fighting stance. But that doesn't mean I'm going down without a fight.

Seeing that, Hughes barked out a laugh, "Are you seriously going to fight me with your bare hands? You humans are stubborn I'll give you that."

Hughes charged, and Naoko braced herself.

Hot blood splashed over her skin and clothes.

But it was not hers.

Though her eyes were open, it took slow, drawn out seconds for her mind to process what she was seeing. James stood between Naoko and Hughes' blade, arms outstretched and blood pouring down his body. The sword lodged halfway across his chest from his shoulder.

"James…?"

"You dumb fuck!"

James let out a wet, raspy chuckle, "After all this time? You still think… I'm the dumb one? Maybe… you're right, but at least… I do the right thing."

"How is this the right thing?! How is dying for these fuckers right?!" Hughes roared, fresh tears mixing with the fresh blood on his face.

Weak, but defiant James lifted his head and locked eyes with his former friend. "It is the job of a guard… of a knight to protect those… in their charge… no matter who they are. It is our job… until death."

Hughes ripped his sword out of James. The injured Brit fell to his knees, and Naoko caught him as he fell backward. Carefully, she laid him down, and fearfully watched his chest rise and fall in a stuttering rhythm.

"I'm sorry Princess… I failed your family… again," His effort to smile reassuringly resulted in a pained grimace. The blood on his face and trickling out of his mouth certainly did not help the image.

"…James?" She weakly murmured. "Don't… please…"

Please don't blame yourself. Please don't die. Please

The image of her grandmother lying motionless on the floor flashed in her mind.

Please don't leave me.

The time between each rise and fall of his chest lengthened until the motion stopped completely. She heard Hughes roar something, and faintly behind her, Naoko could hear someone calling her name. But all of that was drowned out by the thrum of her heart and the silence of James'. Images filtered past her mind's eye with every blink.

Grandmother lying motionless, face down on the ground.

Blink

Brother in a heap on the ground, still and bleeding.

Blink

James… his body, his corpse right in front of her.

"You worthless bitch! I'm going to kill you and your whole weak, pathetic lot!" Hughes bellowed, raising his sword. "Now die!"

Clang!

His sword did not meet soft flesh, but the metal of James' sword wielded by Naoko. She still bowed her head over the body; long hair curtaining her face. She held the sword steadily with one hand, keeping his away from her.

"You think I'm worthless? Weak? Pathetic?" Her voice was soft, but danger lurked underneath that deceptive tone. She lifted her head slightly, and one lifeless blue eye peeked out at him. "Allow me to prove you wrong."

Like a shot, she rose to her feet and began a relentless barrage of attacks. Naoko did not think but instead, let instinct take over. The long-buried primal, predatory feelings belonging to a hunter. A hunter trying to kill its prey.

Slash. Blood. Swing. More blood. Stab. A cry of pain.

That's it. Bleed, scream, die. Hughes's moves became frantic and messy as he tried to fend her off. He was on the defense now, she impassively noted. He cared less about killing her and more about not being killed by her. I wonder if he thought a Quincy would never learn swordplay and stick only to bows and arrows. Judging by the look of panicked alarm on his face, that likely was the case. She dove in and slashed him again, sending his blood raining down upon them. A dark giddiness from the rush of battle overtook her senses, and she wanted to laugh.

"Naoko, stop!" Brother? Naoko was unsure but brushed it off.

Hughes lunged, and Naoko pirouetted away and put that momentum into the swing of her sword. The blade slid with surprising ease through his neck. His decapitated head wore a look of frozen horror and shock. It tumbled and rolled across the floor, leaving a trail of blood. His body tumbled to the ground. That did not stop Naoko's onslaught, and she lifted the sword, preparing to hack the body.

Something orange flashed in the corner of her eye, and she swung.

"Hypnotica!"

Naoko's vision blacked out, and she felt her body hit the floor.

Ichigo whirled on Rosenberg, "What the hell did you do?"

"It's a simple spell that makes a person unconscious. I did not hurt her," she said matter-of-factly. "In case you had not noticed Captain Kurosaki she was about to hurt you."

The teen captain looked down at his slumbering friend. Rosenberg was right, but still…

"Christ, this is a literal bloody mess," Twitterson sighed, surveying the room. "At least he was working alone."

"How can you tell?" Rukia asked.

"I don't sense any of the other buggers around, do you? They would've tried to attack us or at least kidnap her." He inclined his toward Naoko before turning to James' body. "The Head Captain is going to have a fit at losing her Third Seat. She seemed particularly fond of him."

"We best clean this mess up then," his lieutenant sighed.

"Right," Twitterson agreed, suddenly cheerful. "You get on that and telling the Head Captain while me and anyone else who'd like to come and look for anybody who might be skulking around."

"Uryu?" Ichigo asked, looking over at his friend.

The archer looked down at his sister then shook his head. "I'd rather stay close to Naoko. Have Rukia or Nemu go; they're as skilled at sensing reiatsu as I am."

"Oh ho, I get the ladies all to myself then?" Twitterson joked.

Rosenberg slapped his arm, "Be serious for a damn moment."

In the end, it was Rukia and Renji that went patrolling with Twitterson while Rosenberg went to the Head Captain and leaving Uryu alone with Nemu and Ichigo. He and Nemu cleaned Naoko's minor wounds, dressed, and tucked her into bed. Uryu sat nearby with an open book in his lap, yet his eyes only sat on the pages and not taking anything in. How could he focus when his sister almost died tonight?

And we fought just before. Our last words could have been ones charged with anger and callousness. He gave up trying to read and closed the book. Looking at his slumbering sibling, he could only think of how he hurt her and almost lost her before making amends. Uryu slipped off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. That seems to be a pattern with us. We fight, and then one of us nearly dies. The war in Hueco Mundo the most recent example.

"Uryu?"

Replacing his glasses, he looked up to see Nemu near and looking at him with subtle concern. "Are you alright?"

Her innocent question nearly made him laugh. Instead, he sighed tiredly, "No, Naoko could've died tonight, and all I could do was watch. Older siblings are supposed to protect the younger ones, and I'm incapable of doing that much."

"Your incapability was due to a force outside your control. You cannot blame yourself for something like that," she gently countered.

He knew she was right, but that did little to ease his misgivings. "A Soul Reaper tried to kill her. I cannot imagine the council taking that well since they already distrust and hate Soul Reapers. Though maybe having a Soul Reaper die for her will even it out. I hope this doesn't cause a spiritual international incident."

"Hey, to be fair, we didn't kill him," Ichigo added, walking in.

"I'm not sure that'll matter to some."

The other teen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "There's not much we can do about that right now. And stop beating yourself up about all this; not your fault one of those psychos went rouge, trapped Naoko, and tried to kill her."

Uryu glowered at him, "If it were one of your sisters, you'd be just as upset as I, so don't even Kurosaki."

Ichigo held up his hand in a conciliating gesture, "Fine, point made. At least we have one less of those nuts to worry about."


The swish of flash step and the barest caress of familiar reiatsu against his skin sent Captain Wilter on alert though he didn't show it. He was about to undress and retire for the night, but it appeared plans were about to change. He turned to see Larissa Seydel standing at attention with a displeased frown. For Seydel to come here without his first having sent for her means something significant has happened.

"Yes?"

Without preamble, she reports, "Hughes is dead."

So perhaps not so significant then, Wilter thinks.

"He went after Thornson and the Quincies by himself, the idiot. The little turncoat is dead too though, be grateful for small mercies, I guess," she scoffs.

While Thornson was a traitor, he was more useful to Wilter alive. Keeping him alive was the only thing keeping that meddlesome bitch of a Head Captain from going after him. He never said anything outright but implied enough that even she understood what he was saying. I will leave your son alone if you leave me alone. Now he had lost that valuable bargaining chip.

"It seems our timetable will have to be moved up."

"By how much?"

Wilter doesn't respond right away but saunters to his desk and begins pulling a few select items out. He needed to grab only the essentials and leave. News of Thornson's death would reach the Head Captain perhaps even by tonight. Papers, a pair of journals, and a small wooden box. All the items were carefully stowed away in a leather valise.

"We will initiate our plan in two days," he said once he had his belongings in order. "By then, it will be too late for anyone to do anything."


Head Captain Victoria Glyndower feels her brain filling with static. Blood drains from her face yet pounds in her ears.

"Thank you for informing me, Lieutenant Rosenberg. You may go, and along with your captain, you are to protect the Quincies." It's an order given in a voice that doesn't sound like her, dull and dazed.

The young lady bows and leaves the room. If Glyndower hadn't been sitting down, she would've collapsed. James… dead? Her boy…

"Cara."

Her own lieutenant, standing silent and stalwart behind her, snaps more to attention. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Send my husband to me and bring my Captain Wilter," her ocean blue eyes sharpen, "by any means necessary."

Lieutenant Cara Smith bows once, "Yes, ma'am."

She's gone in a whisp of flash step, and Glyndower is alone. The news hasn't quite sunken in yet; it hasn't broken her yet. She sits in stunned silence with the ticking clock and crackling fire as the only source of noise. The door opens, and she numbly recognized her husband striding in. A well-built man of tall height and muscled physique with sandy blond hair and hazel eyes. Commander of the Demon Arts Corps and Grand Demon Arts Chief William Glyndower, her husband of almost six centuries.

Giving into weakness, she rose and walked right into his embrace. His arms always made her feel safe, a hundred Vasto Lorde could be at her doorstep, and she would still feel safe. Gently his hands stroked her dark auburn hair.

"Cara told me," William murmured. "Our son…"

Only two people other than themselves knew about James being their son and one of them was going to die tonight.


*James' sword Gawain means white hawk, bit of a contrast to Hughes' Oíche Fabhcún (night falcon). Gawain is also one of the Knights of the Round Table from Arthurian legend. I went with the English translations for shunpo and kidō because it didn't make sense to have the European Gotei use Japanese terms. Lot to unpack, let me know if something doesn't make sense.

I'll try to post again soon, but life is being distracting.*