AN: Revised 3/22/20 I have received quite a bit of critscism in the reviews over the years of my portrayal of Islamic religion in this chapter. I'd like to think I've grown beyond some of the prejudice and preconceived notions I've held as I've aged, but to remove the scene entirely would be rewriting history, which I disapprove. I have tried to give the scene a little more nuance, but I'm sure there will still be those who remain offended.
I apologize to those who feel that way and hope that you will forgive a young man his ignorance. I do not claim to have overcome all my shortcomings, but as an intelligent human being I strive to improve myself each day and I hope for those reading they do the same. We have enough darkness in the world and we do not need to add to it.
AN: Just realized I had this story categorized under a language other than English…hehe…whoops. Maybe that explains the low traffic I've been getting lol Please read and review! Again, I did write this in one go and went over it once, so if there's anything out of place, please let me know. I'd love to see what you guys think of this chapter, it was very entertaining to write!
Ichigo's home was rather spartan; for a man who earned as much as he did, he had relatively simple tastes. Utility seemed to be the critical deciding factor on what made it into the good doctor's home. The only sentimental mementos he had were a few framed photos he kept on the wall showing images of friends and loved ones. There was a single katana hanging over the fireplace, the wooden sheath gleaming dully in the firelight as Ichigo gently stoked the flames to life.
Natasha watched with arms crossed as he stood up, running a hand almost lovingly along the hilt of the sword, a distant look in his eyes. She knew that kind of look, the thousand-yard stare that was seeing more memory than what was really in front of them.
"Not this time old friend," he whispered softly.
The wooden sheath of the blade shimmered in the firelight, the polish reflecting the soft illumination cast from the flames licking at the charred kindling in the grate. Black leather strips crisscrossed the handle of the blade, just below the metal guard. Natasha's keen eyesight picked up on the microscopic wear and tear on the material that indicated that this was not an ornamental weapon. This sword had seen use.
Her senses itched the longer she stared at the weapon as if trying to warn her of some danger her physical eyes could not perceive. She had a feeling this wasn't just a curious decorative piece; this sword had killed before.
One more question to add to the growing list.
As Ichigo began to rummage through drawers muttering to himself in his native Japanese, Natasha turned to look at Angelina. The dead brunette held an air of uncertainty about her. The unconscious chewing of her lip a dead giveaway for anxiety for as long as Natasha had known her.
"Hey," the spy said gently. "You alright?"
The ghost smiled faintly up at her old friend. "I'm not sure what I'm feeling. According to Ichigo, he can send me to the afterlife. I wonder what that will be like."
The Black Widow paused to ponder her friend's words. Every religion spoke of some sort of afterlife. Humans had been speculating about death for as long as they could comprehend the finality of the end. Natasha had never given it much thought; when you were dead, your body stopped working, and sometimes you popped back up as a ghost to haunt the person who bumped you off.
Perhaps anyone else who had the gift of seeing the dead might have interpreted it as proof of divine creation, but Natahsa had simply taken it all in stride. Ghosts didn't prove there was a hereafter, just that death wasn't really the end most people assumed. That or she was just batshit crazy.
But Ichigo seemed confident there was some sort of afterlife as if he had seen it himself. It was an odd thought. How could someone alive be so sure that there was something beyond death?
"Alright, finally found it," the man announced as he came down the stairs from the second floor of his home. "Let's head out into the backyard, I'd rather not open up the gates indoor."
Natasha followed the orange-haired man, not sure exactly what she was expecting. She conjured in her mind some occult ritual involving chalk patterns on the ground and burning candles. Hopefully, no blood was required.
The spy had infiltrated a few such groups before in the past.
While their arcane ceremonies had been interesting to watch, there had been little in terms of the results they had claimed they would have. There was this one time the Russian had been sent to gain access to a rogue offshoot Scientology branch. They were convinced that they could signal their lord Xenu to come to pick them up if enough virgins were offered naked before the golden statue of their idol.
Honestly, it was probably some guys scam to try to get an orgy going that got out of hand. Hilarious, but an absolute waste of her time and talents.
Hopefully, Kurosaki wouldn't turn out to be a dud like that group had been.
"So, what do we have to do?" Natasha asked as they stepped out of his back porch into the open grass of his backyard.
Ichigo lived slightly off from the suburban housing area, so he was afforded more privacy than most who lived in New York. His house included a wide-open expanse of nature in place of a fenced-off backyard, unlike most traditional cookie-cutter homes found in the suburbs. There was a stump of a chopped down tree, an ax buried in the wood along with a large pile of kindling that the doctor had no doubt cut up himself. A self-sufficient man, she'd have to note that in his psychological profile.
"We won't be doing anything," he replied immediately. "I'll be doing the work. You stand there and try not to cause trouble."
Natasha crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to get on with it.
Ichigo raised his hand, and the spy caught sight of a flat pentagon pendant of some sort with an image of a grinning skull imprinted onto the side. The orange-haired man stared at it for a moment before giving an irritated sigh and raising it up to his ear.
A few seconds passed in awkward silence while he looked bored.
"What? Is he calling God or something?" Angelina joked.
The faux blonde spy snorted at the absurd notion. That seemed beyond stupid. Almost as dumb as the ritual of ascension requiring the participants to place their heads in plastic bags and suffocating themselves. Wealth cults could be just as foolish as their economically less well off counterparts.
"Rukia, it's me," Ichigo said in Japanese after a few more moments of silence.
Unbeknownst to him, Natasha could understand him perfectly. Part of her training had been becoming fluent in some of the major languages of powerful countries. The spy could speak in half a dozen tongues as if she were a native and passably understood about twice that number.
An angry woman's voice answered him in nonsensical chatter, the distance making it difficult for the spy makes out what was being said by whoever was replying at the other end.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm sorry I haven't called in a while. Been busy, you know with living and stuff."
There was a brief pause as the orange-haired man rolled his eyes and allowed whoever was at the other end to rant at him some more.
"Alright, alright, I promise to keep in touch more often. Hell, I'll come to visit soon, I promise. Listen, this isn't exactly a social call. I got a problem on my hands right now. I don't know what the hell the idiot they assigned to my sector's been doing, but I have a woman with about two or three hundred ghosts tethered to her. I'll be sending them over in a moment. I just don't want 12th division jumping down my throat when I do."
Natasha filed away the little tidbits of information, careful to keep her expression curious and annoyed as befitting of someone who felt excluded because of language barriers. So, there was someone who was "assigned" to take care of departed souls, responsible for different sectors. 12th division suggested that there were at least 11 others in existence, the number indicating a hierarchy in an organization. Of course, this just raised more questions, just what was this mysterious group that was responsible for chaperoning the spirits of the departed?
After a few more moments on the odd communication device, Ichigo finally lowered the strange pendant with a scowl of annoyance, muttering to himself in Japanese about bunny loving midgets.
"Alright, you lot form a line, and I'm going to send you through one at a time. I don't have all night, so hurry it up."
Natasha narrowed her eyes, concentrating so that she could finally see her ghostly entourage more clearly. There really were hundreds of them, men and women of all ages, even a child or two. They all bore the wounds she had dealt them, some less noticeable than others, but she remembered every face and every death.
For the first time since she could remember, the ghosts were no longer angry. In fact, they weren't even really paying her any attention at all.
"What happens to us?" asked a dark-skinned man in a business suit.
Mr. Harriman had been a businessman that had been pushing a bit too hard for his associates to move away from investing in Russian oil fields. Natasha had been tasked by the KGB to terminate him to further the interest of the soviet nation. She had been sixteen at the time, one of her first assignments after graduating from the Red Room.
"You get sent on to the next realm where most of you will lose all memories of your lives as mortals over time," Ichigo replied in a bored voice. "Most likely you will spend a couple decades living out your afterlife before having your souls rebirthed back into the realm of the living,"
"What of God?" asked a piously dressed man. "The good book teaches us that our lord and savior shall greet us at the gates of heaven. Will we meet him?"
Father Anderson had been devout Jesuit spreading the teachings of his beliefs in Afghanistan. The brave man had sought to bring enlightenment to the unfortunate war-torn people in the Middle East. It served as his penance for an earlier life of crime before he had found his true calling in life. Few missionaries dared to enter lands so hostile to Western rhetoric and so far removed from aid should the worse come to pass. Still, the cleric had felt it was his personal test to enter those lands, to try to save those who had walked the same path as he had in his youth.
He had been caught in the crossfire when Natasha had been assigned to take down a Taliban leader, grabbed as a human shield to stay her hand. It had done the entrepreneurial warlord little good. The priest bore the gut wound that had killed him even as a ghost, his dull brown robes dyed black with blood.
"If there ever was a creator, he or she has no hand in what happens to you when you cross over," Ichigo replied evenly.
"Then there is no heaven?" the Jesuit asked, expression crestfallen. "No deserved reward for a life lived well? Punishment for those who committed sins?"
The last part was said with a glare thrown in Natasha's direction. The father may have been a good man, but boy could he hold a grudge.
"There is no heaven or hell in a sense taught by most religions," Ichigo said with an indifferent shrug. "The afterlife honestly doesn't seem any better than the living world, in my opinion. A rare few of you might be sent to purgatory. I'm not too sure of the reasoning behind it or what constitutes a sin, but it's all about the karmic balance of the universe. Even purgatory isn't permanent; most people will eventually be cycled back out to keep the balance once you have served your sentence."
"Wait, so there is a hell?!" shouted one of the ghosts in the crowd.
Anxious whispers broke out amongst the translucent ghosts, many looking uncertain.
"If there is no God, who judges us?!"
"What right do they have to make that decision?!"
"That's not fair!"
The clamor of the ghosts became deafening, all of them demanding answers and throwing questions at the stone-faced doctor as he stood there. Confusion and anger were beginning to seep through the crowd. Natasha had to grit her teeth against the dull headache that was building up from her spiritual senses flaring in reaction to the ethereal emotions swirling about.
Finally, a young boy stepped forward from the crowd to stand before Ichigo. He couldn't have been older than five or six, dressed in striped pajamas and holding a hand-sewn teddy bear that was missing one of its button eyes.
Natasha looked away, chest tightening. His name was James Alduin, son of a political opponent of the Soviet Union. She had murdered him as a warning to others and punishment to the man who dared stand against the Bear. It had been a relatively peaceful death in comparison to others who had died by her hand, a vial of poison in the boy's drink had accomplished the task.
His death was perhaps the one that haunted her the most out of all those she had killed.
James was one of the few ghosts who had never been angry at her, too young to understand why he was trapped the way he was. He would occasionally ask her questions about things he saw that he didn't understand. Natasha would patiently answer all of them, perhaps out of a sense of penitence for taking his life. She even played some of the silly childish games he would invent when he approached her with them.
"Will I get to see my mama and papa again?" the little boy asked softly.
The crowd of specters fell silent as they awaited Ichigo's answer.
Kneeling, the stern doctor placed his hands on the transparent child's shoulders, smiling in a surprisingly gentle expression. "I'm sure your mother and father are waiting for you on the other side, kiddo."
The boy nodded resolutely. Turning, he waved at Natasha. "I'm going to go now, lady. Thanks for watching me!"
A hard lump formed in her throat and the spy suddenly found it difficult to see through the tears forming in her eyes. James Alduin was something she could never forgive herself for, no matter how long or hard she worked to right the wrongs in the world. He had been a reminder of every sin in her life, yet somehow the thought of him finally leaving didn't bring the feelings of relief she thought it would.
It hurt.
Ichigo made an odd gesture with his hand, muttering something softly beneath his breath. A pair of what looked like Japanese sliding doors appeared in thin air. The flat rice paper ornamented gate looked regal, a silent promise of better things beyond. The ghosts all clamored excitedly when the doorway parted, revealing a soft otherworldly white light within.
The orange-haired doctor raised the skull pendant in his hand and bumped the device gently against the little boy's head. Gasps broke out as the ghost seemed to dissolve into bright motes of light, his humanoid figure shrinking rapidly. When the transformation was complete, a glistening black butterfly could be seen fluttering in the air where James had been.
The transformed ghost circled through the air once, gently finding his way over to Natasha as if saying his final goodbye. The spy reached out a hand, allowing the fluttering creature to land gently on her forefinger. Warmth spread through her body from the point of contact, filling her with feelings of happiness and forgiveness.
The held back tears finally spilled down her eyes, carving a lonely path down her face
"I'm sorry, James," she whispered, finally uttering the words she had never been able to say to him.
The eerie butterfly fluttered its wings once, circled her head, lightly teasing her hair before making a beeline for the gate filled with light. There was a blinding flash, and then James was gone.
"Alright, who's next?" Ichigo asked dispassionately. "Form a damn line, no shoving. You'll all get your turn."
"Well, I guess this is really goodbye then," Angelina said soberly as the ghosts began to form up a queue.
Both former members of the Red Room stood side by side as they watched the doctor efficiently send ghost after ghost into the afterlife. The line grew as the other spirits saw examples of their fellows moving on.
"I'll miss you," Natasha said softly, unable to meet her friend's eyes.
"Me too."
They both watched as another black butterfly made its way towards the gates.
"You never told me why you hesitated," the spy abruptly said.
The age-old question had bothered her for almost twenty years. "You had me that day. Why didn't you take the shot?"
Angelina gave a tender smile. "If you still don't know the answer to that by now, then you'll just have to keep searching. One day you will understand Natalie. I think if you stick by Kurosaki, you might finally figure out my reason."
Natasha opened her mouth to protest the ambiguous response but was interrupted by screams from the line of ghosts. Her eyes jerked over to where Ichigo was and widened at the horrific sight before her.
Where moments before there had been the serene glowing wooden doorway, there now stood what could only be described as the gates of hell. The two enormous slabs of ominous rock arches must have been at least four or five stories tall, an obsidian structure carved with loving detail. Two massive skeletal torsos jutted out from each side of the doorway, their arms crossed, and macabre expressions locked in a silent scream of agony.
All around them depicted were the scenes of suffering etched into the unnatural black marbling, images of men and women undergoing unspeakable tortures. Light itself seems to bend around the structure, and it hurt Natasha's eyes to stare at the new gateway.
The tanned ghost next to Ichigo had fallen onto his behind, staring up at the monolith structure in terror.
"Wh-wha-what is this?!" he blubbered.
Terrance Mallory had been a former Canadian special forces operative that had been involved with human trafficking in central Africa after his religious radicalization. He and his group of extremists specialized in shipping kidnapped children out for wealthy pedophiles in western nations to violate in the privacy of their own homes. His terrible crimes were committed to fund his private war against those who opposed the spread of radical Islam in the territory he wished to install himself as dictator of.
SHIELD had assigned Natasha with dismantling the disgusting network that Terrance had built. It had been one of the first assignments she had been trusted to run without a handler. By the time she caught up with Terrance, Natasha had seen enough of his handiwork to feel nothing but grim satisfaction when she finally put a bullet through his skull. Perhaps there was some semblance of justice in the universe.
The bland expression on Ichigo's face gave away none of his thoughts. No pity, no remorse, no judgment.
"Looks like you've been found wanting," he said gravely.
Gray mist poured out from between the cracks of the gateway, creeping across the ground as the massive doors parted with an ominous creak.
The former human trafficker crab-walked backward, grabbing onto Ichigo's leg, his ashen face an expression of pure terror. "I didn't know! I was only trying to spread the word of God as ordained by Muhammed himself! I didn't know!"
Natasha found herself frozen as she stared at the scene before her, her breathing short and shallow as the gates opened fully, revealing pitch blackness. A soft tormented groan resonated from the darkness, and a single giant red eye opened, glaring out into the world of the living with unmistakable hatred. The bloodshot orb swept across the crowd as if looking for its victim. Natasha felt her heart stop as it's unnatural gaze paused momentarily on her, but it moved on.
"I didn't know…The Quran…they told me…they said the word of God…I didn't know…" the ghost whispered as he trembled on the ground before the gaze of whatever hellish creature lay beyond in the darkness.
Ichigo carefully separated his leg from the grip of the ghostly hand, straightening the fabric of his pant leg dispassionately.
"You will find that there is no God on this side or the other," Ichigo stated coldly. "Best of luck in your next life, friend."
The eye within the gate finally fell still when it fell on the ghostly figure of Mallory. A deep dark chuckle echoed from within, a sinister laugh that promised pain beyond what the mortal mind could comprehend.
The sound seemed to shake the ghost from his stupor. Jolted by terror, he managed to find his feet once more. Natasha could not blame the man for trying to run, if she were in his position, she would probably do the same.
He didn't get very far.
A gargantuan clawed hand disfigured from hundreds of mutilating scars reached out from the darkness. The unnaturally long limb, afflicted in boils and skinned in parts, seemed to stretch out forever as it reached for the fleeing ghost. It snatched the running spirit up in one brutal movement, clutching Terrance's entire body in the palm of the hand. His limbs and head stuck out comically from the cracks of its gnarled fingers, the scene almost cartoonish had it not been so hellish.
"This wasn't what they promised me! I didn't know! ALLAH SAVE ME!"
The screams of the tormented ghosts faded as the hand seizing him retreated into the gloom, finally ending altogether when the gates fell shut. Immediately the stone structure caught fire, the orange haze consuming the black gateway from the bottom up, causing its massive form to shimmer like a mirage.
When at last, it was gone, all that remained was silence and the peaceful wooden gateway of the passage to the afterlife. Somehow the comfort of its shining white light no longer seemed as enticing after the nightmarish scene they had all just witnessed.
"You said there was no heaven," Father Anderson spoke woodenly, his expression that of a man who had witnessed something that had broken him from the inside. "But surely we have all just witnessed the entrance to hell."
"I'm not here to debate the state of existence of the next realm," snorted Ichigo in irritation. "Heaven, Hell, Up, Down, whatever you want to label it. It doesn't matter. All you need to know is that none of you are staying here in this realm."
Natasha swallowed thickly at the callous dismissal of the man before her. Perhaps he was so used to the idea of what happened after death that it no longer bothered him, but for her, it was not the case. There was no doubt in her mind which gate would await her when it was her turn.
A ruckus broke out as one of the ghosts pushed past the others, attempting to bolt.
Ichigo growled a string of words beneath his breath, jabbing his fingers at the running figure. Three shimmering blades appeared out of thin air and cut into the fleeing ghost's midsection, pinning her arms to her side. She fell to the ground, her feet paralyzed by the weight of whatever it was that was holding her down.
"Please! I didn't know! I would have never done those things if I knew!" begged the woman as she squirmed and tried to escape her bonds.
"None of us knew," snapped Ichigo harshly. "You made your choices just as we all did, it's too damn late for regrets. If you believe in God, make your peace. All debts are squared in death. Now form up a damn line."
Nobody moved, the ghosts all terrified of what awaited them in judgment. Finally, Father Anderson stepped forward to kneel before Ichigo, hands clasped around the rosary with a cross depicted Christ's final moments. Even in death, the man carried the icon of his faith.
"I have lived a good life; I fear not his judgment. I am ready. God be with you, young man, for I can sense the weight of duty pressing heavily on your soul. What is your name, my son? I will put in a good word for you when I cross over to the other side."
Ichigo simply nodded and pressed the badge against the man's head. "Ichigo Kurosaki. Trust me, they know who I am."
Ultimately more than half the ghosts ended up being dragged through the terrifying gates summoned for those who had performed misdeeds in their lives. Some stoically walking forward into the blackness, others dragged kicking and screaming through the gates by the demented hand that reached out for those who tried to run.
Finally, there was only Angelina left, smiling softly at Natasha, who sniffed and rubbed at her tear-streaked face.
"Say your goodbyes," Ichigo said gruffly, showing surprising compassion given his irritable aura through most of the soul burial process.
"I guess this is it, Natalie," Angelina said brightly. "Watch your back out there, ok? I don't want to be meeting you again too soon."
"Angel…I…" The words would not come, no matter how hard Natasha tried to force her mouth to move.
The ghostly figure of her friend reached a translucent finger out and pressed it against her lips, the contact sending a chill through her living flesh. With a smile and wink, the former Red Room initiate turned and faced Ichigo.
"Will there be sunsets in the afterlife?" she asked eagerly as she knelt before him.
The man nodded solemnly. "Sunrises too."
Angelina bowed her head in acceptance. Ichigo reached out with his badge, the pendant gleaming in the darkness.
"Wait! Angel I-!"
Natasha's outburst came too late. Already her friend's human form was dissolving. Unconsciously she had run forward, hand reaching out, but by the time she was there, only a dark butterfly remained.
The delicate creature fluttered, flitting about before landing on her finger just as James had.
"Goodbye, Angelina," Natasha said quietly.
The butterfly waved its wings in gentle reassurance, then flittered on through the gates.
A heavy feeling weighed on Natasha's stomach as she watched Ichigo vanish the doorway to the afterlife with a sharp cutting gesture. She wiped at the tears on her face, wondering why she felt so empty. Her problems had finally been solved; her friend was finally at peace. But she felt no relief from her guilt, no absolution, only sadness for what could have been.
Hard gold-flecked eyes found hers, and she knew that the night was not yet over.
"We need to talk."
It was a simple stern statement from the man, no question or request involved. She could deal with that.
AN: And I totally didn't tear up while writing parts of this scene *sniff*