If you're a fan of Bleach, then you're probably aware that we know very little, if anything at all, about most holders of the title of Kenpachi. In the manga and anime proper, we only find out about three: Zaraki, Kiganjo, and Unohana. That's only 3 out of 11, which is kinda crazy when you think about it.
"Spirits Are Forever With You", the Bleach light novel, thankfully gives us two more. The 7th, Kurayashiki, and the 8th, Azashiro. Both of these characters did a great job filling in for the role they were asked to play within the novel, and are well liked by fans, but what I found truly interesting was that, unlike any other known time, the 9th was simply handed the title due to the circumstances around the 8ths imprisonment. Enough so that I felt that a compelling story and narrative could be told about it.
I hope that you all enjoy this little look into what the 9th Kenpachi could have possibly been, and the story that follows. I had this made not as a way to tell a tale of some OC, but rather to fill in a void that canon (admittedly from the light novels) leaves us.
This… is the tale of the 9th Kenpachi.
Bleach is owned by Shonen Jump and Tite Kubo. I own nothing.
The Central Forty-Six's chambers were as oppressively judgmental as ever, but the accused faced them with a dispassionate dignity, one that belied his violent nature. It had always been strange to Unohana, to see that disparity on full display. Just looking at Azashiro Kenpachi, you would never guess he was the fiercest of warriors– he looked more like an effete noble. The irony of her old title, and how most no longer knew she had once held it, was not lost on her. Nobody would guess, looking at the serene, smiling face of Unohana Retsu that she had once carried a blood-soaked reputation, born from carnage. To look at it from the outside was… strange.
And now her successor—well, one in a long row of successors—stood trial. His guilt was not in question; all of the Gotei knew of his folly at this point. All that was left was to see what fate the sages would dole out.
"Azashiro Soya, known also as Azashiro Kenpachi, you stand accused of reckless endangerment of Gotei assets to the point of negligent treason," droned the speaker, in a pompous, officious tone. "Do you deny these charges?"
"It is a weak and strange Gotei," Azashiro responded calmly, "that criminalizes taking action. All I am guilty of is taking my job seriously."
"The record will show that the accused does not deny his crime," said the speaker haughtily.
"It is not untrue, in a sense," said Yamamoto, walking up to Unohana where she stood in the observer's gallery, watching the proceedings unfold. "I have rarely had to discipline men for being too zealous in their duty."
"You sound as if you regret it," Unohana said neutrally, her eyes fixed on the condemned.
"He was a fine officer, once. It no longer matters. When he decided to disobey orders, he lost his value as a champion of our organization."
Yamamoto was as resolute as ever. In the centuries she had served him, Unohana had never seen him flinch, never seen him hesitate. Azashiro was done now. With the Forty-Six eager to exercise their authority over a rambunctious captain, only Yamamoto could have swayed them– and he had now washed his hands of him.
"I do regret it, though," Unohana said after a pause. "He was not… an unworthy title holder. Not until now at least."
Azashiro's zeal had been his downfall in the end. In retaliation for the death of his family many years ago, he had planned a retaliatory invasion of Hueco Mundo itself since he had become captain one year ago, mobilizing all of the Eleventh in the process. He had been ordered not to, once Yamamoto learned– and he'd defied orders. Only as a garganta was being prepared, using a captive hollow, had Azashiro been stopped by Captains Ukitake and Kyoraku.
The expedition would have been disastrous; there was no plan beyond violence, and Hueco Mundo was a place of endless violence. The Eleventh would have gone out in a blaze, killing legions as every last one of them died. Not to mention how it would have affected the balance of souls. Thus, Azashiro had been placed under arrest until further notice. Now, here he was, facing judgment.
"What will become of him?" Unohana asked. "He is tremendously strong even now, and quite popular. This is an embarrassment to the Gotei as a whole."
"The Maggot's Nest," Yamamoto said. "With his zanpaktou constantly being activated, I doubt anyone but the Zero Division could put him down at this point, and a public execution would only exacerbate the problem."
"Prison, then. For life?"
"For life," Yamamoto agreed. "There is no place in this hallowed organization for deserters and traitors."
Unohana stared down at Azashiro, who was emphatically making his case to an utterly unsympathetic audience.
"You are concerned about succession, are you not?"
It often surprised her how well the aloof old man knew his subordinates.
"Yes," Unohana said slowly. "It is no longer my concern, but I can't help but feel an… attachment to the office. And beyond the personal, it is a prestigious title. Who can carry it? Who wants to? Who do we know of that is worthy?"
"Somebody will rise. Somebody always does," Yamamoto said, with the slightest of shrugs.
"But who? It cannot stay vacant, captain-commander."
"In the interim, it will be held by his vice-captain, Homaru Tamura. She recently gained a bankai. Perhaps she will prove worthy. If not… well, it will all come to pass as it was meant to be."
That, Unohana found, was a rather cavalier way of doing it. Giving the title to a woman who had done nothing to earn it, having never paid the price of blood? It was none of her concern anymore, certainly, but it still bothered her.
The title of Kenpachi meant something. When she had been there as the first, it had simply been a nickname– a token of her ferocity, of her blood-soaked reputation and the respect, fear, and awe the mere mention of her name provoked. Yachiru Kenpachi. Her name had faded away, and there was only the moniker– a name that had become a title, synonymous with the Gotei's greatest warrior. She had made that happen, by force of will and by pain, blood, and suffering. After her retirement, she had been there to watch the title degenerate– passed down to unworthy men, none of them her equals.
Only the second Kenpachi, whom she had handpicked herself, her former vice captain Himura, and the seventh Kenpachi, Kuruyashiki, had been what she had deemed truly worthwhile successors. They at least had the power, spirit, and conviction needed for the title. The rest were little more than footnotes in history. The third had attempted to wage a coup d'état before he was slain, the fourth, while she had immense potential, was too subservient to her noble house to be a true Kenpachi. The Fifth was nothing more than a bloodthirsty serial killer who killed men, women, and children for the thrill of it, and the Sixth, while very powerful, had eventually lost his conviction and spirit along the way. Now Azashiro, despite his immense power, had lost the title after little more than one year. He, too, would now be nothing more than a footnote in history.
Tamura? Who was she to assume such a prestigious title? Unohana knew little about her, but she had to have some merit to her if she had beaten her way up the ruthless ladder of Eleventh division. But no vice-captain was ever a match for a captain, and a recently gained bankai would do little to change that.
Running a division had mostly fallen on Tamura's shoulders under Azashiro. In typical Kenpachi fashion, he had spent most of his time either training or hunting new foes, living up to the example of his title. Now here she was, donning a coat that felt much too large for her, and not just literally.
Tamura Kenpachi studied herself in the mirror. She was wearing one of Azashiro's spares, and it showed; the man was more than a full head taller than she, and the hem dragged against the floor. She would be forced to have a new one commissioned; she looked ridiculous like this. Scoffing, she threw the haori aside, crossing her arms over her chest, putting on as tough an expression as she could manage.
Tamura had never looked the part of a hardened warrior. She was still young, and her expression was usually content, her face light and beautiful. Her brown hair was kept up in two round buns, stylishly kept in place by wooden pins. Her skin was unmarred by scars, despite the many missions she had gone on– she had thus far found a way to avoid serious injuries, at least anywhere visible. Although she carried no makeup, and though her sleeveless uniform showed off toned, muscular arms, she still looked more like a girl than a fierce warrior. She had made the men respect her the normal way: cracking skulls, refusing to accept disrespect, and personally leading them into battle, but her tenure had been short thus far– only five years ago had she joined the division, after finding that Sixth was a bit too formal and repressive for her tastes.
She placed a hand at the hilt of her zanpakuto, frowning deeply. It didn't come natural to her, looking mean; to her, it only made it look like she was trying too hard.
Who could respect a Kenpachi like this? She was not worthy of the title, she knew it. If only she hadn't accomplished her bankai, or if only it had been kept a secret, she could have refused. But the Eleventh needed a captain, and nobody else had stepped up. She was a placeholder, a necessary piece of window dressing. She was there to keep the seat warm, so that the Eleventh could at least pretend to have its pride intact.
She was there to hold the job until somebody more qualified could come along and earn the title the proper way.
By killing her.
Stop, she told herself, stop. You can't let these thoughts run roughshod all over you. You have a duty to do, and you can do it.
But how well?
Unohana was in her office, carefully reducing the ever-present pile of paperwork sheet by sheet. The monotony of it was reassuring to her. Not pleasant or enjoyable, but there was something about it that felt… normal, like an assurance that no matter what, the world would keep spinning. It was light work, work that she had perfected over centuries' worth of practice. It didn't hurt, of course, that she trained every vice-captain to serve under her to sort all of it by category.
It did not please her, then, to be interrupted in her work by a sharp rap to the door. She looked up, waiting a second to respond. It couldn't be a medical emergency, could it? There were few casualties at the moment; their mission rates were relatively low, and the Gotei was at peace. If it was a particularly difficult case, her vice-captain would have sent a hell butterfly directly. Frowning, she extended her senses. The spiritual energy behind the door was powerful, but only vaguely familiar to her. Sighing, she spoke.
"Enter."
The woman who walked in was not big enough for her haori, literally so. The determined, fierce look on her face was not impressive; if anything it made her look childish, like a teenager trying to assert herself to a crowd of adults.
"Captain Tamura," Unohana said, not quite managing to keep a hint of cold out of her tone. "I see you have settled into your new role. Your confirmation ceremony went well, I trust?"
Unohana, pointedly, had not attended. It was not mandatory, and it had not been hard to find an excuse.
"Well enough, yeah. Still waiting on my tailor to deliver a proper coat in the right size. I look ridiculous in this, I know."
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I come seeking… Well, I don't know. Advice?" Tamura sighed. "I'll skip the pleasantries because I don't want to waste your time, Captain Unohana. I hope that's alright?"
Unohana nodded. Certainly, getting to the point would be preferable by far.
"I'm not sure I'm up to this," Tamura said bluntly. "I have the bankai and all, but– but I needed to master it before even thinking about captaincy. Think ten, twenty years of hard learning. Damn shame about Azashiro, but here we are."
"Most often do not feel ready," Unohana said neutrally, a little intrigued. The honesty of the young woman was refreshing. Few in the Gotei would openly admit to weakness, especially the seated officers. But was she here to complain, or to do something about it?
"But a hand of cards has been dealt to you, and you must play it. No other will be given."
"That's the real rotten part of it, yeah," Tamura muttered. "I can't back out. Too much riding on it. I'm not ready, but I need to find a way to be ready."
The latter, then?
"I'm not sure I understand how I can be of assistance, captain. Are you wounded in some way?"
Tamura looked down at the floor before looking back up again, grinning and shaking her head.
"Come on, Captain Unohana, you know why I'd come to ask you about the title of Kenpachi. Don't you?"
"Do I?"
"It's not well known, and I didn't connect the dots until I read through the history of the title–really dry reading, by the way–but the first of them was you, wasn't it?"
Unohana leaned back, the young woman commanding her full attention now.
"It's not well known," she admitted, "because I prefer it that way."
"Why?" Tamura said, eyes narrowing. "I can't imagine the first Kenpachi being ashamed of her legacy. Especially not with the way you look at me. You hide it well enough, I suppose, but I can see it written all over you. It bothers you that I'm not what you were."
Unohana took a moment to think. She had taken great pains to master herself, and she had kept a civil tone. Tamura was perceptive, then, to pick up on her feelings like this.
"I am not ashamed, no," she began slowly. "It's… more complicated than that. I killed many in my time, and I earned that title through scars and blood, mine and theirs. I am not ashamed of this, nor am I proud of it. I have some measure of appreciation for the strength and effort it took to become what I was, but what I had to do to be there… I don't feel one way or another about that."
A small lie, but she was not about to lay bare to this child in captain's clothing what she never explored outside her own thoughts.
"It represents a version of me that no longer exists. I was the blood-soaked first Kenpachi, the peerless warrior and slaughterer that cowed all with a glance, because they all knew what I was capable of. But I changed. How and why is not important, but I did change. That person is no longer me, no longer represents what I stand for. I am Retsu Unohana, the second captain of the fourth division. Not as penance for what I did, but because I found something else to live for, something I found more meaningful. I found peace. It was turmoil that made me Kenpachi, an inner chaos, and once it lifted, I no longer had cause to hold that title.
"But being the head doctor, I'd rather be known as the head doctor than the ex-Kenpachi who reformed. People will make all sorts of assumptions, and they always did. It's easier, and more to my liking, to let sleeping dogs lie. Not shame, Captain Tamura, but simply the passage of time and the change of who I am."
Tamura nodded. "Fair enough. But you still care about the old title, don't you? If you didn't, you wouldn't be looking down on me."
"You presume much about what I do or do not think."
"Oh, please," Tamura said, rolling her eyes. "You wouldn't even attend my ceremony, and now you're being cold. Obviously cold. Every other captain I've spoken to has been at least somewhat encouraging, but you?"
"I was busy with urgent medical matters."
"With all due respect, Captain Unohana, don't lie to me," Tamura said firmly. "At least be honest about your feelings. I came here for help, but if you hold me in contempt then at least let that be open."
Her tone was firm, even irritated, and Unohana at first bristled at her tone, inwardly. Who was she to talk to a senior captain this way? To the first Kenpachi, to one who had seen the birth of the Gotei?
But the initial wave of anger gave way to a strange appreciation. The nerve on her, yes– but that was just it, it took nerve to stand up to a senior captain, especially a former Kenpachi, twice over her senior. She had a spine, at least. Too many people, even senior officers, treated their captains like godlike creatures of supernatural wisdom and power, forgetting how fallible they were.
"…I do not hold you in contempt," Unohana said, after some contemplation, "not you personally. You are unworthy of the office, but I do not have any strong feelings about you one way or the other."
Tamura nodded.
"I am unworthy. We agree on that. That is why," she said, falling down to one knee, then the other, "I have come here to ask you to help me become worthy."
Tamura bowed deep, until her forehead almost touched the office floor.
"I implore you, Captain Unohana, help me become somebody worth remembering!"
Unohana stared, nonplussed. She had not expected a captain of the eleventh, albeit unfit for the title, to humble herself like this. She was not sure what to make of it. On the one hand, such behavior was anathema to the pride of a warrior, a sign of weakness and cowardice, an acknowledgment of inability and inferiority. But on the other hand, a gentler and less archaic part of Unohana reasoned, humility like this was a sign of wisdom. Would she rather that Tamura had pretended to be worthy, knowing it was a lie?
"…Stand up," she said at last. "The Kenpachi bows to nobody."
Looking a bit sheepish, having to straighten out her oversized haori, Tamura stood up. She looked awkward, a slight blush on her cheeks.
"I beg you," she insisted. "I can't– I can't just be the weak nobody that just held the title in place until somebody better came along to butcher me for it. I want to be somebody the Eleventh can look up to. I want to– I want people to look at my headstone, at my mentions in history as more than a useless footnote!"
Ambition, then. But for others as much as herself. The Kenpachi was usually much more egotistical than that, their force of personality determining the very character of the division, never caring about impressing others, simply becoming impressive by being themselves.
But the Eleventh had a notorious problem with recklessness and poor leadership, Himura and Kurayashiki having been the only exceptions, and given the impulsiveness that had seen Azashiro sent into prison for life, the division could certainly use a wiser, more empathetic leader.
"Begging is unbecoming of a Kenpachi," Unohana said, deliberately keeping an aloof tone. She was not convinced yet. Let's see her handle a bit of cold, first.
"You really will not help me?"
Tamura sounded frustrated, almost desperate.
"Any Kenpachi must forge their own path. Who ever heard of one begging on their knees to become worthy?"
"Who ever heard of one having the title forced on them?"
"With respect, that is your problem to handle, not mine," Unohana said coldly.
Tamura took a deep breath, standing up straight. Her nostrils trembled slightly, and it seemed to take effort for her to compose herself. Her fists were balled, her muscles tensing.
Then suddenly the tension was gone, and her shoulders slumped. She sighed.
"Alright, fine. It's not like you owe me anything," she grumbled. "I'll… figure this out, I guess. I won't waste any more of your time, Captain Unohana."
As she turned to leave, Unohana considered the young captain. She had expected– almost hoped– for a tantrum, for some immature anger, some reason to easily dismiss her. Instead, she'd just… accepted it. Accepted being on her own, having to go at it by herself without guidance, not knowing if she could do it.
"You could resign. We would be without a captain for the Eleventh, but not forever."
"Captain, please," Tamura said, looking back with a glimmer of anger in her eye, "I thought about that. It's not like I would be executed if I didn't agree. What kind of a vacillating coward takes a post only to step down immediately? I was needed. I'm not good enough, but I'm at least better than nothing."
"Needed? By whom?"
"The division. The Gotei. The soldiers," Tamura said, shrugging. "Do you know how quickly the companies would break down without somebody cracking skulls every so often? We're not a disciplined, smartly-drilled division. That's always been the case. We're well-trained warriors, not disciplined soldiers, and without a forceful personality to hold it all together, we just become… thugs. The Gotei has a mission, the most important mission, and one whole division not functioning properly? When I could make a difference? I'm not stepping back from that just because it's hard, or because I'm not really worth the name."
Unohana nodded, quietly impressed. She sounded fierce, and more importantly, sincere. Like she believed in something bigger than just running around and fighting whatever could offer a challenge.
"Anyway, see ya," said Tamura, sounding disappointed. As she opened the door to leave, Unohana made a decision.
"There is a quiet training ground in Ukuru village, a mile outside the Seireitei," she said, her voice reserved. "A private place to train. I believe if you visited there tomorrow, by dawn, you would find something useful to your endeavor."
Tamura froze, looking back to Unohana once more.
"Private and… quiet, huh?" she said hopefully.
"Very private. The people there know how to value discretion."
"They sound sensible. I value discretion too," Tamura replied.
Unohana nodded.
"Just the one time. To decide if you are worth the effort. Be there, and do not be late."
"You won't regret it, I swear," Tamura said enthusiastically, a relieved smile spreading across her face.
"I hope so," Unohana said.
Watching her leave, she felt… uncertain. Tamura had said a lot of the right things, and she sounded sincere, but to know if she could put her money where her mouth was… well, that was quite a different thing, wasn't it? Then again, nobody made it to vice-captain of the Eleventh without guts, strength, and serious determination.
It was just before dawn, but Tamura had taken no chances. She had gotten up while it was still dark, sneaking off into the night. She made sure not to be seen; although this was not quite a state secret, she was taking no chances about Unohana's emphasis on privacy. Leaving her oversized haori behind, she stalked into the night by herself, with nothing but her uniform and her zanpakuto. Using a light spell, she had guided herself there once outside the Gotei, walking the mile down the road to Ukuru. She nearly lost her way twice, having to backtrack. Finally she reached what had to be the training grounds, an isolated glade just outside the village perimeter. The path there was small and obscure, almost overgrown, with thick branches almost obscuring the way.
She wasn't kidding, Tamura thought. She's not making it easy. Then again, what else would you expect?
She pushed her way through branch and leaf, little tears being ripped in her pants from the rough vegetation, until she finally emerged in the glade. In the distance, she saw the sun rising, the faint light of dawn starting to turn the black of night into the pale gray of morning. She extinguished the light kido in her hand, and stepped fully into the arena.
It seemed clear that, although the path was nearly overgrown, the glade was well tended to. The grass was neatly cut, and the bushes near the edges trimmed. Effort had gone into maintaining this secret place. Tamura felt privileged. This was a personal space, a secret shared by a great person, for her benefit. Even if she was rejected here and now, she'd take this to her grave. As the sun's first rays illuminated the place, she found it simple and unassuming, with a harmonious beauty. A small, secluded area, surrounded by the lush greenery of nature, cut off from the outside world.
Although momentarily distracted, she remembered why she was here. Where was Unohana? Had– Had she gone to the wrong place after all? Had she just been navel-gazing at a random forest glade? Had she just screwed it up? She looked around nervously, considering whether to backtrack. She couldn't sense the captain anywhere–
But then the sun rays intensified, the gray turning into color, and in a flash there the captain stood. There had been no discharge of power; she had not been there one moment, and the next she stood some ten yards away. Tamura flinched.
"Captain!" she barked nervously, cursing herself for the yelping pitch of her voice.
"Losing your nerve already, Kenpachi?" Unohana said, a slight hint of sarcasm in her calm, serene voice.
"Not– Not at all," Tamura said, awkwardly rubbing the back of her head, "I just, ah, I didn't see you there…"
"A simple enough kido illusion. Hard to spot unless you're looking for it."
"Of– Of course. Yeah. I knew that…"
"Did you now?"
"Well, if you mean 'didn't know that at all', then yeah," Tamura admitted, laughing nervously.
"Honesty," Unohana said, nodding approvingly.
Did she really just hide out in plain sight, waiting for the right time to scare the hell out of me? Tamura thought incredulously. She had not expected such a dramatic streak from the infamously reserved captain of Fourth.
"So, uh…?"
"I have an appointment to meet by nine o'clock," said Unohana firmly, "and I cannot tarry. You have until eight-thirty to impress me. The ball is in your court, captain."
"Right. So, do I just… Are there any rules, or…?"
"No rules. Just fight."
"Right."
This was unexpected. What was she supposed to do, just… Come at her? Tamura shrugged. There was nothing to it. If the captain wanted a fight, she'd get one. She pulled her zanpakuto from its scabbard and took a stance, keeping the blade low. Should she go to shikai immediately? Would this just be a basic spar?
All of that is up to me, I guess.
(Song of choice: Showing off, Bleach ost)
Alright. A basic start then, feel the woman out. There was no way in hell she'd ever win, but winning was not the point. Tamura cautiously moved forward, knees bent and eyes fixed on her opponent. How hard would she go? These were not practice blades, these were real zanpakuto- and ominously, she had not even drawn hers yet.
Hesitation is death, Tamura reminded herself as she approached. She could not get caught up wondering what Unohana was up to, conjuring one scenario after another– she had to act, to do her best with what she had available to her.
Deciding to take her shot, Tamura surged forward with two bold steps, her blade sweeping at Unohana's left side in a horizontal slash. The captain easily evaded by taking a step back, and in a flash her blade cleared its scabbard. The force of her blade slamming into Tamura's nearly knocked the weapon out of the new Kenpachi's hands, and left her dangerously open. She meant to drop and roll, to evade, but before she could react she felt the edge of the blade against her shihakusho, lightly prodding her side.
"You're dead," Unohana said calmly. "Try harder."
Tamura grit her teeth. The former Kenpachi had read her like an open book and defeated her in two moves, smooth as could be. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped back, ready for another go, light on her feet. She half-jumped on the spot, her ankles bouncing up and down, and she looked like she might spring into action any time. This had intimidated many opponents on her path up the ladder, but Unohana looked unimpressed.
"Not a strong stance," she commented.
"Not if you're defending, no," Tamura agreed. And like lightning she launched herself forward, a set of three rapid thrusts going for Unohana's head. The old captain evaded with ease, but Tamura's real objective was the downward slash– she'd made the captain raise her blade, meaning her chest was exposed. Twisting the blade sideways in one hand she flicked it around, aiming for Unohana's side–
But then Unohana was not there anymore, a rapid step back taking her out of striking range. Tamura bit down a disappointed curse as she felt the tip of her blade only graze Unohana's uniform.
"Better," Unohana conceded, "but not good enough. Too aggressive."
"We're Kenpachi. Aren't we supposed to be aggressive?" Tamura muttered.
"Aggressive, not foolish," Unohana corrected. "Aggression allows you to set the pace of the conflict, but being too aggressive exposes you to a deadly counter-strike. The way of the blade requires balance."
"Worked for me this far."
"Thus far you've beaten Eleventh Division thugs and hollows," Unohana said dismissively. "Brave men and strong monsters, yes, but you're in another league now. Let go of anything like pride or ego. You're a child here, and what you know counts for little."
Tamura grit her teeth. A prideful anger burned in her chest; she had worked so hard to get where she was…
But the captain was right. She sighed, and relaxed herself. "Very well then. No pride, no ego. Only me, my sword, and my opponent."
"As it always should be."
Tamura breathed in and closed her eyes, expelling her stress. She was not very good at meditation, and this forced calm was far from perfect, but any edge would help her here. She opened her eyes, and they narrowed as her gaze focused on the captain of the Fourth. Her surroundings seemed to melt away, the forest turning into a vague green somewhere far off, irrelevant.
Herself, her blade, and her enemy.
Tamura leaped forward, making an effort not to think. There was a particular state of fighting, when you were pushed to the extreme and all that existed was your life and the enemy trying to take it, where combat became a fluent and natural thing. Technique required not a single thought, and the blade became an extension of your arm. No mind.
Thoughtlessly, with singular focus, she launched herself at Unohana. Her strikes were smooth and fluid now, like they should have been from the start. The senior warrior parried her strikes with ease, but when the counterthrust came, Tamura weaved out of the way with ease, her next attack coming dangerously close to Unohana's neck. The doctor took a step back under Tamura's relentless assault, patiently parrying the flurry of blows.
It's working! Tamura thought jubilantly, realizing too late that she was not supposed to think–
And just like that her blade had been pinned to the ground by a smooth strike from Unohana, the senior captain having followed her attack and finally found the opening she required. Before Tamura could react, a sharp jab connected with her chest. She staggered back, trying and failing to keep her balance from the impact of the punch, before gracelessly tumbling to the ground. To make things worse, she had fallen right on her rear.
"It was going so well," she grumbled. "What happened to using our blades, huh?"
"Who said anything about a rule like that?" Unohana smirked.
"But you said–"
"A warrior must know her alternatives in a close quarters struggle. The sword is almost always preferable, yes, but you must know what to do when it doesn't serve your purposes. You must be quick on your feet and quick of wit both, or you will never earn the right to call yourself Kenpachi."
"You're enjoying this," Tamura said accusatively, rubbing her sore backside as she got up on wobbly legs.
"I am sure I have no idea what you're saying," Unohana said. Her tone was quite neutral, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk at the corners of her mouth.
"Screw it, I'm taking this up another notch," Tamura said irritably. "Soar to the heavens, Kinzoku Ryū Tsume!" (Metal Dragon Claw)
Her blade came aglow as Tamura spoke the words, a bright yellow sheen covering its length as it extended, both hilt and blade growing longer and larger until it was nearly as long as she was, a great blade, with curved spikes atop its spine.
"Are you about to make this interesting, then?" Unohana said, and there was a glimmer in her eye– excitement? Was that the first glance of her old self coming out?
She was going to find out.
Unohana watched Tamura launch herself forward. She seemed faster now, and her spiritual energy pulsed quicker, every current moving almost twice as fast as normal. A passive effect, then, a boost to her speed to compensate for the size and weight of the blade– which was not inconsiderable, judging by the way she held it.
As Tamura leaped through the air she spun around once, twice. Unohana was about to chide her for trying to pull such a ridiculous maneuver when she realized it was not just for show. Tamura slashed her blade in a wide arc, and a massive hail of short knives surged out at blinding speed. With reflexes honed by generations worth of fighting Unohana pivoted away, but the blades seemed somewhat guided; their arc changed mid-flight and even though a good few sailed past her, the second half of the barrage still came at her center-mass.
Alright then.
Unohana swung her blade in a hard, calculated strike, down and up. The sheer force of the cut made the air ripple, and Unohana's zanpakuto cut through a row of blades, shattering them like glass thrown on a hard floor. The few projectiles outside her cut veered off course by the sheer power of her strike, slamming into the ground, into the bushes and trees around her.
She looked around the glade. Blades were embedded deep into the trees, down past the hilt. Some trees had lost branches or had their trunks badly chipped. One tree had most of its trunk ripped out, slowly starting to keel over. This attack was no joke– as you should expect from a vice-captain of Eleventh.
"Not bad," she acknowledged, "but I hope you can do better than that."
"Ma'am, I've only gotten started," Tamura proclaimed, pointing her blade toward her. Intrigued, Unohana took a stance, motioning for Tamura to come at her.
Tamura charged, once again spinning around to charge up an attack. Knowing what would come, Unohana preempted her by dashing to the side as the barrage came in, and although their course changed somewhat in her direction, the blades missed her by a wide margin. Homing missiles, they were not.
But Tamura had been prepared, and a forward swing at Unohana sent a rush of throwing stars at her. Unohana parried them all, her blade working at impossible speed to keep up. Tamura used the moment it took to parry to charge in, striking down with heavy overhead swings. Unohana took a step back and parried, finding herself pushed back.
Good. It meant Tamura was not a one-trick pony, that she utilized her shikai effectively. However, this close, Unohana was the favored one, without a doubt. Tamura's movements were slower now, even with the passive boost to her speed, and forceful blows meant nothing if they never connected. She batted the young Kenpachi's blade aside, forcing her to side-step a counter-thrust. Tamura raised her blade, pointing forward- and then there was a flicker from her blade, a knife bursting forward before Unohana could react, catching her in the shoulder. Her brow rose slightly as she felt the pain, the knife ripping through her coat and shirt and into her flesh.
"Interesting," she conceded, momentarily pausing to pull the knife out. Her coat started to dye red, but a burst of healing from Minazuki closed the wound before it could become an issue. "It seems you've drawn first blood. Close range shooting is… quite a tactic."
"See, people always think I'll just rely on spamming one barrage of shots after another," Tamura said, shrugging, "and that's their first mistake. Usually the last mistake they make. Missile barrages are nice, but they're more there to set the pace, control the fight, create openings."
"Surprisingly sophisticated for an officer of the Eleventh."
"Hey, killing's a sophisticated art. People who don't get that are either crazy good at what they do, or dead meat."
"True." She gave Tamura a small nod, the first sign of respect she had earned.
"Again," Unohana demanded.
Tamura took a few steps back and swung her sword around, spinning around on one foot, launching a barrage of throwing stars at Unohana. They came in long bursts now, sustained waves of semi-guided projectiles. Unohana found herself forced to remain on the move, not even her blade enough to block every wave. When she dashed left, she found a barrage waiting for her; when she dashed back to the side she almost ran right into a hail of knives. Several of them got dangerously close to finding their mark, and her flowing sleeves and coat took more than a few tears in the process. She was forced to put more and more distance between the two of them, and realized she was being herded- forced to go one particular way, pushed just to where the young Kenpachi wanted her.
Excellent control, she admitted to herself. Intelligent fighting style. There is potential here.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Tamura came charging in– but even as she charged, another two barrages rained down on Unohana, covering the young captain's advance.
Delayed attacks? Timed to match a finishing strike? Not bad.
Unohana managed to evade the first, her sword working overtime to shatter the second, and it was only barely that she got her blade up in time to parry the first strike. Tamura's assault was ferocious, nearly knocking Unohana off her feet, and it was only by sheer muscle memory that Unohana managed to hold on. The fact was that every blow was a hair's breadth from cutting her, from wounding her…
It was an exhilarating feeling. As Unohana parried, on the edge of having her guard broken, just on the verge of taking real damage, she felt the comfort of a lifetime's worth of fighting come over her. She was in her element now, old instincts resurfacing like some insidious creature rising up from just beneath the waterline. A grin crawled over her face as she felt herself get warm, working up a sweat. She was not ashamed of her past, and here and now, she remembered why it had been so alluring.
She was trying so hard. And she was good, too. But slowly, surely, Unohana was wearing down her momentum, finally regaining her footing. Soon, the rapid exchange turned into something far more even, and a frustrated look came over Tamura's face.
"Damn it," she huffed, taking a step back. She was breathing heavily, the attack seeming to have taken a lot out of her. She had put her all into this, gambling on overwhelming Unohana– and now that it hadn't worked…
"I can't put a dent in you, even with shikai," she said, taking a few deep breaths, wiping sweat off her brow. "I thought I had you a couple times there, but…"
She shrugged helplessly.
"You very nearly did," Unohana admitted. "Nearly."
"Well, screw me," Tamura muttered. "You really are… I mean, I knew you were good, but you were moving like water just now. Like the wind. What's a gal supposed to do?"
"Not give up because she hit a difficult obstacle," Unohana retorted.
"Yeah, yeah. Yes, I know…"
"Go all out," Unohana said, her eyes narrowing. "Show me all you've got. Hold nothing back."
"You mean…"
"Yes."
"Might as well," Tamura muttered. She skipped back a few steps and held her blade aloft, pointed at the sky.
"Ban-kai!"
There was a great surge of power, and Unohana watched with interest as Tamura's presence seemed to grow, a yellow glow emanating from her form. There was a great gust of wind, both their clothes flapping wildly back and forth. Tamura's blade seemed to vanish, but Unohana saw its power clear as day– it had not gone away, it had simply become a mass of raw force floating above the young Kenpachi, some two feet behind her.
"Urutorasuchiru Ryujin!" (Ultra Steel Dragon King) (Idea: Daitetsu Ryujin/Great Steel Dragon King)
And so the great beast took shape, a massive and menacing creature forming behind Tamura. It was an enormous dragon, with four short legs and a long, serpentine dragon. Its skin was metallic, sleek silver, with gunmetal plating running along its back. Long bright red spikes and ridges ran along its back, contrasting with the duller metal. It looked like a weapon come to life, more so than any zanpakutou Unohana had ever seen. It towered over them both, a good thirty feet tall. It let out a hiss, a noise like an engine about to come roaring to life. Its tail end circled around where Tamura stood, forming a protective barrier.
Tamura stood there, a pair of metal gauntlets having replaced the blade in her hand. She took a stance, holding one hand forward, the other held back, as if she was about to engage in hand-to-hand. But that, Unohana suspected, was the last thing she meant to do.
"Very well then," she nodded, "let's see what it can do."
Tamura made a fist and thrust a hand forward, and the dragon roared, rearing its head back.
Interesting. It requires manual control; thought alone cannot make it move, Unohana noted.
The dragon's head came down, spraying an unending barrage of sharp weaponry. It was like a dragon's breath from the old stories, but without the fire- but no less destructive. Unohana simply ran, dashing around in circles. The dragon followed her movements with surprising agility, but its hail of knives lagged behind. Always one step ahead, Unohana kept circling, trying to think. It wasn't quite as fast as when Tamura had controlled her ability with shikai, but the attack was so relentless that it barely mattered. There was no pausing or parrying this; she had to either be where it was not or get caught up in a shredding avalanche of razorblades. This sort of attack could chew through a horde of hollows in mere seconds, and the constant pressure ensured she had to stay on the move.
Unohana tried dashing in closer, but the dragon's serpentine body lashed out. A hail of projectiles flew from its side, and Unohana barely missed a swipe from one of its hind legs not a moment after. Her clothes took quite a beating, and it was only a lifetime's worth of fighting that let her evade the ruthless strikes.
Close defences. She does not leave herself vulnerable to melee attacks, not easily, Unohana thought approvingly. It would be all too easy to rely on the overwhelming power of the bankai's main attack, but Tamura had thought a step further. Despite the rough start they had gotten off to, Unohana had to admit the young Kenpachi was… at least somewhat respectable.
She had to actually make an effort now.
Unohana kept circling the bankai, the grassy training ground turning into shredded dirt behind her. When she felt comfortable that the dragon was repeating the same pattern again, perhaps enough to become surprised by an unexpected turn, Unohana launched herself at the stream of blades, coming at it from underneath. Putting all she had into her swing, she came at the edge of the barrage. The forceful blow disrupted the flow momentarily, and although Unohana felt a plethora of stinging cuts graze her, she was through. Tamura was already launching a defensive barrage, but Unohana was prepared, vaulting over it. The dragon's head closed its maw; this close, it could not possibly attack with its barrage without hitting Tamura as well. The head came down to snap at her, and the serpentine body coiled around Tamura- too late. Unohana sailed through the coils just as they closed, standing face to face with the young Kenpachi. She struck out at Unohana, but quickly found a blade pressed to her neck.
"You should have tried to create space," Unohana chided her, "a quick-timed shou would have forced me back and given you a second to let your bankai do its work. Diversity of-"
"Of tactics, yes," said Tamura irritably, cursing under her breath. "Shit…"
"Again," Unohana said, smiling. "I haven't had a workout quite like this for some time."
Tamura parted the bankai's coils, allowing Unohana to step out. The senior captain walked a good forty yards off, allowing Tamura plenty of space. Unohana gave her a nod, and Tamura raised her fists. Responding to her will, the metallic dragon rose up again, its barrage resuming. To Tamura's surprises, though, Unohana changed tactics. A powerful kido spell was flung from her fingers, and a massive explosion kicked up an enormous cloud of dirt. Tamura sensed her coming and cursed, clamping the dragon's coils shut while moving away at speed. Where was she? She was close, she knew it, but…
Damned clever. She'd given herself a moment's worth of distraction, and now she'd closed the distance, well inside the bankai's safe range. Tamura swung her fists around, the coils of the dragon opening, a spray of knives flinging out in all directions.
"Alright, where are you-" Tamura snarled, falling silent when she felt the edge of a blade touch her neck from behind.
"You had the right idea to move away," Unohana said calmly, as Tamura's shoulders slumped down in defeat, turning around to face the senior captain.
"But it was a mistake to commit to such total defense. It gave me full freedom to position myself where I wanted to be- behind you. The barrage was a nice touch, but all I had to do was vault inside when you opened up."
Unohana pulled her blade back, sheathing it smoothly.
"Damn it…" Tamura muttered, balling her fists hard, her knuckles whitening. The bankai dissipated, and her sealed blade appeared on the ground, standing before the young Kenpachi.
"I couldn't lay a hand on you, even with bankai. You didn't even have to unseal your blade," Tamura said, shaking her head. "That… that's a senior captain for you, I suppose."
She inhaled deeply, before exhaling again. She controlled herself well, but the disappointment was written plainly on her face.
"I'm sorry to have wasted your time, captain," she said, grabbing her blade and sheathing it. "I'll go at it alone. Thank you for at least giving me the opportunity."
She turned to leave.
"You are awfully quick to jump to conclusions," Unohana noted. "What makes you think my time was wasted?"
"But I… I couldn't even touch you. Not even with my bankai. How could I possibly be worthy of training?"
"I believe you are mistaken," Unohana said, gesturing to her shoulder. Although closed, the drying blood on her torn clothes spoke a plain enough language.
"I was touched at least once. Unlike you, I might add. And that bankai of yours made me work up a sweat, albeit a slight one."
"Don't pity me, captain," Tamura said with a scowl, "I can accept a defeat, even one as total as this, but I don't want your pity."
"I do not offer pity."
"Then- what?" Tamura said, puzzled.
"The moment I started offering you advice, I became your tutor. You think too little of yourself, Tamura Kenpachi. It is an unseemly habit that you must break. A Kenpachi must know oneself, not indulge in false humility or self-deception. They must be confident, but not arrogant."
"Then…"
"You showed strength and dedication. True potential. Meet me here again tomorrow, captain. We will train here every morning until I deem you worthy of the title."
"I…" Tamura looked stunned for a second. "So you will…"
"I do not believe in repeating myself. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back and change before I attend to my duties at Fourth," Unohana said, and without another word she walked away, leaving a shocked Tamura behind. The young Kenpachi stared, watching her leave. When she was well out of sight, and out of earshot, she jumped high, punching the air.
"YES!"
The next session went well- as did the next, and the one after that. A week turned into a month, which turned into a year before either of them knew it, and soon a decade had passed in what seemed like a heartbeat. Tamura was quick-witted and dedicated, refusing to stay down no matter how many defeats Unohana inflicted, and the senior captain came to respect her, even to quietly admire her- even if she never quite let her know that last part.
Day after day, spar after spar, Tamura refined her skill, turning from dangerous to lethal, from skilled to masterful, from iron to steel. Gradually Unohana stopped holding back, always escalating just a little. As the years went on there were several close calls, where it was damn good luck that Unohana was the best medic in the Gotei. Tamura lost an arm at one point, however briefly, but even when the spars got their roughest she refused to quit.
Unohana had started it as a project to create a worthy Kenpachi, but soon realized it was more than that. She had left the bloody days of her life behind, but a small part of her still missed it. Educating a student of such a high level gave her an outlet, a place to let loose and remind herself of days past when she had been a great terror, when her blood had run hot and she'd enjoyed the thrill of the fight.
A year into it, she realized it was more still than that. Tamura was a charming young woman, hard and dedicated, and watching her bloom into a great warrior was… rewarding. To coax out her true potential was fulfilling in a way few things had been for Unohana in all her life. She wanted her to succeed, no longer out of pride for a title but because Tamura was worth it, because she was exceptional and likeable. They grew close, as student and teacher, and before Unohana knew it, she had made a new friend. A rare thing indeed, which was why it was so precious.
And so, like a blacksmith hammering, tempering and quenching a piece of steel into a sharp blade, Unohana forged true steel out of the young woman. As one decade turned into several, Tamura led missions, added great deeds to her name, and forged a path forward for her divisions. She slew an arrncar, Tracal Èan; she singlehandedly covered the retreat against a thousand hollows as her division had to fall back from a massive ambush; she slew the Wicked Five, a band of Adjuchas who had terrorized the Rukongai for months. Tamura earned her scars and with it a fearsome reputation, becoming not just a placeholder, but the Kenpachi. She would often thank Unohana, crediting her- but Unohana knew better. Tamura had done this herself, and it had been a privilege to show her the way.
Twenty years had passed, and Tamura had whipped the division into shape. She was as strong as she had ever been, Unohana's ruthless spars paying off in dividends. Once an uncertain factor, a placeholder, Tamura was now a respected captain in her own right.
On this particular day, a sunny day in the middle of summer, the division was abuzz. Tamura had drilled them hard the entire preceding week, and made sure the place was in pristine shape. Not a single thing left out of place, the main walkways meticulously swept, all the dirt scrubbed off. Not a single uniform was out of order, dirty or torn, and most of the division stood lined up on the courtyard, standing to attention with their eyes forward, their chest out and their hands tucked in behind their backs. It had taken near godlike effort to force the division members to get the place clean and spotless, not to mention observing discipline, but Tamura- who rarely fought them on this issue, because you could only ask so much of a group of professional thugs- had insisted, and cracked skulls until they agreed.
Because today, Yamamoto would be coming by for an inspection. Despite twenty years of success, despite passing each inspection with flying colors, Tamura had no intention of slacking off. Deep down she still felt like the rookie that had once flailed and begged for help, unsure of her position- and as far as she was concerned, the best way to keep on doing well was to be meticulous, careful and hard.
The captain-commander arrived, flanked by half a dozen personal guards. A ceremonial detail, of course; if he was actually attacked, they would be useless at best and a hindrance at worst. But the old man believed in tradition, and that was that.
"Captain-commander," Tamura greeted the venerable old head captain at the gates of Eleventh. She looked her best, having ordered a new haori for the occasion, its sleeves carefully torn to show off her muscular arms. She bowed, and the old man gave her a nod.
"Eleventh division humbly greets you, and opens its gates to your entourage. We stand ready for inspection, lord."
Yamamoto gave her a curt nod.
"I would not have believed anybody other than Kurayashiki could tame these animals, but they seem to fall in line," he said, beginning his walk, Tamura following along. "What is your secret?"
"Extreme amounts of violence and intimidation," Tamura replied without missing a beat.
"That is no joke, I assume."
"You assume correctly, captain-commander," Tamura replied sagely. "But they will show appropriate respect at least in my presence. They know the consequences if they do not."
"It will suffice," Yamamoto said dismissively.
Together they walked through the gates and down the path toward the main square. On both their sides stood row upon row of Eleventh soldiers, stone-faced and at attention. Tamura eyed them carefully; she'd had to give more than one of them a black eye, but they had finally gotten there.
The procession reached the main square, where most of the division stood lined up in rows upon rows of at least decently disciplined ranks. Yamamoto began making his rounds, walking slowly around the square. One or two soldiers failed inspection- a torn uniform, or not properly groomed, not properly washed- and her provosts rushed them off to be disciplined, but by and large it seemed to be a success. Her heart skipping a beat every time Yamamoto stopped, Tamura nevertheless kept her composure.
About halfway through, though, there was an interruption. Just as Yamamoto turned away from a close inspection that had Tamura's heart pounding, a well-groomed young man with a smooth shave and his hair in a traditional top knot took a step out of line, turning to face both her and the old man.
"This is most irregular," Yamamoto grumbled. "Explain yourself."
The young man stood to attention. Tamura recognized him- it was the fourth seat from… division three? How had he snuck into this exercise?
"And make it good," Tamura demanded, her voice cold as ice. "You're not even from this division. You're trespassing."
"Captain-commander, I am Nakamura Kagerou, fourth seat of division three," said the young man. "Eldest son and heir to the Nakamura clan. This may be irregular, but I have come here to claim by right of tradition a rule observed since the foundation of this great organization, oh venerable one."
"What right?" Tamura snapped. "You have no right to even be here. Does your captain know you are absent from your duties?"
"Tamura Kenpachi, I hereby challenge you for the right to your title as leader of Eleventh Division!"
Tamura's jaw nearly dropped. This… twerp interrupted her meticulously prepared inspection for something like that?
"Are you serious?" she managed.
"I have gained bankai and I am fully prepared to use it. I am no frivolous challenger," Kagerou insisted.
Yamamoto gave him a long, scrutinous look.
"There is power about the boy," he conceded. "He is correct, Captain Tamura. By right of tradition, the seat of Eleventh is open to all challengers."
Tamura grit her teeth.
"You chose your opportunity well, Nakamura," she said coolly, her hand going down to the hilt of her blade. "In front of the whole division, in front of the captain-commander. Nobody could refuse such a challenge, least of all the Kenpachi."
"Soon enough that will be me," Kagerou said confidently.
"Not here," Tamura said firmly. "We have sparring grounds. I've worked hard on building up this division, and I'd rather not wreck it here and now." She raised her voice, addressing the crowd.
"Everyone, listen up! I've been challenged for my title by a fellow officer in good standing. We're taking this to the training grounds. Everyone who wants to watch is free to do so, but keep your damn distance!"
There was a buzz of excitement as the word passed down through the ranks, hundreds and soon thousands of voices talking amongst themselves. Did you hear? That punk kid called out the captain. No way, that'll never work. But she's never been challenged…
Tamura shoved the murmurs aside, resolutely marching down the line toward the sparring grounds. She had to turn and bark at her men to keep discipline to keep it from becoming a disorganized crowd. This was still inspection day; they were not excitable school boys about to watch a fight. This was dead serious. In the distance she saw Yamamoto, following at his own pace. And right next to her, a prideful swagger to his step and a pleased look about him, Nakamura Kagerou. She shot him a glance, trying to get the measure of him. He was strong, there was no denying it. Ambitious too; with a bankai it would only be a matter of time before he was promoted at least to vice-captain, but he had chosen to challenge her, to take a faster route to power and to hold the title of not only captain, but champion for all the Gotei. The young were often overconfident, but anybody with the mental fortitude to accomplish the full shape of their blade was per definition highly skilled and motivated. He could not be underestimated. He saw her glance, and shot her a cocky smile in return.
"I want you to know it's nothing personal," Kagerou said with an obviously false tone of charity and cheer. "No hard feelings. You simply happen to sit in a seat that I need. If you'd rather step down to avoid dying, I'd accept that. Not that I would offend your pride by making such an offer, of course."
You just did, you little shit, Tamura thought to herself. Out loud, she said, "That won't be necessary. I think you'll find the title is not so easy to claim as you might think, young Nakamura."
Kagerou just grinned at her.
The old man would be watching. The whole division would be watching. What if there was something more to him than the arrogant confidence of youth? What if she was about to lose to some kind of unexpected trick, some feature of his abilities that countered hers perfectly? Her blade was well known, while she knew nothing about his. What if-
No. Stop. His first step to victory is you letting your mind run wild like this. You've been trained by the first and best Kenpachi for twenty years. All you can do is trust in yourself and do your best.
Tamura took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on the training grounds. She had to force herself not to look further at Nakamura. Who even was this kid, having the audacity to put himself forward like this? If nothing else, he had balls.
She stepped in toward the center of the sparring ring, hand on her hilt. Kagerou was in no rush himself, standing opposite her some ten yards away, the smile never leaving his face. Tamura said nothing, letting her division members flood in. The edges of the grounds soon got crowded, hundreds and hundreds of eager soldiers each vying to get the best possible view of the spectacle to come. The place was buzzing with chatter and murmurs, so much so that no individual word could be heard.
But despite the crowding, the lines readily parted for Yamamoto, who walked up to stand by the front lines. Tamura breathed in deep again. The old man raised a hand, conspicuously letting a bit of his immense energy thrum, and the crowd soon fell into silence.
"By ancient tradition we are gathered here today to witness a challenge for the title of Kenpachi," he said, his voice booming over the training grounds. "Tamura Kenpachi has been challenged, Nakamura Kagerou seeking to become Nakamura Kenpachi. Before the eyes of all present, let this be a fair and honorable battle. Begin!"
(Song of choice: Guitar III, Bleach Diamond Dust Rebellion OST)
Kagerou wasted no time, charging right at her with ferocious speed. Swallowing down her doubts and focusing, Tamura met him head on. His strikes were well practiced, masterly even, and their exchanges were lightning fast. Tamura became a whirling dervish of parries and evasions as she took one step back, then another. The crowd went into gasps and murmurs, with a few odd cheers, but to the Kenpachi they might as well have existed. In her world there was only her, her blade and her enemy; nothing else mattered.
Although it looked like she was on the back foot, Tamura felt in control. A feint, evaded; a sharp thrust, parried; a slash, dodged and counter-attacked. The patterns repeated over and over. Yes, although it looked like she was being pushed back, all her doubts and fears had vanished. Kagerou was good, there was no doubt about it. But she was better, markedly better. As sharp as he was, as good as his timing was, he found no openings. Meanwhile she kept on the defensive, each exchange teaching her more and more about her enemy.
He never saw her first attack coming. After deflecting a particularly powerful strike- too powerful; it made him overcommit just a little in his swing- she surged forward, the hilt of her blade slamming into his solar plexus. Coughing, the fourth seat staggered back- only to find a blade resting by his neck.
"You're dead," Tamura said flatly. "Give it up, if you have any sense."
"We're barely warming up, and you think you can get me to give up? Over one lucky hit?" Kagerou scoffed. Tamura bristled, choking on her words in disbelief. She had just beaten him in a single masterstroke by reading his form correctly. Did he not even know how he had lost? Or was he too prideful to acknowledge it? She looked to Yamamoto, hoping to see this settled.
"The rules are quite clear," Yamamoto rumbled. "If you want to win, captain Tamura, then strike him down. Shear his head from his shoulders, or at least incapacitate him."
Tamura bit back a groan, and pulled back. Fine.
"Now that I know your style, I can finally let loose," Kagerou boasted. "Grind them down, Atamagaomoi!"
His blade lengthened, becoming thicker and broader, progressively so from hilt to tip. The end of the blade took on a sickle-like shape, curving inwards. It had an impressive look to it, and Kagerou radiated power.
"Some shikai are complex. Mine is fittingly simple for a Kenpachi. It doubles my strength and speed for as long as it's active," Kagerou said haughtily. Without giving Tamura a moment to think, he dashed forward.
He had not lied; every strike rattled Tamura's arms, shoulders, her entire body now. What's more, Kagerou maintained his doubled strength with contemptuous ease, his spiritual energy flow stable and strong, even seeming to grow as they continued to clash back and forth. Her eyes narrowing, Tamura matched his energy output, pouring more of herself into her blade. Should she crush him solidly here and now, use her shikai and put so many blades into his body that he couldn't possibly fight back? It would be easy. His stances were well guarded against sword strikes, but wide open for a ranged attack. To brutally crush him here and now might be the best path forward.
But it could also kill him, and being a young fool should not get you killed. Tamura had seen too many go before their time during her service, even the obnoxious, and she hesitated to kill needlessly. Calm, careful and precise- that was all she needed. Despite his increased speed and power, all she had to do was match it and the fight was still hers.
As the seconds went into minutes, Kagerou's rapid strikes turned frustrated. It was clear he had expected to overwhelm her, if not win then at least wound her, gain some kind of advantage. When she had weathered the storm, it seemed to anger him.
What did you expect? Tamura thought, parrying another ferocious strike, tentatively lashing out in response. Did you think it'd be easy to challenge a captain? Did you think mere zanpakutou abilities got us where we are now? Captaincy requires so much more, and I hope you live long enough to see that.
"Won't you even show me the respect of using your own release?" Kagerou snarled, taking a step back and breathing heavily.
Tamura wiped a drop of sweat from her brow, calmly staring him down.
"You come to my division, expecting to kill me for my job, and you want respect? This goes to the toughest, meanest warrior of the Gotei, not the nicest. Trust me, I am giving you more respect than you know- or deserve," she said coldly.
"Then I'll make you show respect," Kagerou snarled, his spiritual energy levels rising higher still. "Ban kai!"
Tamura took a step back. She was afraid it would go this far- no, it was always unavoidable. A captain would not be beaten by mere shikai. Taking him alive had just gotten much more difficult.
"Oni no Ilari!"
He did not change much physically. A thick, furry cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and simple plate wrapped around his chest, arms and legs. A horned bandana covered most of his head. More noticeable were the four much larger versions of his shikai, held aloft by glowing, blue spiritual arms emanating from his back. This might get tricky, then. Wordlessly Tamura let her blade change, extending into its shikai shape.
"You have my attention, kid," she said, giving him an intense stare. "But if you harm even one person in our audience, I'll cut your balls off."
"Please," Kagerou snorted, "I am in perfect control of my own weapons. Let me show you what I've got!"
He lunged forward, leaping high into the air. Two of the long arms extended under him, spinning ferociously as they surged forward far ahead of their master, while the two other blades rose up to strike her down simultaneously.
He lunged forward, leaping high into the air. Two of the long arms extended under him, spinning ferociously as they surged forward far ahead of their master, while the two other blades rose up to strike her down simultaneously.
Tamura saw the trap laid in her head as the boy lunged. Jump over the two spinning blades going low, only to be pinned down by the overhead strike from his other two blades, and bisected as the first two blades pulled back to shred her while his two heavy blades pinned her down. It was a potent setup, and she had only an instant to figure out how to counter it. Move back? It would only force her back against the wall, and with four angles of attack, her defense would be imperfect. Attack directly? Too defensive. Activate bankai? Not enough time, and she didn't need it.
No, she knew what to do…
Yamamoto watched carefully as young Kagerou charged. The young man certainly seemed ferociously powerful, and Tamura looked to be on the back foot, but he knew better than to be fooled by outward appearances. He watched carefully as the boy closed the distance, and when Tamura acted, it took only an instant. The crowd, which had been cheering and hollering loudly, went into a set of confused murmurs. Tamura had jumped forward, sailing through Kagerou's guard, just to the side of him. She had gracefully evaded his attack, but evade was all she had done- or so it seemed.
Then the boy stumbled, needing his bankai to prop himself up. A foot-long blade was halfway buried into his chest, just under his shoulder. Yamamoto nodded approvingly. Tamura had leaped right at him, without coming within striking range, using her shikai to fire a blade at him just as she sailed past him. A single strike at short range, using the power of her blade to her advantage. Nothing lost, and a considerable advantage gained.
Slowly Kagerou turned around. He grit his teeth and wrenched the blade out of his shoulder, blood dripping down his chest in a thick, steady stream. Tamura looked him in the eyes, pointing his blade at him. The two stood some twenty yards apart, just outside of the bankai's immediate striking distance.
"That's a ferocious thing you've got there," Tamura said. "It has tremendous offensive power, and the potential for great defensive power as well. In a head on fight, it could one day become something worth reckoning with. But here you are, bleeding badly because I saw a clear opening and used it. You were too reckless, Nakamura. You should know my blade and guard yourself appropriately. You did not."
"So what?" Kagerou snarled. "I'm not quitting over one wound, no matter how much you want to brag!"
"I'm not saying this to humiliate you, but to help you. Tell me, how long have you had this bankai?"
Kagerou stared at her furiously, refusing to answer.
"Not very long, like I thought. A month, at most? You haven't learned how it moves properly, or how to move with it. If you had, I might not have been able to sail past your blades so easily. If you had kept even one blade in reserve to guard, you might not stand there bleeding out in front of me. Have you had this one for even two weeks, Nakamura Kagerou?"
Kagerou kept quiet, but he flinched.
"Like I thought. You've had this for one whole week, learned the basics of its ins and outs, and decided I was the easiest target for a quick promotion," Tamura said, shaking her head. "I'm warning you one last time: lay down your blades and go home. Challenge me when you're ready, if you must. If not, I'll have to kill you."
"You think you can insult my pride like that?" Kagerou snarled, trembling. He looked rattled, in between shaken and infuriated. A bad combination for a young man with a weapon, Yamamoto knew.
"You came here to kill me for advancement with a week old bankai. You have no place to speak of insult, young man," Tamura said coolly. "Last chance. Give it up, or your story ends here."
Kagerou took a stance, and roaring out his defiance, he charged. The four blades spun around in a fierce attack pattern. Tamura took the charge head on, smoothly moving under the first cut, somersaulting over the next, trying to close the distance. Having moved too fast and too hard, she almost reached him then and there, but his other two blades swung in to protect him at the last second. A fierce exchange followed, blow for blow as Tamura, too close for the giant blades to gain real momentum, parried and hacked at the bankai. She made no headway, it seemed- until she jumped back, and it was plain to see what she had been doing. Four more knives were planted in Kagerou's flesh; in his other shoulder, in his leg, in his gut.
"Sloppy defense," Tamura said, shaking her head.
"You bitch," Kagerou snarled, his leg trembling.
"Ten years," Tamura said firmly, "it takes ten years to gain mastery over the abilities of a bankai, and a lifetime to truly understand it, to become the best that you can be. I've had twenty. You've had seven days. What did you think would happen?"
"You're just a commoner with a lot of nerve," Kagerou spat. "You dare to look down on one of the blood. You, a commoner with more power than sense. It should be me, one of your betters leading this division."
"A lot of nerve and power is what makes somebody worthy of being Kenpachi, not blood," Tamura shot back. "Merit alone takes you to the top here. Give it up, kid."
"Like hell. I'll kill you even if-"
Tamura moved in a blur, and the rage-fuelled young Nakamura's eyes widened as she suddenly stood before him. Her arms moved in a blur. Her blade had been sheathed and came out in an impossibly fast slash, cutting right through Kagerou's bankai. Two of his giant blades shattered as they tried to defend, and her blade cut into his side and through his left arm, severing it at the elbow. Kagerou sunk to his knees, clutching the stump of his arm.
"It's over," she said coldly. She took a step back, keeping her blade aimed at the pretender, and looked to Yamamoto. "Captain-commander, am I required by rule to kill him?"
"The traditions only stipulate that the duel must be fought to a final conclusion," the old man said thoughtfully. "So far this has always meant death, but the wording is not clear. If you wish to spare him, I would allow it."
"Then let him be. Fourth division could still save his arm," Tamura said, turning around to walk away. "A man of his strength and caliber could serve the Gotei well, and I do not wish to put him in an early grave. He could give much, if he learns humility."
"So be it," Yamamoto said, nodding with approval. "This duel is concluded. The challenge has been met, and Tamura Kenpachi defends her title!"
Before the uproarious cheers could take root, though, something happened to put a damper on their spirits. Kagerou got to his feet, holding his blade in a shaking, bloodied hand, a hateful look on his face.
"It's not over," he hissed, lunging forward with his blade raised, "it's not over till I say it is!"
Finally run out of patience, Tamura spun around. Her blade caught the youth in the neck, cutting deep, almost through the bone of his neck. As she wrenched her blade free, Nakamura Kagerou collapsed to the ground, lifeless, a large pool of red spreading where he fell. Tamura pulled her blade free, meticulously wiping it clean on her sleeve, giving the fresh corpse a disappointed stare.
"I tried," she said, shaking her head. Her voice was furious. "I gave you so many chances, but you refused to take them."
The cheers, abruptly halted by the dishonorable strike, returned stronger than ever. As she walked back toward Yamamoto, joyous soldiers surrounded her, patting her on the back, chanting her name. She had honored her title, defended her division's honor and taken the life of an upstart. Could they love her more after such an event? She doubted it.
Inwardly, though, she felt a quagmire of contradicting emotions. Disgust at the cheer for the death of a reckless young man; pride in her own refusal to take life easily and in her skills, resentment of that pride because it had led to a needless death; relief that it was over; worry what the fallout would be.
She approached the captain-commander, dimly aware that both her uniform and her face were stained with blood. Her first instinct was to wipe it away, to seem presentable, but it seemed fitting somehow. The old man could have clamped down on this duel, demanded it be placed at a later date or chastised the young fool for his disobedience. He had allowed this death to happen; let him see her then as she was, the blood-soaked champion of the Gotei.
The cheers continued to ring, until the captain-commander raised a hand. He commanded enough respect that the noise died down in less than a minute.
"I take it I am still the Kenpachi?" said Tamura, realizing the dryness of her tone would come across somewhat sarcastic, maybe even insolent. In the moment, she did not care much.
"So you are," Yamamoto said, nodding approvingly.
"I tried," said Tamura wearily, "I tried to let him be more than an ambitious fool. I tried to let him live."
"You need make no excuses to me," Yamamoto reassured her. "You showed commendable restraint and mercy, captain. It is a tragic irony that mercy, to a foolish young man, is an incendiary sentiment."
She was not making excuses to him. She was making them to herself. She would not soon forget it- she hated what had been foisted onto her by this wretched tradition. Killing hollows was one thing, killing people quite another.
"You have shown yourself to be a worthy administrator and leader in these last few years," Yamamoto continued. "Now you prove, finally, that you are as full a Kenpachi as one could be. A Kenpachi without challengers beaten is either extremely fearsome, or more likely, not fearsome enough."
Tamura nodded. The praise was bittersweet, but she'd take it.
"You are too kind, captain-commander. It was… I was in control, I believe. I would have looked stronger if I had simply let loose, but…"
Yamamoto nodded.
"Many a Kenpachi have been vicious or even cruel. You are the first to be this compassionate, I believe. It is not a quality most expect from a ferocious warrior, but there is no better quality for a warrior to have."
Tamura nodded.
"Shall we… continue the inspection?"
"I believe I've seen quite enough," said Yamamoto. "I look forward to seeing what you will accomplish in the future, Tamura Kenpachi."
Although stoic, Tamura felt like he was almost… cheerful. As he said his polite goodbyes and walked away, she watched him leave wondering whether she should be happy about it or not. She had no illusions about what the Gotei was, but it felt wrong still to have praise heaped upon her for such a killing.
Time passed again, one year falling seamlessly into the next. Tamura made steady progress, growing her strength year by year, but the relatively peaceful existence of hollow hunts and training was not to last. Fifty years into her captaincy, the quincy conflict, having simmered for years, finally broke into a boil. War had come to the Gotei at last- or rather, the Gotei had brought war to their enemies. Tamura had been captain for long enough now that the division was hers and hers alone, her predecessor a distant memory.
She had watched the oncoming crisis with alarm. There had been at least two rounds of negotiations with the quincies that she knew of, with the stubborn star hosts refusing to back down. The world was coming undone, or so the science folk told them; the edges of the world fraying as the balance of souls was rupturing.
She understood the necessity for it, of course. Tamura did not want to go out there to exterminate a whole people, but with three worlds in the balance, what choice did any one of them have? She was merciful, but she had never lacked the resolve to act. She had met the quincies during negotiations and they all came across haughty, high-handedly dismissing the shinigami emissaries. Who were the shinigami to question them, they seemed to think, when they lacked the courage to purge hollows for good?
And so a great and terrible war had ensued. They were not a year into the fight yet- seven months had passed by now, although it certainly felt like three times the time had passed- and it had turned into a ruefully one-sided affair. Men died, yes, felled by arrow and blade, but the shinigami were simply stronger, more numerous and better organized. The quincy fought bravely, but every battle so far had led to defeat. They had given one brave last stand after another, and although Tamura admired their determination and commitment, ultimately it just meant they died. By dozen, by the score, by the hundreds they died. Men, women and children fought and died, and for what? Their pride?
It felt so wasteful. It brought a new and terrible aspect of service to her office. Thus far her enemies had been hollows, monstrous creatures she could slay without reservation. A boy in between childhood and manhood, not yet fifteen though? That was a different thing altogether.
And still she did her terrible duty, slaying all who got in her way, because fifteen or not, those arrows could kill and had taken many lives among her subordinates. But their faces did not go away, and she'd see them when she fell asleep, staring at her wordlessly, pale and gaunt.
Her current assignment was a simple purge. Like most missions thus far, it was meant to overwhelm the garrison with superior force, to brutally beat their enemies into submission. The old man had run out of patience, and they were taking no prisoners- anyone who resisted was to be put to the sword, whether they surrendered or not. It was ugly, and she cursed having been put into this era.
They were out in the world of the living, wind and sand washing over the four hundred or so men under her command. Eleventh had assembled two full companies of veterans to lead the charge, supported by an equal number from Seventh, an impromptu cooperation executed due to the hasty nature of the operation- the quincy bastion had only just been located, and would not see them coming until it was too late.
"Alright, men!" Tamura cried over the wind, raising her blade and pointing it at the nearest sand dune. The men and women under her command had only just emerged from their portals, standing arrayed in rank with a grim determination on their faces.
"Less than half a mile from here, the Crescent Blade star host has placed a significant force. We believe these are exhausted soldiers in hiding, resting up. We are taking the initiative. Three hours from now, we'll have scattered whoever we haven't killed to the winds!"
The soldiers raised their fists and cheered, even the seventh joining in.
"But they'll pick up on us soon, if they haven't already. Stay sharp- exhausted or not, these are quincy. Third and fourth battle groups, I want you split up to the left and right flank, while I will lead groups one and two in a frontal assault!"
These were simple standard tactics, but they worked. As Tamura led the charge over the dune, she got her first good look at what they were assaulting. It looked like an old, abandoned stone structure, like a temple or a monastery. Whenever the quincies could leverage the terrain to their advantage, they would dig in and lay down hails of arrow before scattering to engage again, always utilizing their superior mobility and range. The only cure, simply put, was to be faster and stronger. Without its captains leading the charge, Tamura wasn't so sure they'd be winning this.
It did not take long for the first arrows to come sailing down the slope as they approached the tall hill the monastery was located upon. It was a good, defensible position, but it did not offer much cover; once they scattered, there would not be many places to hide. Already there were casualties; next to her one of her men abruptly bit the dust, an arrow striking him in the chest. Tamura bit her lip. It was a bit early, but the walls around the monastery offered plenty of cover, and it would take some time for the flanking battle groups to reach their target, while her forces advanced under heavy fire…
Another two, three, four soldiers went down, and Tamura made her mind up. She could not afford to hold back, not with her people's lives on the line. It was up to her to keep them safe and clear a path. The harder and faster this was settled, the fewer lives would be lost.
"Keep your distance," she shouted, dashing a good ten, twenty yards ahead of her soldiers in gigantic leaps. She raised her blade.
"Ban kai!" she roared, and the gigantic metal dragon came manifest. Directing it with her brass knuckles she made it spread wide, absorbing the incoming hail of arrows, which only intensified as it got closer. Some still got through, but the giant construct drew their fire, which was the idea. Nothing short of a true elite quincy could hurt it, and meanwhile her soldiers could charge uphill without having to be mowed down in droves.
As soon as they came within range, the dragon reared up, opening its mouth and letting loose with a massive salvo of blades, forcing the quincies to dive for cover. Those not fast enough were torn to shreds. Tamura did her best to ignore the screams of the wounded and dying, knowing every last one of them was on her conscience. She had no choice but to push forward, and end this as quickly as possible.
The defenders forced into cover, the joint task force advanced safely, only the odd long range arrow bothering them. Tamura cleared the way, a sweep of the dragon's mighty claws wrecking the walls as she got close. The bankai was a heavy thing to move over a distance while running, draining quite a bit of power every time she used it, but she was not Kenpachi for nothing. Together, they advanced into the monastery.
They were not unopposed. As the walls fell, a massive barrage of arrows came down on them, and even her bankai could not defend against them all. Again, shinigami fell over bleeding and crying out in pain, some silenced forever. What kind of a slaughter would this have been without her there?`
Undeterred, the seventh and eleventh task force charged through the breach. They dashed forward, while Tamura's bankai laid down suppressing fire. Just then she could hear the flanking forces closing the distance, slamming into the monastery's side walls. The quincies were not too numerous, it seemed, and at the command of an officer they began retreating toward whatever keep they had laid down.
It was over, then. They had only been fighting for a couple of minutes, and the quincies were already falling back. They were washing up the steps of the place like a tide, crushing everything in their way. This combat was so strangely skewed- quincy archers were lethal and precise, and certainly had the power to kill a shinigami from afar, but they were still human. All it took was one or two good hits, and they were finished. The shinigami, meanwhile, could soak up a good few hits and keep going. It meant that while they could reap a bloody toll on the Gotei's forces as they advanced, their lines would often crumble quickly once they closed in.
They have to be desperate to make a stand, Tamura thought as she pushed forward, static warfare is not their strength. She noted with pained concern that many of the fallen quincies were young or wounded, lacking an arm here or a leg there. These were not elites; they were wounded soldiers taken by surprise. Still, Yamamoto's orders were clear. Death to all who resist.
Her soldiers had strict orders to make it quick. There would be no tortures or cruel games; they were warrior thugs, not animals. And quick it was; one by one the quincies were cut down as they retreated toward the core of their keep. Finally all that was left was a single domed building, surrounded on all sides by jeering shinigami. There was still fight left in them, and they held the doors effectively, firing lethally from out the windows. This could still get ugly, even with their momentum going as well as it was.
Tamura led the charge, pushing the quincies all the way back to the steps of the building. Four of them barred her way, a score of dead shinigami at their feet. Judging by their power, they seemed to be at least equivalent to a vice-captain. They wore flowing robes, turbans wrapped around their heads and cloth covering the lower parts of their faces. The first one pulled out a scimitar and charged, firing a series of shots as he closed the distance while his three comrades laid down fire, forcing Tamura on the defensive.
The attacker slid in between her bankai's coils just as they closed, but this was a weakness Tamura had long since refined. He came at her fast and furious, his movements fluid, but she was more than ready. His scimitar lashed out, Tamura warding off his attacks with her brass knuckles, narrowly avoiding a cut to her neck. As she caught an overhead swing with one hand she thrust a palm forward and cried:
"Shou!"
The kido blast sent the quincy flying, impacting hard against her bankai. Before he could get up, a spike impaled him from behind. This enclosed space, once a weakness, she had turned into a killing ground. The quincy fell over, breathing his last. Tamura swung her arms around, and a massive burst of knives shot forward, catching the three men that had supported their now dead comrade. Dead or dying, they staggered back with steel in every part of their body. The burst was only barely stopped by the stone wall of the great temple before them.
Tamura let her coils part, the men cheering behind her. There was a grim determination to her face; the job was nearly done. Nearly. She sensed a great power within, and held up a hand.
"HALT!" she bellowed. "Soldiers, fall in line behind me. Form a circle around the building, now! Nobody goes inside unless I say so!
Her vice-captain barked the order down the chain, and soon the chaos of combat was overcome by a disciplined show of soldiers forming rank upon rank as they surrounded the final bastion of resistance.
"I can sense you in there," Tamura said firmly. "You have your back against the wall. Come out and face me, like your quincy honor demands."
There was silence for a while, and Tamura wondered if she would have to storm the building after all. Then, slowly, the great door opened ever so slightly.
"Why should I come out to face you, butcher shinigami?"
"Because I offer you a clean, quick death," Tamura said firmly.
"This keep is filled with the wounded and the infirm. There are children here. Will you just butcher them?"
"My orders are clear," Tamura said. "Death to all who resist. Those who will not resist will be left alone, on that you have my word."
Yamamoto would perhaps disapprove, but she was prepared to take that chance. Killing the helpless... she had not yet gone that far.
"And what is your word worth to me, woman?"
The voice sounded so, so tired.
"It's all you'll get. That, or we storm the place and that won't be pretty. You know that."
There was a pause, and Tamura feared she might have to do it the hard way after all. Then the door opened slowly, and a man stepped out.
He was old by human standards, his hair grey with specks of white. His face had deep creases to it, not quite wrinkles yet. His beard was thick and bushy, but surprisingly well kept. He wore robes not entirely dissimilar from hers, a shawl headdress covering his hair. By his side hung a long, curved blade, and from his wrist hung the quincy's cross, gleaming in silver. He looked weary, but stood up straight with a prideful expression.
"I am lord Asmar Abdullah, master of the Crescent Star Host," he said, bowing deeply. "At your service, captain…"
"Tamura Kenpachi," Tamura said, giving him a respectful nod. "I know your name, Lord Abdullah. You killed Takeuchi Hideki, of Seventh division. As you have slain one captain already, a senior of mine no less, you will forgive me if I do not hold back."
"He was a devil, that one," Abdullah sighed. "Overconfident, but quite a devil. It matters not. My doom has come for me on this fated day, and like the best of men I did not see it coming."
"You sound sure you will lose."
"Even if I win, I cannot stop your men from doing what they have already done. This war is senseless, my friend- senseless. Only honor forces my hand in this matter, as it forces yours."
"Then we are both slaves to honor," Tamura nodded. "There are worse masters to have?"
"Harsh, relentless and cruel is that master- but I cannot disagree. Shall we?"
He took a step forward and slowly, deliberately, pulled his blade from its scabbard. It was a long, elegantly curved thing, silvery in its sheen and perfectly balanced. Tamura watched his movements like a hawk.
"Everyone, stand back," she said loudly, "well back. I want every man at least a hundred paces away from us. This is not a fight I want any one of you close."
"Do I have your word that the remainders will be spared?" said Abdullah.
"You have my word that those who do not resist will be spared," Tamura repeated. "However many that is, that's up to them."
With a look of resignation, the lord nodded. They both knew quincy pride demanded they fight to the last. A few might break, but only the children and those already too wounded to fight would survive this.
"Very well. I agree to your terms, Tamura Kenpachi," said Asmar, flicking his sword to the side.
Tamura's eyes narrowed. As resigned and tired as the old man sounded, she knew better than to underestimate him. To fight a quincy you had to be sharp, because quincies were human and could not sustain the kind of damage a shinigami could; sharpness was all they had. Fights between the two were usually short, with either side making a fatal mistake and paying for it quickly.
(Song of choice: Storm Center, Bleach)
He stood perfectly still, and for a moment it was like time had stopped. Tamura could feel her heart beating, the sound becoming like a slow, thunderous noise in her chest, every part of the rhythm booming in her ears. She was perfectly aware of every part of herself, of her arm hairs standing on end, the way her skin rubbed against her shihakusho sleeves, the way her knee joints moved, her lungs heaving…
In her mind's eye she saw him charging, and a hundred different thrusts and parries passed through her mind. Would he come at her from above? From the sides? He would certainly have the speed to pull off almost any maneuver.
And then he moved, like living lightning. She just barely perceived him coming right at her, raising her knuckles to direct the steel dragon around her, but he was gone from her sight almost as soon as he had started moving. She sensed a raw mass of energy and looked up, just in time to take a hail of arrows, expertly fired through the gaps of her bankai's coils. She skipped back to evade, but not before one had caught her in the shoulder from above, drawing blood. Tamura grunted, retaliating with a spray of knives from the dragon's back, but they harmlessly sailed past the quincy lord. He spun around in the air, casually launching a hundred or so glowing blue arrows down on Tamura, forcing her to close coils to defend. The barrage did not let up until he'd landed, and she felt Tokushukou Ryujin shudder with the impact of a series of sharp blows. She could not see, but she felt four great cuts to its outside, Abdullah's exceptionally sharp blade having slashed deep into the dragon's hide. He rumbled loudly, in anger, and Tamura was quick to respond, lashing out with a foot.
But the lord was already gone, and another hail of arrows already came at her from above. Tamura grit her teeth. She could not let him dictate the pace of the fight like this. To do so would mean to let him decide how this fight would move, on his home turf no less, and that was a path to defeat. Hideki, the captain he had slain, had been a prideful man. It would be up to her to fight, then, not with her pride but with her mind.
Tamura let the dragon's coils open, enduring the barrage as she sprung forward, the bankai leaping with her. It snapped at the quincy lord, in vain, but it had forced him back. A relentless spray of knives sprung from its mouth, great volleys from its back adding to the pressure. Tens of thousands of projectiles sailed into the air, not a single one of them connecting as the quincy lord deftly evaded, sailing back in an elegant arc. But Tamura was not dismayed.
I might not be able to hit you, but I can control where you aren't, and that counts for something.
Continuing her assault, she kept the pressure up. A particularly sharp burst nearly caught Lord Asmar, and forced him to ground. Tokushukou Ryujin surged forward, roaring its displeasure as it charged. Tamura ran with it, her feet thumping against the ground. She felt alive, the thrill of battle momentarily pushing all other concerns aside. This was a puzzle to solve, with the stakes high and her life on the line, and there was no place she'd rather be.
Asmar zig-zagged back, continuously always just outside her arcs of fire, retreating back toward a cluster of buildings. A great place to launch an ambush from, Tamura noted, and something the quincies were not above- honor was all well and good, but in a fight, anything goes. Then again, let him come.
The dragon snapped at him, and the lord appeared trapped against a wall. There was a great cloud of dust as the bankai smashed through the building, totally obliterating it. Of course, he was not dead. It was never that easy, and Tamura knew better than to hope.
She saw him from the corner of her eye, a white and blue glimmer of light coming at her with tremendous speed. Only a century of training let her react, her arms coming up just in time for her brass knuckles to parry a lightning strike that would have taken her head off, and another aimed for her side. As she deflected the second blow Tamura lashed out with a foot, and took some satisfaction in the surprised grunt as Abdullah slid back, his furious assault checked.
"They always think I'm weak up close," she said, shaking her head. "That I won't be prepared for a close exchange."
"No wonder you are a captain, my lady," Asmar said respectfully.
Tamura flexed a wrist back and forth, shaking her hand around a little bit.
"Whew, that strike though… you hit like a sledgehammer, Lord Abdullah."
"I try."
"But you stepped into my domain now, though," she said, her eyes narrowing. Around him was her entire bankai, encircling him on all sides. All at once its scales parted, and from every angle imaginable- except one that would hit her- a knife shot out. It was a near perfect encirclement, a vicious punishment for anyone who thought they could get close. The quincy lord was already moving, but the encircling blast was too quick to evade. He sailed through the air, but she heard, she felt the impacts. He reappeared outside her coils, staring her down with a determined look on his weathered face. Three blades were lodged in his shoulder, and one in his thigh.
"Impressive," Tamura said, giving him a respectful nod, "you fled through the arc that covered me and minimized your profile. This trap is supposed to be all but perfect."
He was breathing heavily now, but by no means did he seem finished.
"You baited me," he sighed. "I thought you protecting yourself was all too cautious, but you engaged me only at range to make me think you would be weak up close. Clever, clever…"
"You give me too much credit," Tamura said honestly. "Was I hoping you'd come in close? Sure. But I really was just giving it all I had."
"Let's finish this," The lord hissed through his teeth.
Tamura nodded, and guided the serpent with her hands. It lashed out with its maw, striking like a serpent, while volleys of knives sprayed regularly from its sides. The quincy was still moving, still quick, but he was on the defensive now. His white robes were growing increasingly red, and by the way he had slowed, Tamura knew she had won. His chance had come and passed.
That was no reason to let up, though. A wounded animal was at its most dangerous when it had nothing to lose, and true to form, the quincy lord was not going quietly. Hails of arrows rained down in intense, desperate fury, the quincy spending all his remaining spiritual energy in a relentless barrage. Tamura felt an arrow sear her cheek, another strike her in the hip as she commanded her bankai forward, but she did not flinch or relent. Strike by strike she forced him back, forced him to keep dashing back, to keep moving, and with each step more blood poured out. He'd turn the blades out of his body, for all the good it had done him.
Finally he stumbled, and his last leap out of her bankai's path was too slow. Aiming a long blade personally, from the dragon's mouth, she let the projectile fly. The sword-sized blade ran right through Asmar's chest, and the quincy collapsed, tumbling violently across the rocky, dusty ground of the fortress. He was done for.
Tamura calmly walked up, not dismissing her bankai just yet, until she stood over the quincy lord. His energy was fading, beaming erratically like a heart about to give out, as his soon would. Cautious still, Tamura bent down, getting on one knee and retrieving his quincys cross from his wrist. Abdullah feebly tried to move his arm, but he was spent. There was a hole in his midsection, almost large enough to see through. His spine had been severed, and a pool of blood was forming around him.
"To think… a quincy lord… would lose a battle of arrows… to a shinigami," he wheezed, breathing heavily.
"There is always someone better," Tamura said, finally dismissing her bankai. She knelt by the man's side, determined to stay with him till the end. Nobody should die alone, even an enemy.
"Always… is," Abdullah agreed. "I go… to his Majesty now, I hope."
Tamura nodded.
"Take your rest, old man. You've earned it," she said solemnly.
A pained look crossed the old quincy lord's face, and then his body went limp. His dead eyes stared out at nothing. Tamura sighed, and gently closed his eyelids one final time. This war was starting to tire her out. Hollows she could deal with, but humans… humans were the ones they were supposed to protect, and no matter how good the reason, killing them felt wrong.
"Captain?" asked the Sixth division liaison, a fourth seat named Takeda. "Congratulations on your great victory. Respectfully, we require orders on what is to come next."
Tamura stood up, suddenly feeling the stress and pain of the battle, as the adrenaline rush started to die down. She let none of it show, though.
"Take the keep," she ordered. "Kill those who resist, spare those who do not. I will go there personally to oversee their surrender."
"If any of them do," Takeda retorted. "By your will, captain."
"They will," Tamura said, hoping more than believing.
Their leader dead, the quincy spirit had finally broken. The defenders offered little resistance, the few battle-ready soldiers left having been cut down by the time Tamura got back to the keep. She had to rein in her soldiers, their blood still running hot with victorious exuberance and vindictive cheer, but she had not become captain for nothing. In the end, twenty-four quincies remained, most of them children.
Twenty-four, out of how many hundreds that had been here, alive, only hours earlier?
Tamura watched them go with a heavy heart. How many of them would get recruited into this desperate, losing war within a week only to get cut down mercilessly? How many of them would hate the Gotei forever?
Some captains would disapprove of this mercy. She no longer cared. If the shinigami could show no humanity, what was the point of them?
Before she knew how it happened, a hundred years had passed since she first assumed office, and Tamura was as strong as ever.
But it was here, in her prime, that tragedy struck.
It began simple, as a persistent cough that slowly got worse. It was only when she started to cough blood that Tamura started to take it seriously.
"What's the deal, doctor?" Tamura said nervously. She was seated in clean, white-walled room at Fourth, a place she had been too many times before, but never with fear like this. She had been cut and had bones broken, she'd almost had her guts spill out once. To be wounded in battle was not pleasant, but familiar. This, though? To not know what was wrong with her? She dreaded the answer, but she dreaded more the wait, not knowing.
"It is bad," Unohana said plainly. Her face, so professionally neutral, betrayed no emotion- but her voice was pained.
"Your lungs are affected with an aberrant growth of spiritual energy. It… could affect anyone. It's rare, but it happens. Your body is feeding energy into the wrong places, where it continually clogs and builds up. There is no treatment, short of cutting out the affected organ and replacing it. That alone would have been difficult but possible, but it has… spread."
"Am I going to die?" Tamura asked. She felt unreal, like she was staring down at somebody else's reality, like she hadn't just been handed… this.
"We will begin treatment," Unohana said, almost evasively, "but… there is no known cure."
"How long?" Tamura demanded.
"The results aren't clear yet-"
"How long?" Tamura said, firmer. She felt the beginnings of another cough, and forced it down.
"Somewhere in between six months and a year," Unohana replied solemnly. "I am so very sorry, Tamura."
"I… fuck me," Tamura murmured, looking down. "After all the… the hollows, the arrancar, the whole damn quincy war, after everything I've fought it's my own body that'll do me in? It's…"
Not fair. But life didn't care about fair.
"I can at least make it painless," Unohana reassured her. "I have that much in me, at least."
"I… I need to go," Tamura said, standing bolt upright. "I can't- I can't-"
She ran out, out of the division, out into the streets, running until a coughing fit forced her to stop. Her back against a wall, she sunk down to the street, staring up at the sky above. It seemed bluer than normal, somehow. The clouds seemed more vivid, more detailed, more real…
She suddenly saw every little detail. The rough sculpting of the brick that made the street, the little blades of grass springing up in the cracks, the woodwork on the door opposite where she sat…
Soon it would all be taken from her.
She stood up again, anger welling up in her chest, at her own weakness, at the way she had been betrayed, at the helplessness of it. The first thought that came into her mind, almost overwhelmingly, was to go into the wastes of Hueco Mundo by herself and fight until she died. To go out like a warrior should, while she still could, while her body still let her. Let the Gotei solve its own problems; she was beyond them now. Let hollows feast on her flesh and gnaw on her bones, let her go out with blade in hand and her pride intact…
But what would become of her division? She had time still. They needed her. She could still find a successor, somebody worthy of the title. She could settle her affairs at the least, and leave this world in good order.
And so Tamura returned to her division. She hid her condition unto the last, until the excuses ran out and it became obvious that something was wrong. When one day they found her on her bedroom floor, blood spatter from a coughing fit on the floor, word soon spread that she was sick. The next day Tamura had them all assemble, and made the announcement. The shock, outrage and refusal to accept it from her men was touching; some of them were in tears. It was almost like they were the ones about to die, Tamura thought, holding back tears of joy. Sharing it made it all easier somehow, as if you could lessen a death sentence just by talking about it. It was a strange and irrational emotion, but she was grateful for it all the same.
Once the commotion had died down, she announced the next part. Although it was unprecedented, their hands would be forced in this issue: she was on her way out and the division would need a replacement. She was still alive, still held the title, but with each passing day she felt her strength fade. So she had decided that a tournament would be held, where the strongest would fight his way to the top. Once she died, the winner would assume the title of Kenpachi without further bloodshed. The title would pass on peacefully, in the first bloodless transition of power in the division's history.
She passed her time in quiet solitude for the most part, much of her time spent in Fourth division's gardens. She would walk the grass barefoot, wearing simple robes, basking in the sun, each laboured breath a victory over her coming death.
She spent what time she could with her division, but each week made her weaker and weaker, and within two months she could not walk unassisted. She saw the sideways glances of the men under her. Some kept a sorrowful look, loyal to the death. These were men she had spilled blood alongside in the great hunts and in the wars, the veterans who had come in early during her tenure and had become devoted to her and her alone.
Then there were the younger soldiers, who looked at her with something like… disappointment. She remembered her first impulse, to go off alone and die fighting, and she knew they would have respected her more if she had done it. She had chosen to wither away when she didn't have to, and she knew some of them saw it as a sign of weakness. None of them dared say it openly, but it was written on their faces.
She had chosen to help her division move forward, suffering for it every day with painful coughing fits, where sometimes every breath made her throat feel like glass shards were run up and down her windpipe, like a knife cut her from inside every time. She had chosen to wither away, slowly becoming a shadow of her former self- of the great and powerful captain, once the champion of the Gotei- and none of them would love her for it.
It was the responsible thing to do. She believed it with every fiber of her being. She believed in the Gotei, in securing its place, in making it a safer place for the men and women under her care, but none of them would see that perspective. She knew it all too well.
And deep down she knew she still wanted to live. That every day, no matter how painful, was a precious, precious thing. She had resigned herself to this fate, but she did not want this. She selfishly wished to live on, and had to remind herself that this was natural, not some character flaw.
In the third month, Tamura rarely had the energy to do more than sit up straight, and she spent a lot of time sleeping. Unohana's medicines helped, of course, but something about it seemed to help her relax; she almost never coughed in her sleep.
By then, the tournament had finally come to fruition. All her top officers had signed up, of course, as had a wealth of opportunistic officers from other divisions. Here, her mind drifted briefly to the traitorous Nakamura Kagerou, dead so long ago from his own folly. Had he waited, had he been patient, this would have been a shoo-in for him…
The tournament was large enough to even attract thuggish brutes from outside the Gotei. Ne'er-do-wells and ruffians, bandits and warlords, all with some measure of strength. Tamura resented it, but opened it for them as well; the tradition was clear that the strongest should rule Eleventh.
Few of the applicants had the necessary bankai requirement, but this did not worry Tamura. The wheat would be sorted from the chaff soon enough.
On the day of, Tamura had not slept all night. The event had grown too large for Eleventh alone to handle; the applicants alone had attracted a crowd beyond the division's capacity, and it had now become the talk of the town. The entire Gotei wanted to watch this curiosity, this unprecedented event. A temporary arena had been built outside the walls, and thousands of spectators would be watching.
Early in the morning, just before sunrise, her attendant walked into her room. Tamura had dismissed her nurse for the time being; this close to the end, she wanted to be with the men and women she had fought next to.
Her attendant was a grizzled veteran, a clean-shaven older man with salt and pepper hair. Scarred and with a creased, almost wrinkled face, he handled her with a gentleness that belied his fearsome appearance. He was known simply as Shingen; he was too low-born to even have considered a family name.
"Captain?" he said quietly, kneeling by her bed, listening for her breath.
"I still… live," Tamura wheezed, forcing a smile, "despite this thing's… best efforts."
He nodded. He never once pitied her, and she loved him for it, but there was no hiding the sadness in his eyes.
"You'll be back on your feet soon enough, captain. This whole tournament thing is ridiculous, if you ask me."
"Ridiculous… yeah," Tamura nodded weakly. She wondered how he managed to pretend like this, if maybe on some level he even believed it.
"Mark my words, it'll just be a placeholder until you're better," Shingen insisted. "You just need your rest for a bit."
Tamura nodded. It was nice to make believe, even for just a moment.
"Are you ready for the big day?" the retainer continued, chatting away like everything was normal. "I'd say half the Gotei is coming to watch, except it's probably understatin' it. I reckon anyone who doesn't have some real pressing duty is showing up. Is it true the captain-commander is coming?"
"And… Unohana," Tamura said weakly, trying and failing to sit up. Shingen took her by the arm, gently pulling her up into a sitting position.
"Most of the Gotei, and probably most of its captains," he said proudly. "Only our Kenpachi could cause a stir like that, mark my words. Why, I hear even Captain Kuchiki will be attending."
"How will they… remember me?" Tamura asked, looking him in the eye. She had lost weight, bags under her eyes. She was a pitiful sight, and she knew he knew it too, no matter how he pretended.
"Don't talk foolish like that," Shingen brushed her off. "You'll be up and about-"
"I am a shadow of what I was," Tamura whispered. "I can barely walk. The men, they resent me now, don't they? They forget… my deeds. They see what I've become, and they cannot believe I could be called captain."
"Only the real foolish ones, and I've busted heads to remind 'em what you've done. We know, captain. You've done your duty. You're Kenpachi. We still remember. And the fools, I won't let 'em forget."
His voice was even, but there was a tone of earnest firmness and anger underneath it. Satisfied, Tamura nodded.
"Help me… get dressed. Can't miss… the big event," she said, managing a smile.
The arena was quite something to behold. New, made of freshly cut wood, with seating for thousands. Tamura had the place of honor, up front. To her left sat Unohana and to her right Yamamoto, both in their own booths. Other captain's had joined as well, such as Ginrei Kuchiki, Kyoraku Shunsui, Jushiro Ukitake and Shinji Hirako, each of them offering their condolences to her. Even with the extensive seating, hundreds still clamored to get inside; the place was packed. Tamura managed the strength to raise the flag to set the event off, and thus it began.
It was a bloody affair, and not without deaths. For the lower brackets of the tournament, four fights were held at a time until the hundreds of challengers were weeded down to a mere thirty-two. The spectacle carried on all day, and it was evening by the time the end started to come into sight. By then, only the elite remained, grizzled and powerful warriors. Blood had been spilled in the arena again and again, to the deafening cheers of the crowds. Tamura made herself watch, despite feeling more and more tired as the hours went along. This would be the last she ever saw of combat, and she would make it count.
Eventually the thirty-two became sixteen, then eight, then four. The finalists were a motley lot, as she had expected: a determined female officer from seventh, named Akasuna; two from eleventh; her stocky vice-captain Kamerou and her third seat Yui, and finally a thuggish outsider from the Rukongai named Kiganjo. The outsider was a wild card; it was rare for an outsider to have this kind of power, but he had beaten his way to the top fair and square.
The semi-finals kicked off with a fierce duel between her third seat and Akasuna, which saw the Seventh officer triumphant but bloodied. The other match was not quite so even, with Kiganjo showing off his superior brutish strength, crushing Kamerou in under a minute. The crowd booed; her vice-captain had been a favourite for the position and well-liked by the men, but Kiganjo seemed to revel in their displeasure.
A recess was called to let the two combatants rest before the final match, to heal their injuries, and Tamura felt uneasy. Neither of them would run the division well, she feared, not up to her standards. But there was no helping it, was there? In a better world, one where leadership was more important than martial ability, this tournament would not have been necessary- but the strongest would rule Eleventh, such was the tradition. She could not change it, and she had run out of time.
The final battle kicked off with uproarious cheers for Akasuna, and it turned out not to disappoint. The woman from seventh was an experienced warrior with real finesse, on the cusp of bankai supposedly, and it showed. Her swordsmanship easily outclassed the brute from the rukon, and Eleventh in particular cheered for her to avenge their vice-captain.
But Kiganjo kept on not taking much damage, kept on defending against her lightning attacks. He might have had the looks of a brutish gorilla, but he was cunning and skilled, waiting for his opening.
And when it came, it was enough to end the match. Akasuna overextended just once, and the vicious gut punch she took in return threw her entirely off balance. Before she could recover, a fierce cut to her shoulder almost threw her to the ground, and with only one arm to defend her time was counted in seconds. She put up a brave fight, but before too long her blade clattered over the ground. Kiganjo tackled her to the ground ferociously, putting the tip of his blade to her neck. With no other option, Akasuna surrendered.
Despite their earlier misgivings the crowd cheered, long and loud. It had been a hell of a fight, and a winner had finally been crowned. The cheers kept on for minutes, Kiganjo working them into a frenzy with load, boastful hollers and cheers. And why wouldn't he? He had beaten everyone in his path. He had bled for it, fought for it. He was tall, muscular, brutish and powerful, the archetypal strongman leader. He would fit the bill, at least.
When finally the cheers started to die down, Tamura let her spiritual energy surge. The shock to her system was enough to jolt her body awake for the time being, and she stood up. Shingen rushed to her side, but she brushed him aside. On unsteady legs, she stood tall for the first time in months. She raised an arm, and slowly the arena fell silent.
"Kiganjo Gousuke stands victorious!" she called out, forcing her voice steady. Her lungs ached with the exertion, stabbing her with a pain like a knife run through her throat, but she forced herself to go on.
"And yet, one thing remains," she continued, her voice carried out across the arena through a kido spell. Disabling it, she looked at Unohana one last time.
"Did I make you proud, senpai?" she asked weakly, smiling to herself.
Unohana kept her face calm, but could not hide the pain in her voice when she replied.
"I could not have asked for more, Tamura Kenpachi."
Tamura nodded.
"That's all I needed to hear."
She turned to Yamamoto.
"Don't let them forget me, captain-commander," she said weakly. "Record what I've done. That is my last wish."
"It will be done," Yamamoto said, nodding respectfully.
(Song of choice: Torn Apart, Bleach OST)
One last time, Tamura let her energy burn, flaring at the top of its power. Every breath was like shards of glass running through her throat, and she felt her body cry out in protest, but it didn't matter. This would be the last she had to suffer. Rest was just around the corner, if she only pushed a little further. She stepped out into the arena, once again activating the kido enhancing her voice.
"Kiganjo stands victorious," she called out, her frail voice booming across the arena, "but one last thing remains."
The audience was silent; even the murmurs had died down. You could have heard a blade of grass drop.
"Our tradition demands that a new Kenpachi ascends by killing the old one in mortal combat," Tamura continued. She pulled her blade from its sheath, hearing the mournful spirit's cry. It knew what was coming, but wept not for itself but for her.
"So Kiganjo Gousuke, will you earn your title the right way? Will you take me on?"
She pointed her blade at the tournament winner, and he shrugged, resting his blade over his shoulder.
"Suit yourself," he said, cracking his neck. "I ain't holding back 'cause you're half gone, though."
"It would insult me if you did," Tamura replied, her eyes narrowing. One last time she felt the fierce energy of old, the determination that had taken a scrawny young girl from cadet to captain, that had seen her rise to the very top. She remembered; remembered each wound, each struggle, each enemy slain.
"Ban-kai," she said determinedly, and one final time the metal dragon came into being, as resplendent and glorious as it ever had been. The audience, silent until now, was suddenly abuzz with murmurs and the odd cheer.
Shingen watched it with alarm, rushing from his position in Tamura's booth and kneeling next to Unohana's.
"Captain, you can't let her go through with it!" he pleaded desperately, heedless of the disrespect addressing her so directly would cause, "Using that much energy, it's going to burn her out. She's going to die like this, captain!"
Unohana, seeming unbothered by his outburst, turned and gave him a mournful look.
"I rather think that is the idea, soldier," she said sadly.
"But- you're a doctor!" Shingen burst out furiously. "You have to put a stop to this. You can make it stop before- before-"
"Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is to let the suffering go to sleep," Unohana said, shaking her head. "You are a brave man yourself. She has the same warrior's pride you do. Allow her this last thing, soldier. Let her pass the way she wants to, as befits a true Kenpachi."
Tears streaming down his face, Shingen watched the battle unfold. Tokushukou Ryujin looked just as imposing as he remembered it, and in the distance he could almost believe she was her old self- but she moved much too slow, and her attacks were much too weak. She only momentarily pushed Kiganjo back, the brutish fighters smashing his way through the serpent after enduring a point-blank barrage of knives with his own Bankai. Tamura fought until the end, weaving back and forth…
Then the bankai was gone, and Shingen knew it was over.
He had sailed through the folds of her dragon's coils. Ironic; the weakness she had struggled so hard to master was now beyond her; she had neither the strength nor the speed to match it. Tamura still put her guard up, still moved as if to evade, but when he barrelled into her blade first, she knew it was over. She steeled herself, and then a white-hot pain run through her gut. Her bankai dissipated, her energy no longer strong enough to sustain it. Her zanpakutou clattered to the ground, and blood trailed down her stomach. She held on to the burly man desperately, clinging with both hands to the sleeves of his kimono. She could not feel her legs, could not stand on her own. This would have been a mortal wound even if she hadn't been weakened like she was now.
Finally.
"Hear… me now," she gasped, just barely holding on to the kido spell amplifying her voice, recalling the last words of one of her predecessors, "although I die in battle… Kenpachi never dies."
The spell went out, and she looked the brutish man in the face.
"What are you waiting for?" she hissed. "I'm not dead yet. Finish it."
Finally looking a little disturbed, Kiganjo twisted the blade and pushed it deeper, down to the hilt. Tamura let out a final gasp, then her grip slackened and she tumbled into the dust of the arena, at peace.
The crowd was dead silent again. Kiganjo wrenched his blade free, wiping it on her shihakusho.
"What's it to ya, huh?" he demanded. "I'm the Kenpachi now, ain't I?"
"The Gotei acknowledges Kiganjo Kenpachi, captain of Eleventh division," Yamamoto said, standing up. "Soldiers, send your captain off with the respect she deserves."
"Veterans, to me!" Shingen cried, rushing into the arena. One by one, the longest serving of the Gotei joined him, first by the dozen, then by the hundred. Not one of them paid Kiganjo the slightest bit of attention.
Shingen was the first to reach there, tearfully closing his captain's eyes. He was not alone; many of the men wept openly, while others still looked on in stone-faced sorrow. The arena filled with black-robed shinigami, each one come to pay their final respects.
Tamura was not carried away on a stretcher, or in a box, or in a cart. She was lifted over the shoulders of her men, held aloft by dozens of hands. Carried thusly, she was brought back to Eleventh division. The next day she was buried there, deep underneath the training grounds, with an inscription on a square stone, laid into the ground, served as her headstone.
Here lies Tamura Kenpachi, captain of Eleventh division, slayer of monsters and leader of men.
In the years following Tamura's death, Unohana could only watch with dismay as the once proud Eleventh declined. Kiganjo was a lazy brute of a man, with no interests outside of fighting and drinking. He certainly fulfilled his obligations as a warrior and protector, and though he had no talent for organization he always pulled together what was needed for a good hollow hunt.
But outside of that, he barley trained and simply lounged about, leaving the administrative running of the division to lesser men. Lacking direction, they made a mess of the place's administration and logistics, and coupled with Kiganjo's lax attitude toward discipline, Eleventh went from a sharply drilled unit of soldiers to prowling bands of thugs in a matter of years. They had always been free spirits, always the most independent of the division soldiers, but under Kurayashiki and Tamura there had been a fierce discipline, adhered to by the love and respect they had instilled in the men and women serving under them. Kiganjo, caring very little for real leadership, let the men do as they pleased- with predictable results. It took several embarrassing public incidents of Eleventh overstepping, intimidating or even assaulting other division members for the pressure to mount that Kiganjo had to enforce at least basic discipline.
This, of course, had happened through the cracking of skulls, for he lacked the imagination for anything else.
It was strange how life turned out. When Unohana had first seen Tamura, she had seemed an unworthy child, a placeholder placed there by necessity. Kiganjo, by comparison, had looked exactly like the kind of man a Kenpachi should be- loud, strong, determined, fierce and unflinching.
But one had turned out an excellent champion and leader, and the other had been an utter disgrace. Unohana's old pride for the position, she realized, had been misguided. She had been a terror in her time, and that was what she had been best known for, what had defined the very role of Kenpachi, but she had always kept good discipline. Somehow along the way, only one of these things had been remembered as what a Kenpachi should be. And it was too late to change that.
Sometimes she fantasized about stepping up, killing Kiganjo by her own hand and setting things straight. She certainly had the know-how. She could come back, return her old division to what it had once been, what it should be…
But then who would run Fourth? Who could possibly replace what she had built and continued to build? Who had the experience and expertise?
And more importantly, she liked who she was now. The warrior of old was her past; the healer was her present.
So she let it stand. It was a bitter eyesore, but Eleventh had to run its own course. Even if Kiganjo was a disgrace to Eleventh in an important sense, he also fulfilled it in a most essential sense. As much as she disliked the man, she could not deny him this much.
The eyesore was not to last forever, though. One day, many decades later, Unohana quietly received word that there had been a challenger for the title. Unable to contain herself, she dropped what she had been doing at the time and ran, eager to catch the fight before it was too late.
She was in luck. The Kenpachi had not been at the division when the challenger arrived, and there had been time for a crowd to gather. Unwilling to make a scene, Unohana discarded her captain's coat for the time being, and slipped into the crowd. She was certainly recognizable even without it, but in the heat of the moment, few paid her any mind. Unohana made her way in close to watch, keeping away from the very front of the crowd.
What she saw made her heart skip a beat. A tall, imposing man with long, wild hair stood there, a long and jagged great blade slung over his shoulder. He was all scars and muscle, with the leanness of a man who had never eaten as much as he should have. He wore a ragged kimono of the beige-brown tint that meant dirt, time and harsh treatment had long since beaten colour out of the fabric. He looked like Rukon trash, but he radiated power.
He was flanked by two men, one bald and one elegantly styled, both of them looking fierce.
Zaraki.
She remembered it like yesterday now, the fateful day centuries ago when she had lost to a child, a savage little beast with such raw potential that she had never expected this day not to come. And here it was, finally.
"Who the fuck dares?" rumbled Kiganjo, finally stumbling into the courtyard, sword in hand.
"You the Kenpachi?" The scarred man said, staring down the burly man ahead of him. Kiganjo was taller and broader, bigger by every metric, but the stranger looked unafraid.
"God damn right I am," Kiganjo snarled.
"See, that's gonna be a problem, 'cause I am the Kenpachi," said Zaraki, holding his jagged blade out. "Heard there was some punk in the Gotei who thought he could carry that name around. Heard the rule was there can only be one. So here I am, setting the record straight."
"You wanna die, you stupid fucking rube?" Kiganjo snarled, advancing with blade in hand. "Have it your way, punk. I'm going to-"
Zaraki attacked, violently and swiftly. To Kiganjo's credit he reacted quickly, attempting to parry but it was futile, and Unohana knew it. Kiganjo's blade broke, cut from neck to hip in a ruthless diagonal strike. It was a killing blow, requiring no further followup. Kiganjo fell to his knees, gurgling, and he was dead before he reached the ground.
Zaraki Kenpachi flicked his blade clean of blood, and pulled Kiganjo's coat off. He tore the sleeves off and put it on, kicking the corpse aside.
"Pathetic," he muttered, turning to the crowd. "Alright, listen up. I'm your boss now. Yachiru here's vice-captain, Ikkaku is third seat and Yumichika fourth."
"Ugh, fifth please," Yumichika said, rolling his eyes. "Four is not a beautiful character."
"Whatever, suit yourself. Somebody let the big man in charge know there's a new captain here. I'm going to get a drink. And somebody get rid of that body!"
As Kenpachi left to go inside the division buildings to get himself acquainted with his new fiefdom, Unohana walked over to Kiganjo's ruined body. She kneeled down, gently closing his eyes, allowing him atleast some dignity in death. Staring at the blood seeping into the dust of the courtyard, she remembered the last time this had happened.
The new captain would not be disciplined, but he would be the greatest man to ever carry the name. Her protégéewas long dead now, but at least the future looked secure.
Unohana smiled to herself, remembering those last words from the 7th Kenpachi and her protege Tamura.
Although I die in battle, Kenpachi never dies.
And thus, does the tale of the 9th Kenpachi end. I for one hope that it's a story that you all were able to enjoy. I wanted to come up with a story that was a tragedy for once, something that's very unlike me or my usual style, and I think it came out very well, Many thanks to Greatkingrat88 for his assistance in this manner.
I'll be honest and admit that Tamura herself is highly inspired by Tenten from Naruto, A character that I felt always could have been really interesting if used right, but sadly wasn't.
I have absolutely no qualms to anyone who wishes to use this character for whatever reason they may wish (be it a story about the Gotie 13 of old, or whatever reason) and I myself actually plan to utilize this story as cannon to my other story, "A Quincy's Fairy Tail." where she has been already name dropped.
I understand that this may not be a very popular story, due to its lack of focus on any canon characters, but I hope that it's one that you can walk away with something and enjoy it. Please, let me know your thoughts in a review, it would mean the world to me'
