Chapter 3

The Lord of Las Noches sits upon his throne, face carefully blank even as he lets his eyes roam over his men. He's stuck somewhere between wanting to strangled the idiot that overlooked his recruit's handicap and wanting to just throw his hands up in defeat and hand himself over to the enemy because this is getting ridiculous.

How does someone—anyonemiss brain damage? It's glaringly obvious if you ask him. In fact it should be actively looked for. Out there, in the darkness, where every day—every second is another fight for survival it should be common sense to check out every little aspect of a potential recruit.

To count fingers and toes and make sure that, after the transformation, the recruit will be in working order. Not like now, where the recruit can do nothing more than babble and drool because it's a waste of already sparse resources.

That great power that was sensed in the recruit is still there but it's unreachable. With the recruit handicapped as he is, it might as well be nonexistent. Now The Lord is really feeling the previous loss of his man.

The whole point of transforming a recruit had been to alleviate the burden losing one man had caused. Soon they'll be a hoard of Death Gods knocking on his door. Though he knows his army will put up one hell of a fight, he's no longer sure if they'll win.

He has to get him back.

"Do you remember the directive I spoke to you about, Ulquiorra?" The Lord asks, making sure to keep his voice monotone as he turns his gaze to the boy in question. Ulquiorra stands perfectly still as his Lord's eyes roam over him.

He's a pale, almost bleach white, teen with ink, black hair and bright, green eyes. The Lord feels a pang ofsomething as he stares him down. There's no doubt in his mind that the boy died young. As he takes in the lanky, thin, damn near emaciated form he wonders what life—both Human and Monster—must have been like for him.

"Yes, sir."

"Put it into motion," he says, once again making sure to appear calm even though he's already planning just how he'll make sure someone will pay for this screw up. "I'll leave the details to your discretion. You may take whomever you like."

"Understood," the boy says, voice strong and sure. Though his features are slightly boyish, The Lord knows he's centuries old. He's lived a long life. Maybe not as human, but years are years and the boy holds himself with confidence and certainty only gain through spending years fighting and conquering.

This isn't a boy, but a monster who's spent centuries in the darkness.

Eating, killing, and fighting.

"Ah, yes," The Lord says as his gaze once again snaps to the figure above the pillar. The whole reason they're in this mess to begin with really. If the idiot had only followed his orders, then there would have been no need for punishment. If he hadn't disobeyed then The Lord wouldn't be one man down. "Would you go along too, Grimmjow?"

It may sound like a request but it's not.

It's a demand. An order.

If Grimmjow got them into this mess then he's damn well going to participate in getting them out. Therefore, he pays no mind to the way Grimmjow bristles in indignation at being order to do something when he's still technically still recovering.

Not that medical leave will do much for his condition. He could spend days in bed but it will never be enough. Losing an arm isn't something that can be fixed just by lazing around. No, now it's go time. If The Lord has any hopes of winning, he has to get Grimmjow's arm back the only way he knows how.

He needs that girl. The one that can will any injury away.

The one with the power to reject fate.

Grimmjow says nothing as he descends from his perch. Nor does he acknowledge his Lord even when his feet touch down on the white-tiled floor. The whole room is silent. Many are frozen in shock that their Lord would even considered sending an injured comrade out to fight but it's necessary.

Besides, The Lord has the utmost confidence that Ulquiorra will bring him back alive.

This is all for the armless idiot after all.

The Lord clears his throat to speak again. There's a lot to get done as the days countdown to winter, to the war. Though, he's interrupted before he can issue out the next orders by the distinct 'clash'of metal meeting metal. In a palace full of half monsters, that noise is a constant but something about this one catches his attention.

Maybe's it's because it's right outside the meeting room. Or maybe it's because he can also hear the sound of walls collapsing and stone clattering to the ground as an explosion goes off. It rocks the whole Castle and The Lord lets out a string of muttered curses as he stands to go investigate the noise.

Whoever just destroyed his castle is going to have to rebuild it from the ground up.

His Reiatsu swells in annoyance as he walks towards the door. He lets it even though, in the back of his head, a little voice reminds him he needs to rein it in before he causes serious damage to his men. Strongest or not they can still fall victim to it. He's just too irate to listen to it.

He begins to stalk towards the door. Anger radiating off him in waves. He can manages to take three steps towards it before it flies open. It smashes against the wall before clattering to the ground. Clearly, it's been kicked open. All The Lord can do is stare dumbly at his downed door.

It wasn't even locked.

The Lord struggles to take deep calming breaths as the sound of footsteps alert him that the fight has moved into his meeting room. As much as he would love to start chopping off heads, he's all too aware that he needs all available hands at the movement. Plus, wasting resources by sending some of his men into the infirmary would not be a good idea.

He lets his Reiatsu swell once, long and heavy, and it's enough. The ones causing the commotion are gone before he can look up or at least they better be if they know what's good for them. He takes a deep breath as he readies himself to assess the damage.

He can already image the burden the repairs will cost on their already dwindling resources. He lets another string of curses pass his lips as he stares at the cracked and splinter door still on the floor. He'll need to send out a team to gather supplies tonight if he wants to have his castle fully repaired before the war.

A warm, comforting, calming Reiatsu covers him as he curses up a storm. He doesn't shake it off. He desperately needs the calming sensation before he hunts down the idiots that thought tearing down the castle when the war could happen any day now was a good idea.

He keeps grumblingly even as the Reiatsu lulls him into contentment. He tears his eyes from the door and glares angrily at the shattered doorframe. Well, he tries to glare at it but he finds the doorframe blocked from his gaze.

A group of people he's never seen in his life stand before him.

They definitely aren't part of his army.

He lets his gaze run over them curiously. Unconsciously assessing their worth as he looks them over from head to toe. It's with surprise that he realizes that they're all human. Well, the ones he can stand in front of the doorway are. They stand in the doorway blocking it and some of their group from his view.

They're poised.

Weapons drawn and ready to fight where they stand. The Lord has to bite back a chuckle. Do these humans really think they stand a chance against him and his army? The only reason they haven't met their end yet is because he hasn't ordered it.

He doesn't have to look behind him to know that his men stand in much the same manner. They have their weapons drawn as they wait for his command. One word—one gesture—would be all it would take. He'd have their heads on a silver platter if he asked for it.

But he doesn't. He just keeps watching. He's intrigued that a group of humans would barge into his castle and attack. He's also extremely curious as to how a group of humans even ended up in this realm—especially a group this large.

They should have attracted a huge amount of attention from the dark creatures that roam the land. Two steps and they should have been swarmed. So how did they make it here? How did they get into his Castle and pass all his guards and men without a scratch?

There's not a drop of blood on any of them. That only serves to increase his curiosity.

The warm Reiatsu that had covered him has disappeared. It's owner content now that he's no longer out for blood so it withdraws. The Lord briefly chased it with his own across the castle grounds. That's the perk of being so powerful. He can stretch his Reiryoku far and wide. As his own Reiatsu covers the owner of the other, he floods it with curiosity and excitement.

The other makes his way towards him.

He turns his attention back to his men though he keeps his eyes firmly glued on the group before him. A slow, careful rise of his hand is all it takes. His men straighten, albeit a little confused, and sheath their weapons instantly.

He smiles a warm, inviting smile at the intruders even as they continue to hold their weapons ready for battle. A battle The Lord isn't quite interested in because, if his castle's current condition is anything to go on, it'll only increase the damages.

"I'll forgive the destruction of my castle," he begins, voice carefully light and more amusement than he actually feels bleeding into his words. His men shift uneasily behind him. He keeps his hand raised to remind them that they are not to attack. "If you inform me as to just how you lot ended up here, in my realm."

A quiet murmuring comes from the group but he can't make out the words so he waits patiently for their leader to reveal themselves. As a leader of an army himself it's easy for The Lord to see that they do have a leader. It's even easier to realize that this isn't your average group of humans. Especially since normal humans don't carry around Katanas and bows.

They're a group, a team.

And they're dangerous.

Hesitantly, the group parts and a woman—an extremely short one at that—moves towards him.

She holds herself with all the poise and confidence of a leader. A Commander. The Lord really wants to know who they are. Itty bitty as she might be, he can make out the lithe muscles beneath her green jacket.

She wipes her Katana across her black pants as she approaches him. It's with amusement and excitement that he realizes it gleams with black blood. It's his men's blood! She's managed to draw their blood.

Damn…that's quite a feat for a simple human to accomplish.

This is going to be interesting.

Interesting it is because, as the woman stops a respectable and cautious distance before him, one of her group shoots forward. All The Lord has a chance to make out is brown and fur before the human zips past their leader and him.

The sound of bodies hitting the ground is distinguishable amongst the curses and cries of outrage. The Lord bemoans his luck. They would have been such a good asset to have during the war and now his men have gone and killed one. Surely, the rest of the strange group will attack soon.

Such a waste.

These are battle harden warriors, after all. Bloodthirsty animals. The Lord's most violent and brutal bunch. There's no doubt in his mind that they've gone and killed the human. They've probably ripped the poor unsuspecting human to shreds but, honestly, what had the human been thinking? Charging his men like that?

If one's that reckless in battle than maybe it's a good thing he didn't get the chance to try to persuade them to join his army. The human wouldn't have lasted a second against the Death Gods. They're born and bred warriors that train day in and day out.

But the group doesn't attack.

They continue to linger in the doorway in shocked confusion. The Lord takes the opportunity to turn and check the situation going on behind him. Maybe the situation can be discussed and they won't feel the need to attack since it was one of theirs that charged first.

The scene he finds, though, has him both impressed and annoyed. Under normal circumstances his soldiers would have had the human down for the count in three seconds flat. However, thankfully, the situation is far from normal and these savage killers, these 'battle hardened warriors' stare in stunned amusement at a brown-haired girl.

They're rooted to their spots by shock alone. The Lord feels for them. He really does as he watches the girl—perched quite happily on hisfourth strongest monster—wag her tail. That's right, her tail. A huge, furry, brown…thing. It wags at about a mile a minute while she stares down at Ulquiorra.

Ulquiorra, in turn, glares up at her with more emotion than The Lord has ever seen on his face. The boy's always been one to keep his emotions in check. He's never let some much as a smile or anger cross his features. So to see that glare, so freely displayed, shocks The Lord to the core.

The silence that followed the scene is, in all honesty, hilarious.

As he continues to watch his fourth try and fail to dislodge the girl he finds himself rethinking his men's worth. If this girl—dressed only in a pair of brown shorts and a sports bra for protection with no visible weapons in sight—can take down Ulquiorra—a cold, unfeeling murderer—than he seriously needs to rethink his life choices and get her group to join him.

He can only image what the others are capable of.

"Matilda!"

The yell catches The Lord off guard. He turns in time to watch her leader race towards the girl. Yes, girl, because it's obvious to The Lord that she's young. Well, younger than her leader and most of her group, if not the youngest.

"Bad, bad. We don't jump on people," the woman scolds as she yanks the girl off his Espada—that what he's taken to calling his strongest monsters—with almost no visible effort. "Sorry about that," she mumbles to the Espada still on the floor as she motions her group forward.

"Is there something wrong with her?" The Lord asks as he watches the girl, Matilda, struggle against her leader's hold. There's just something offabout her. The Lord's opinion is only reaffirmed when he sees the ears on the girl's wolf mask twitch in annoyance before swiveling towards the approaching group.

One of the group—a lion, that's a lion. A Goddamn lion, reddish mane adorned with flowers and a long metal tail, bounds forward. It's strides are long, graceful, elegant as it lopes forward. While it's mane would make you believe it's male, The Lord's ninety percent sure it's actually female.

"She's animalistic," the leader says as the lioness wraps strong, powerful jaws on the scruff of the girl's neck. That's all it takes to cease her struggling. The She Wolf goes limp as a kitten in the lioness' jaws while the leader straightens out her now rumpled clothes.

"We found her in the woods some seven years back and took her home," she says with a wave of her hand, obliviously wanting to move off the subject. Though, she must see the interested gleam in Lord's eyes because she explains further without any prompting. "She doesn't normally socialize with anyone who isn't us," she mutters before throwing a thoughtful look at the now upright Espada . "Who are you?"

"These are my men," The Lords say before Ulquiorra can answer. He's not sure what makes him do it but, as the woman approaches the boy, he feels the need to drag the attention off him. Especially when Ulquiorra shifts just the tiniest bit under the weight of everyone's stares. "And I am Lord Aizen , the ruler of Hueco Mundo and this, young ones, is my Palace. Which you lot have so kindly damaged."

"I am Leah," the leader says as she turns back to him. There's a curious and suspicious glint in her eye. She bows politely though, as do the rest of her group—minuses the still limp She Wolf and lioness. "I am sorry about your castle. It wasn't our intentions to destroy it but your men attacked us without provocation and we weren't not going to defend ourselves."

A loud snort causes Leah to turn. Well, everyone turns, but let's focus on Leah. She turns, glare firmly in place just as Grimmjow steps forward. He moves with a cockiness just so Grimmjow even though he only has one arm left and is officially rank-less. Aizen can feel a headache building even though the brute has yet to do anything.

It's that exact cockiness that got them in this mess to begin with.

Her glare disappears the second her eyes locked with Grimmjow's turquoise pools though. Aizen curses his fate when she freezes in a telling way. He knows what's happening. His entire army knows what's happening as a careful, almost fond smirks pulls at Grimmjow's lips. Well, at least Aizen now has his way to keep the group.

Grimmjow's injured, essentially defenseless. He should have been carted out of the room the second the door had been kicked open to avoid further injury. But no one—no Espada moves to his side as Leah approaches him. It would have been cause for outrage if it wasn't because Leah now belongs to him.

It's some weird, monster thing that Aizen hasn't had much time to look into because he's been too busy trying to prepare for the upcoming war. All he knows is that they, the Arrancars —that's what he's taken to calling the souls he's brought back—tend to form these little Cliques.

Little packs within the whole pack that is his army.

Those that find themselves in these packs are fiercely loyal to each other. They tend to defend each other till their deaths. He's also seen a variety of different relationship established in these packs. There's Nnoitra—Espada number five—and Tesra—a lowly Arrancar whose been glued to Nnoitra's side ever since Aizen created him—in a pack all their own. Aizen's under no illusion that their relationship isn't sexual.

Then there's Harribel and hers and. From what Aizen has seen, Harribel dotes on her pack mates. She mothers them constantly. Spoils them rotten. Each pack and it's inner workings are different and—if he wins the war—Aizen's looking forward to studying them.

He's a scientist at heart, after all.

"Where did you say we are?" someone asks and Aizen looks back to the group in time to see a redhead emerge. She's a tall, lean thing, sporting a black corset and wielding a long metal staff that she stares at intently as she makes her way to the front of the group. She's obviously trying to avoid hitting anyone with it so it's a little belatedly when she turns and screams, "You!"

Aizen jumps. He honest to god starts as he stares at the woman like she just lost her mind. That is until he finally gets a good look at her. Green eyes stare up at him, wide and filled with anguished anger, eyes he'd recognized anywhere. Eyes he hasn't looked into for years. Eyes he never thought he'd look into again.

"Dai…Daisy?"

By god, how she's changed.