Lifted Up

by Tomas the Betrayer

Sequel to 'Hammered Down'. Under the shadow of a heaven ruled by monsters, Rukia Kuchiki continues to fulfill her duties with new lives and hearts added to the mix. And above all, there is a mother's love.

10. Wedding Hells: Burning with Desire

Her whole arm felt cold and tingly, as though she had been lying on it while asleep, and Tatsuki pulled away. "That's enough," she announced.

The high schooler sat down a few steps away on the shrine platform while attempting to rub some circulation back. A prickling sensation like needles in her limb presaged the return of feeling, and she grimaced at the discomfort.

Stretched out on his back, Ulquiorra Schiffer regarded her with a flat stare that still managed to indicate he resented this interruption. The only light came from a candle she had brought on a previous visit; being a ghost, she could see him without it, and the view was not promising. The stricken Hollow maintained that look of a burnt-out wreck he had worn since she found him here. Tatsuki wasn't certain how much good this was doing. Sometimes she convinced herself there was more definition to his appearance, a subtle shift in depth and outline that more closely resembled the creature she had first met over a year ago. Maybe it was wishful thinking. It irked her to think she might be wasting her time. There were other things in life she would gladly be doing.

It was autumn in Japan. Tatsuki Arisawa was facing the middle of her high school academic life. Their senior semester wouldn't start until April of next year, but even now many of her classmates were hitting the books like mad for college entrance exams. Scouts from different universities had already approached her looking to entice the young martial artist into considering their institutions; rather flattering for an admittedly sub-par student. Her 1st-place performance at nationals this year certainly improved any future prospects. Mom and Dad could rest easy on that score at least. And truth be told, even she was breathing a little easier. If you wanted to make a living as an athlete, you really did have to rank among the best.

All this was only half of her life. The other part mainly resided here, in this cave, where she was the only remaining sustenance for a half-dead vampire assassin.

Tatsuki raised her head to look at the ceiling. On the way here it had smelled as though it might storm. Right now, it was almost possible to convince herself she heard the patter of raindrops murmuring through the tunnel. One of those brief but powerful downpours of early fall; if she waited ten minutes it would probably let up.

The thought of doing so irritated her. Having to stay in the company of this monster any longer than necessary could do that. This prompted her to turn a disdainful look of her own upon him.

"Is there any way to speed this up?" she demanded suddenly.

Ulquiorra only stared unblinkingly for a few seconds more before rotating his head around. "No."

His voice was still weak, but at least now he was able to communicate more freely. Not that they tended to talk much during her visits. The vasto lorde did not need to verbalize his dissatisfaction with their arrangement. This was the very definition of 'unhealthy relationship'.

"We've been doing this for three months, and you still look like diarrhea made solid." Tatsuki didn't expect a reaction, and he didn't disappoint, continuing to act as though she weren't here. "Just how long is this 'restoration' going to take? Because in about another year, I'll be graduated and moving on. Better believe it'll be last call for you then. So can you possibly suggest an abridged version?"

"The essence I need… builds up over time." Ulquiorra spoke as though he had difficulty catching his breath. She wondered sometimes if he could be putting on an act, appearing more feeble than he really was. Sooner or later it might be time to act on those suspicions. "It cannot be… accelerated. Only… enhanced. If there were… more of you…"

"There aren't." She could finally move her fingers without any resulting discomfort. Thank heaven for small favors. "I'm the only one left with that taint in me."

"There is… one more."

Tatsuki realized her mistake even as he said it. Supposedly there was another living human who had been exposed to the aura of a vasto lorde. Who it might be composed a very short list, and once all the potential names had been crossed off to the satisfaction of the shinigami, Tatsuki at the very least had not given it much thought since. If Rukia and her buddies couldn't identify this person, there was small chance she would fare any better. It had occurred to her to ask Ulquiorra about it before. But even if he did prove to know anything, the very thought of asking someone else to submit themselves to what she did on a regular basis revolted her. She wouldn't wish this on her worst enemy.

That sentiment had not changed. However curiosity compelled her to ask. "Any idea who that one might be?"

"No."

Figures.

"But…" Ulquiorra continued in his dry raspy murmur, "if you could… locate them… it would prove… beneficial."

She twisted around to face him and crossed her legs, gripping both ankles. "How come?"

"Your taint… comes from me. It is… most suited… for keeping me alive." The vampire's throat moved as if he were swallowing, gathering strength for a prolonged period of conversation. "This other… was infected by… the fenris. His strength was… the greatest… of us all… by far. Even when… we were forced to limit… the harvesting of your compatriots… for fear of being detected… its presence… restored my power… far more than that gained… from the dullahan… and the scylla."

These words he sometimes used made no sense to her, and she didn't feel a need to ask. "Still don't see how that helps you. I can't imagine anyone else being dumb enough to let you suck on them three square meals a day."

He actually deigned to turn his head and look at her directly. "If you found them… you might be able… to absorb their taint… into yourself. The combination… of fenris' essence… mixed with my own… would amplify… my recovery."

The prospect sounded too good to be true. Something told Tatsuki that Ulquiorra was more interested in seeing this happen than he would ever willingly admit. Which was all the proof she needed to deem it a bad idea. "For the sake of argument, how would you suggest I find this lucky soul?"

Lips the color and texture of cigarette ash parted. "They were… hidden from us… somehow. Just… disappeared. The Harvesters… could no longer… locate them. It happened… without warning."

Tatsuki shrugged. "Maybe the person died, ever think about that?"

"No." She could have sworn there was anger in that one word, whether directed at her or something else. "They did not… perish. Lagrima claimed… her harp… still responded to… their living… presence. But neither she… nor my familiars… were able to… discern them. And there were… two others known… with the mark of the fenris… on them. It was not… vital enough… to risk an all-out… search. But if you… could hunt down… this holdout… then we…"

"Pass."

His voice died out. Ulquiorra watched her with dark gray eyes wide. If looks could kill, this one would qualify for serial status. Tatsuki gave a snort of laughter upon seeing it. "Did you really think I was considering roping some other poor slob into this screwed up living arrangement of ours? Forget it, grave dirt. I was just killing time 'til the rain let off." She zipped up her track suit, stretched her deltoids and cracked her neck from side to side. "Okay, that oughta do it."

The teen blew out the candle, then stood up and dusted off her skirt. Without a word of farewell Tatsuki turned and scooted down the length of the cave.

Ulquiorra did not move in the slightest for several minutes.

Then one arm slid back, and he levered himself into a half-sitting position. Cautiously he slid his legs over the side of the wooden stand until they reached the ground. When he was satisfied, the Hollow stood up.

His body transformed. What had been flimsy dust only moments past took on the semblance of solid flesh. Limbs and torso filled out, becoming thicker and gaining color at the same time. From his back there emerged two wings that spread out to a vast extent, sinking into the stone walls as though they were mist. When he rose fully upright a pair of horns went straight through the ceiling followed by his head.

The Espada looked down, examining himself. His growth process continued at a smooth pace. Right now, if he wanted to, he could race down the tunnel to catch the girl before she even felt him coming. Ulquiorra could see himself forcing her to the ground and wrapping both hands around her throat. He would then proceed to squeeze, watching her claw and fight desperately for air until the body went limp and those dull black eyes stood out against the red suffocated face. Afterwards he would eat her soul and fly away, leaving her corpse to rot.

He closed his eyes and lay back down. In moments the bas celik had reverted to his harmless invalid guise.

Not yet. He still could not endure without her assistance. But one day, that would change. At which point he would reassert the natural order of things. The human had welcomed Death into her life. There was only one way that could end. The images of her final moments replayed over and over behind his eyelids. It offered him solace as he awaited their next meeting.

---

I always assumed you would be standing at my deathbed, Ukitake thought as he looked upon the face of his deceased mentor.

The room was empty save for him. Attendants had cleaned the body of Yamamoto Genryusai-Shigekuni. A simple white sheet covered him. After a while Jushirō reached down and pulled it off, studying the corpse (he is dead, he is really dead). The sight shocked him. At no time in the past had he ever known his master to present anything but strength. Even as his beard turned lily-white and he grew stooped from age, Yamamoto could shrug off such outward manifestations at a moment's notice and demonstrate his awesome strength to the satisfaction of all.

Now look at him. In just a year's time, the old warlord had gone from a tempered warrior to a wasted invalid. His profusion of war scars were now almost hidden in a web of loose wrinkled flesh. Once mighty arms and legs had become brittle bone devoid of muscle. Weak as he was, Jushiro could have still snapped them without any effort. The ribs stood out starkly against paper-thin skin above which drooped soft sagging pecs. Sunken cheeks and eye sockets lent a stark testimonial to mortality. That long white beard, freshly combed, was the only part that hadn't changed. If I met this man on the street, I would not recognize him. And he was in my life for thousands of years.

Yamamoto is dead.

Why am I not glad for it?

Ukitake replaced the sheet, tucking it up around the old man's neck. He studied those features, composed and empty as they were. I dreamed of this day for so long without ever truly believing it would come. As much as I respected him, and for all the good I know he personally accomplished, our relationship turned into a torment for me. After a while I wasn't even one of his soldiers anymore. They, at least, he could afford to lose. But I became a pillar of his order, the hard-fought peace we hewed out together, the four of us. Is it wrong to expect to feel anything now that he's gone? There isn't even relief. The long centuries we watched together seem like a dream now, or a story that has come to an end.

This person performed grand deeds and committed horrors. He valued men and served their death sentences in the same breath. At times I wondered if he was really a person, and not some ruthless implacable punishment sent by heaven to cow us and expose our weaknesses. I never knew how flawed and frail I could be until he showed me. At the same time, I endured pain, hardship and challenges that would have broken me were it not for his example. I watched him save Soul Society from the demons that preyed upon it. We beat them back because of this man. All requisite honor was accorded him. What was he, really? Was he born of mother and father? Did he ever know doubt, fear, confusion, desperation? Or did such things simply not exist in his being?

I've wept and grieved for the passing of lost loved ones before. Yet I feel none of that now. It's as though I've come across the body of a wild boar, an ancient beast clearly fierce and scarred from countless battles. Had I met it when alive it would have inspired panic and fear for my life, but once dead it offers nothing. It has passed on, and I am alive. What's the point of even thinking about it? So my story continues.

I always thought I would feel something should he perish. How strange to be proven wrong.

Jushirō had told himself he would at least say goodbye. Out of respect for the departed. Instead he found himself turning and walking out of the room without saying a word. Not so much as a curse. He wasn't disappointed in himself. It no longer mattered. The handsome soul made a sign to the attendants waiting outside that they could continue with their duties. The funeral was scheduled for tomorrow. Everything would be ready before then.

A glance to either side told him the corridor was empty. This entire wing of the healing facility had been reserved for Yamamoto at his request after those shinigami injured during the Autumn War finally recovered. It was the least he could do. Hardly anyone but the staff ever came here.

Nevertheless he already knew what would happen before the words even left his mouth. "Sentaro. Kiyone."

A faint noise, and then the two Third Seats of Heron Squad knelt respectfully before him. The sight actually caused their former captain to smile. Some things never change.

"Ukitake-done, forgive us for intruding on your grief!" Sentaro Kotsubaki declared without looking up. "We happened to be close by and–"

"Would you like to join me for lunch?" he asked.

Both glanced at one another, in need of reassurance that they had heard right. Then in unison, both of them cautiously nodded.

---

Hanataro Yamada shut the door of his meager quarters, trudged the few feet to his waiting futon and flopped facedown upon it without any regard for propriety.

His neck was sore from being hunched over while combing through endless medical files. This in addition to writing the subsequent reports until his fingers were cramped into the position of holding a pen. A peek in the mirror would have confirmed a case of red bloodshot eyes, and his aching dogs throbbed happily at getting a reprieve in terms of circulation after so many hours on his feet.

There had been plans today about what to do after work, personal stuff that any self-respecting officer could freely engage in without shame or worry. Hanataro knew that if he continued to lie here he would eventually drift off to sleep and thereby squander any chance of getting right on those activities he had been looking forward to since climbing out of bed in the first place. He knew himself well enough to recognize how likely that scenario would be, and so the Fifth Seat of Heron Company resolved to leap right up and get cracking. Yes, just as soon as I rest my… eyes for… a little bit…

When he came to, the stars were out and a clock chimed the hour of 11.

Yamada stuffed his face into a pillow and screamed.

Keep that up and you'll collapse a lung. You've only got one left, remember?

The long-suffering shinigami lurched into a sitting position and peered around with a sour expression. Why did he never feel this exhausted while at work? Only upon reaching home did the urge for immediate rest hit him, and he found himself more often than not zonking out and wasting what little remainder of the day could be called his own. And to make matters worse, the co-Third Seats of his division had been missing all day long with nobody he asked having any clue as to their whereabouts. They were supposed to be dealing with all the high-end matters while Captain Kotetsu and Rukia (no, Lieutenant Kuchiki, don't get into that habit!) were consulting with the other leaders of the Seireitei. Which meant Officer Yasochika Iemura, the Fourth Seat, was technically in charge, an arrangement that never worked out well for Hanataro.

Why did Old Man Yamamoto have to die now of all times? He couldn't have kicked the bucket in another week? I was planning to catch up on my model building! And Mom, I was going to pop in and let her know I'm all right, now she's going to be worried sick. It's too late to even dispatch a hell butterfly to reassure her. Why didn't I do that first thing upon leaving work? I could have finished it on the way home! I'm such a heel!

Your girlfriend went too far last time! Feel that twinge in your gut? I think some of the stitches have come loose. If you don't get immediate care, your organs will pull free and go slopping around inside your body like pebbles in a stream!

Please, Hisagomaru, even I know that's too far-fetched to believe. Nemu wouldn't close me up without making absolutely sure the sutures were tied off. You ought to be grateful she doesn't know you thought that, because otherwise…

A knock sounded at his door.

It's her! It's HER! She heard and she's come to finish us off! Quick, out the window, we might survive the fall, it's only three stories, but we'll never survive what she does to us, HURRY!

"Hold on, be right there!" Hanataro let his zanpakutō ride out the latest panic attack as he hopped up and went to answer. Small chance Nemu would stop by tonight. They were all super busy as a result of the former Commander-General's passing. No time for extracurricular activities. Although considering the day he'd had, there certainly was a lot to say for just cutting loose and going wild.

He reached the door and slid it open, to find himself faced with a giant face.

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!"

The little medic staggered and fell. He scuttled backward in the manner of a beetle until he hit the far wall, where he proceeded to scream even louder than before.

Back where he had left, those enormous brutish features swiveled to one side. "He's home," a deep voice boomed out. It then rotated around to fix its eyes upon Yamada once more. The face drew back, and in thrust a fist the size of a small elephant. Too terror-stricken to resist, Hanataro could only watch as thick meaty fingers reached out to fill his field of vision.

"You're with us tonight, little friend!"

The hand closed around him, and Hanataro Yamada feared he might faint.

Instead, half an hour later he found himself in a large tavern in the Fifth District of the former Rukongai, as two thick-skulled maniacs cracked their bald foreheads together before raising their cups.

"Kanpai!" Ikkaku Madarame proclaimed with that crazed shark's grin of his as he downed the liquor in a single gulp.

"KANPAI!" Not to be outdone, Jidanbo Ikkanzaka upended a dish that could have easily passed for a swimming pool. The titanic gatekeeper finished off the booze in one chug. Both men settled their flasks down and grinned at one another before turning to regard their third member expectantly.

Hunched in on himself, the stringy little healer managed a weak smile. "Kanpai," he hooted before taking a moderate sip.

"Drink up, man!" With that Ikkaku reached over and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, forcing his head back and inserting the spout of a jug between his teeth. Yamada flailed uselessly as he was force-fed some very strong alcohol, at least by his standards. A few seconds later he was finally allowed to breathe, red-faced and coughing like he had the croup.

They're trying to kill you, I know it! HELP! Murder! Assistance! Please!

Keep it down, will ya? These are my friends.

A bit shocked at this blunt declaration, the hypochondriac soul cutter went silent. Having caught his second wind, its wielder took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Fill 'er up, please," he declared while holding out his cup.

"That's the spirit!" The bald brawler from Tiger Squad shared out more of the booze, draining what was left into Jidanbo's dish after he had scooped out some from the wooden vat beside him.

Hanataro took another sip as the warm buzz of alcohol claimed him. A serving girl came by to pick up their empty flasks and drop off a few more. Ikkaku leaned in towards her with a smile that bespoke of something other than martial interests, to which she simply pushed his forehead with a good-natured laugh and sauntered off. He just shrugged before turning back to their private party.

This was nice; going out with the boys, getting hammered. Real guy stuff. Hanataro didn't remember what exactly prompted his inclusion into this group. There had been some kind of debacle during the Autumn War involving all three of them. Honestly, the details were never quite clear in his head. It sometimes felt like he experienced gaps in his memory during high-stress situations. Whatever the case, afterwards Ikkaku and Jidanbo insisted on calling their trio the 'Three Heavenly Warriors'. It didn't make sense, but what did that matter? He was a part of the group whether he liked it or not. Felt pretty good to have mates you could depend on.

Only a few other shinigami lingered in the bar, which was just large enough to accommodate someone of Jidanbo's proportions. This region could technically be considered the edge of the Rukongai now. Following immense devastation wrought during the Autumn War, a full 9 out of every 10 districts were considered unsuitable for habitation. Of course, nobody could tell the difference with the 80th District, Zaraki, but even places that had been considered ramshackle at best, like Inuzuri, could no longer be depended upon to house the residents of Soul Society. For a while there several billion souls were forced to get by in what basically amounted to refugee shelters. However thanks to the foresight (and fortune) of the Kuchiki, it wasn't long before the first Halos were constructed, allowing many to take up comfortable if temporary residence while awaiting their relocation to an appropriate plane upon its completion.

This left relatively few people lingering in the space around the Court of Pure Souls. Most were relatives of the shinigami who had grown accustomed to this place and chose not to leave, or at least wanted to remain close to their kin. The seat of government remained in the Seireitei as per Lord-Commander Kuchiki's order, which meant the death gods stayed too. Sometimes Hanataro wondered if the folks who remained did so because they felt safer knowing their protectors were close at hand and not separated from them by the walls of a homemade afterlife. Still no way of knowing just how stable and secure the Planes were going to be in the long run. But as of now there had been no confirmed sightings of Hollows in any of them. No news meant good news.

"To the Old Man!" Ikkaku declared suddenly after making sure everyone had a drink. "We, the Three Heavenly Warriors, offer you a salute, ya fire-breathing dragon bastard! Give 'em hell, wherever you're goin'!"

"Speaking o' which…" Sinking back against the wall, Hanataro shot his two pals a crafty smile. "Betcha a month's pay Yamamoto went straight to Hell when he died!"

"What kind of wager is that?" Jidanbo scoffed. "No way to tell if it's true! Unless you go there yourself." He gave an amused snort, then gazed contemplatively into his wine cup. Without looking up the giant asked, "Did either of you ever meet him? I mean, before?"

The other two looked at one another. Both shrugged and shook their heads. "He didn't really asso-shate with us low-class fighters," Hanataro pointed out.

The Third Seat of Tiger snorted. "Speak for yourself, One-Eared Samurai."

"Well, I did."

They both looked up. Above them Ikkanzaka continued to ruminate aloud to his own reflection in the saké. "I was there, y'know, when Captain Aizen turned traitor. So were all the other captains, Yamamoto included. He didn't talk to me then. But way back, over 300 years ago… the old Western Gatekeeper retired. And the call went out for a replacement."

Jidanbo looked around before flashing a grin that was almost shy. "Even though I stood out in terms of power, folks in my division used to gawk at me on account of my size. It made me self-conscious, and I worried my little brother might get mistreated as a result. Not all shinigami are good eggs like you."

He toasted them, and they happily returned the salute. It caused the giant to beam. He inhaled his drink with gusto before returning to his tale.

"I had been a death god for a few decades; took my licks during a lieutenant's trial, enough to let me realize I'd never be that strong. But this gate guardian post… protecting our home, staying out of sight for the most part… it sounded like the ideal solution! I could do the position proud while not attracting too much attention. So I put myself forward, and when the contest to determine the winner ended, Ikkanzaka Jidanbo was the last man standing!"

Ikkaku and Hanataro applauded his efforts, and the big man nodded gratefully before continuing.

"My first day on the job, some representatives of the Rukon came out to greet me and offer me gifts. I thanked them for their generosity, and swore to be on hand should they ever find themselves in need. It was a grand feeling! I awaited the first test of my mettle with glee!"

He took another bathtub-sized slurp and gazed contemplatively into the distance. "After a time, a lone man came walking from the 1st District and approached the Seireitei. He was old, which was unusual enough for a shinigami. You don't meet too many elderly folk in our profession. Even stranger still, he had no zanpakutō; only a tall staff which he used to support himself. He bore no traveler's permit, and the gate descended automatically to bar his path, at which point I made my appearance."

Jidanbo reared up so that his shiny pate brushed the roof of the establishment. He crossed prodigious arms and glowered sternly down at his audience. " 'HOLD, SIR!', I demanded of him, being eager to assert my authority and confidence. 'SINCE YOU LACK A GATE PASS, I CANNOT ALLOW YOU TO PROCEED! YOU MUST RETURN FROM WHENCE YOU CAME!' And this man, this small graying shinigami with a beard down to his stomach and scars on his face, looks up at me without a trace of fear. And he says to me…"

Here Jidanbo's booming voice dropped to the depth of a mountain lion's growl, such that his listeners shivered involuntarily, as though hearing the old man's words in truth.

"Should I stay the course, will you slay me, gatekeeper?"

"At this challenge I assumed he must be drunk. Or perhaps addled in the head: a retired officer wandering off confused from his home in the Rukon district. It did occur to me that I sensed no power from him, but time would have assuredly drained the strength from his arms. Yet as he stood there firm and unmoving, ready to die as so many of us had before, I perceived the warrior he must have been in his prime. Whatever the state of his faculties, the spirit remained as valiant as ever. And though I pitied him I could not deny such a worthy fighter the chance to proclaim his honor. So I said to the old man in tones unlike my previous youthful blustering, 'No, honored senpai. I would not kill you. Say rather I would VANQUISH you, and tell the tale of your courageous last battle to any who would ask!'"

"We looked upon one another for the span of a few heartbeats. Then he gave a small nod, like so." Jidanbo demonstrated. "At this a hell butterfly dropped down to alight upon him, and in a moment he possessed a gate pass. At once the border walls rose to permit his entry. I recognized that this had all been a test. Feeling honored, I stood aside to let him through, bowing as I did. He made no further remark as he entered nor did he look upon me. But my first duty had been performed. So assured, I hied myself off to the West Gate barracks until I was needed once more."

He retook his seat then, taking care not to allow his great bulk to damage the inn's furnishings. "When night fell and the wall descended as a sign that I might rest, the other guardians approached. They congratulated me on a successful day and asked about my first visitor. When I described him, they all laughed and told me the truth: that this wizened ancient was none other than Commander-General Yamamoto, the legend himself. It was his wont to test all those who aspired to defend the sanctity of the four gates leading into the Court of Pure Souls. Had my bearing not been to his liking, I would have been slain on the spot. Upon hearing this I was amazed and fearful. But my comrades assured me they had faced the same in their time, and that no warning was given because it would have cost me the chance to honestly prove my worth. At this I once more felt proud, and we all went off to celebrate my new position."

His recitation ended, the Western Guardian heaved a sigh. None of them drank. They were all preoccupied contemplating the vagaries of such a man who could command death depending upon something so simple as a question being put to you.

Eventually Ikkaku settled back on his seat with a groan. "You guys going to the funeral tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I guess," Hanataro sighed. "Rukia's gonna be there. Would be nice to see her again. And I hear Kyoraku Shunsui's doing the catering, so that's one night I don't have ta make myself dinner."

"You are a man of simple needs, my friend."

"I will pass," Jidanbo asserted. "The other guardians and I agreed the greatest tribute we could pay the Commander-General would be to remain at our posts and do our duty no matter what."

Lurching to a sitting position, the young medic held aloft his cup. "For seeing the end of an era. The death of a legend. Here's to all the ones left behind, and we shinigami, who must watch over them just like he did. May they tell stories about us as well one day."

"Epic stories!" Madarame clarified.

"Hear, hear," the burly gatekeeper declared. He leaned down and they clinked their tiny dishes against his bowl. A call to the waitress brought more food and drink, and the night passed on their vigil honoring a warrior whose like would never be seen again.

---

For a small town, Birkenstrad had a large jail. During daylight hours, that would have been ample warning for them to pass through without stopping. Instead for the past two days the Gypsy caravan found themselves confined to four of the cells in this subdued building. Heavy oaken doors and thick granite walls cut them off from one another, yet still they managed to communicate. For fear of being overheard they spoke in Caló, the Western variant of the Romani language. Aschen's family was originally from those parts and he had taught it to his own children. In this way they managed to work out a strategy.

On the third morning of their capture, when a hatch in the door opened and food was slid in, Ingelbert called out. "Hey! My sister is feeling ill. She needs a doctor."

There came a pause on the other side of the door, then movement down the corridor. A whispered consultation occurred followed by the sound of someone leaving.

The young Romani waited impatiently. His youngest sibling Mitzi took up moaning every so often and clutching her stomach while their sister Karin patted her head and spoke soothingly. He had stayed by them during the ambush, and because of this when the tribe got divided up it was to find themselves sharing a cell. One less thing to worry about; he might have gone crazy not knowing how his sisters were enduring this captivity. There was arguing among the villagers the night they were captured. At first he felt certain they would all be slain out of hand. Herded into jail, his people were given neither food nor blankets against the chill of the evening. The wandering folk awaited their inevitable death sentences and the chance it might afford them to break free.

But then there came the howling of wolves echoing through the windows of their cells. Panicked cries of Birkenstrad's residents followed as they were roused from their beds. There might have been a meeting of some kind. Even as Ingelbert wondered what this might mean, the door of his cell opened. Armed men waited without just as he had expected. However instead of dragging them out, two old women came in bearing a basket of food and blankets with soft pillows. These they offered to the wary prisoners. Accepting this bounty with ill grace, he watched them shuffle out. One of the constables then said, "If you need something, ask. We will provide."

He was too astonished to demand an explanation. The door shut in his face. At their elder's insistence, Mitzi and Karin wrapped themselves in the warm blankets and got some sleep. For his part Ingelbert remained awake talking to Aschen through the walls. Their father insisted they find out more before making any escape attempt. The rest of the tribe agreed. Something had happened which changed their situation. If they spoke to their captors, they might learn what truly led to them being held prisoner, why the change in treatment, and how the tribe might regain their freedom.

For Ingelbert there was one other question he burned with the desire to know: what had those bastards done with Rania?

The cell door opened. "You asked for a doctor?"

Surprised, Ingelbert looked up. He had been expecting an elderly figure. Instead there stood framed in the doorframe the tall lean frame of a youth no older than himself. Steely blue eyes were far older, however. His glistening black hair was cut short save at the front where it fell in two sharp points to frame both sides of his face. He had pale skin with a stern unforgiving cast that gave his admittedly handsome features an almost regal air. Sunlight glinted off his glasses as he cast a stern withering look about. His cobalt blue eyes took note of everything in the bare room, and a slight frown caused his lip to twist. Ingelbert was about to speak only to be stalled by an icy look cast his way.

The healer stepped inside without another word. "My name is Ulric Sterne. You may address me as Herr Sterne. Where is my patient?"

Little Mitzi had left off moaning and fell to staring at this white-draped figure as though he were an angel descended from on high. Karin hovered protectively nearby, looking decidedly less impressed by this haughty outsider. Ulric fixed his eyes on Mitzi, and the girl reddened so fast it seemed to cause him concern. He came forward, opening a small bag and removing a… a metal…

Hmmm…

Did they have stethoscopes back then? Oh well, time to hit the search engine.

---

Should I mention there's a privy in the cell too? I mean, realistically they have to go, and otherwise the villagers would need to let them out every time, which raises the issue of why they wouldn't try to escape. But I don't want to gross anybody out. Does the audience really need to be thinking about that stuff and any resulting odors? Realism should only be taken so far in a story.

"Yo, Michiru. Your turn. Put away the chat session or whatever."

"Hm?" She looked around with a start. "Oh! Sorry. Uh, okay, let's see…"

Around her the other members of the KOPS took to availing themselves of some high-priced snacks courtesy of their hostess. Currently they were hunkered down in a room on the second floor of the Usagi Shoten. Rukia let the group stop by after work hours since Ochi-sensei was attending a staff orientation meeting and without her they couldn't break into… or rather, use Ishida-sensei's house.

Michiru considered. The topic of today's gathering was something fast approaching. Namely, the cultural festival for their junior year of high school in November. That was the time when schools held events to try and attract new students next year. Now technically, the Karakaura Otherwordly Paranormal Society was not an officially recognized after-school club. Even if it was, students were only allowed to attend one extracurricular organization apiece, as several of them had pointed out. Right now, for instance, Kunieda Ryo, Karin Kurosaki and Tatsuki Arisawa were not present, as their respective clubs were heavy into preparing for the athletics festivals this month. Michiru's own involvement in the Creative Writing Club wouldn't have been possible either.

Regardless, Ochi-sensei insisted their organization represent itself at the festivities. Privately Michiru wondered if their 'advisor' intended to continue the group after they graduated. But such thoughts were for later. Today was a brainstorming session for what a paranormal club like theirs could possibly put on for the festival with just around two months to prepare. Not a lot of time. So maybe…

"How about a fortune-telling booth?" she recommended uncertainly. "Those are fun and creative, and they don't involve a lot of setup. Just dress like a European Gypsy and get a crystal ball, Don Kanonji probably has plenty…"

"That could work," Chizuru Honsho agreed. "Except only one person would be telling the fortunes. What about the rest of us?"

"We could take turns!" Orihime Inoue insisted. "That way everybody would get a chance at peering into the future!" Between her and their affectionate classmate sat little Ururu Tsumugiya, whose sad doe-like eyes somehow managed to keep Chizuru's lecherous tendencies in check even better than the threat of violence from Tatsuki usually did.

Mahana Natsui nodded gamely and popped the top off a marker. "We'll add it to the list." She wrote on a dryboard which had been provided for them, now filled with suggestions from other members. Keigo Asano and Mizuiro Kojima had contributed their thoughts ranging from 'miko shrine maidens' (obviously one of Asano's) to 'hostess juice bar' (this one almost got Mizuiro kicked out of the room). Right now the two boys had been banished to a corner where one looked on with beseeching eyes and frustrated body language while the other calmly texted on his phone.

Kon stretched out his long legs reclining against a wall as he watched their proceedings. His idea held the #1 spot so far: a 'mind-reading' game. This had required an explanation. Members of their group would be blindfolded or otherwise have their eyes covered. Then people from the audience would hold up random items they could choose from, whereupon the performer would call out what it was. This apparently had a tradition in magician acts. However in their case, rather than having a prearranged system of verbal tells, the blindfolded person would instead be receiving tips from their resident friendly ghosts whom the audience couldn't see. They might also use this same principle to put on a 'mirror show'; here they would face away from a volunteer who would be asked to assume gestures or poses at their discretion. A ghost facing towards them would mimic the pose, thus allowing their performer to do the same without actually seeing them. It was a fun interactive way to tweak the supernatural element of their lives without making it obvious to their viewers. Everyone would just chalk it up as a magic trick.

Michiru had to admit she was surprised to hear such a thoughtful and reasonable solution from the mod soul. Since coming to know him outside his stints in Ichigo's body the previous year, Kon had impressed her with his newfound dependability. She watched him as he lounged near another surprising character. Ostensibly here as a full-fledged member, after a certain incident Kon also maintained a sort of 'bodyguard' position for young Noboru Kouki, who still liked attending these meetings despite the rather predatory looks he received courtesy of the girls from time to time. Youngest in appearance but arguably older than any of them, the messy-haired youth was currently engaged in carving a plate of animal crackers into 'anatomically correct' versions. Nobody would be eating them, and Rukia could smack him later, so any complaints about decorum went unvoiced.

"Alright." Mahana finished outlining the details and turned to address them. "So far I think we've done pretty well. One more to go." She then turned and smiled in a very indicative way at Noboru. "Anything you'd like to share before we wrap things up, Your Highness?"

Noboru looked up from his art project. "Hm? Oh, right." The kid busied himself making some of the cookies engage in adult concourse with one another. "Why not a dance?"

Dance? They all looked at one another blankly. "Ah, Noboru-sama," Orihime hesitated to address him, as she had since being informed about his parentage. "Dancing isn't really big in Japanese culture. Not that we're culturally deficient! I mean, we have a long rich tradition of song and music and performing arts and our erotica is known the world over, but–"

"What Orihime means," Kon interjected quickly, "is that nowadays you'll see people dancing in clubs, but in terms of social displays it's still not a very traditionally Japanese thing to do. Not quite suitable for a cultural festival." The mood of the room had changed in another not-so-suitable manner upon utterance of the word 'erotica'.

"Yeah it is." Beside him the foreign-seeming youth popped a few cookies into his mouth. "I watched a documentary the other day about exorcisms. Your buddy Kanonji was on it. They also showed these priestesses in costumes dancing to ward off evil spirits. It was called…" Here he stopped chewing and his eyes scrunched in concentration. "Okay, I remember thinking it was the same name of an anime character I saw set during the feudal era, the one with the dog hanyō and the horny monk and…" His brow cleared. "Kagura dance. That's what it was called. Daikagura."

They all seemed to be considering this. Ogawa recalled a time when she was little and her parents took her to a festival. There had indeed been a dance put on by some miko at the temple. As a child it had seemed very slow, strange and eerie watching those women move in synchronized forms. She had been scared at the thought of ghosts and demons hovering about them. Of course, on that note…

"It's definitely traditional, and has a lot to do with the paranormal," she hazarded timidly. "But I don't know if there's anyone who could teach us how to dance in two months."

Noboru hopped up excitedly. "Baa-san could! She knows how to dance! I've seen her, she's great. Once she gets back from Soul Society I bet if you asked she'd be more than willing to show you!"

This brought on another round of glances being exchanged. After a time Mahana simply shrugged and busied herself writing on the board again. "That's one more option." She stepped back and turned to face them. "We've got lots of potential routes to consider now. When we next meet, it'll be time to vote! Oh, and Rukia can demonstrate her dancing too then. Kill two birds with one stone, right?"

"What if the others have their own suggestions?" Orihime asked. "Like Tatsuki, or Kurosa–?"

In response her schoolmates burst out laughing.

"Ichigo? Please!" Keigo guffawed. "He'd probably suggest we beat up a ghost onstage!"

"Same for Tatsuki and Karin," Chizuru opined as she reached out to brush Orihime's hair, stopping only when Ururu turned to regard her with a cold curious stare. "I mean, they're not the most creative people when you get right down to it. Ryō probably doesn't care what we do, so she'll be fine."

"The less heard from Ochi-sensei, the better." This came from Mizuiro who had finally put away his phone to rejoin the conversation. "She'd have us all in French maid outfits or sexy jiangshi vampires, boys included." Beside him Keigo's face blanched, but his eyes drifted over to Orihime who sat smiling cluelessly. When he opened his mouth to speak Mizuiro gave him a swift hard flick to the side of the head. "Not worth it, Asano-san, no matter what you think."

"So it's settled!" With that Mahana clapped her hands and bowed to them all. "Meeting adjourned."

They started packing up to leave. For her part, Michiru took this chance to jot down a story note. Ulrich offers to help them flee, Ingelbert demands to go after Rania. Ulrich: "You wouldn't stand a chance. If the wolves don't kill you, there's worse waiting at the castle. Things that have strayed from the human and the divine." Mitzi (afraid): "What do you mean?" Ingelbert (looks at her with troubled eyes): "All the villages in this region must sacrifice to the Graff or be wiped out. It's whispered he is no longer acknowledged by heaven. Instead he has become what your people call a strigoi… a vampire!"(consider bringing this up at chapter's end for effect)

Satisfied, the aspiring author saved her work and followed everyone else out. She felt enthusiastic and couldn't wait to transfer that energy into the story at home. The prospect of attending the cultural festival with a clear strategy helped too, although Michiru secretly hoped they didn't do anything so potentially embarrassing as putting on a dance. That could prove an absolute disaster.

Oh, well. No need to worry about that for a little while. I wonder what the others will have to say about our options?

Hey, that's right, I need to decide on the werewolf boss' name. What was it again? Renji? Okay, go to the German boy names sites, and we get…

---

"I won't forget this, Kurosaki!"

This admittedly hilarious parting shot was all the warning Tatsuki needed. She stood up from her spot by the school gate and checked her watch. Almost ten minutes… he's slipping. Or not that serious. I'll ask when he gets here.

A few moments later Ichigo Kurosaki came stumping around the corner of the gymnasium. "Did he seriously just say that?" Tatsuki asked with a rueful shake of her head as her schoolmate slung his bag over one shoulder and came walking over. "It's hard to credit an opponent who uses such corny dialogue. Was that fight for real?"

He only blew out a dismissive grunt and strode on by. She shrugged and took up pace beside him. A closer inspection showed torn knuckles and a few bruises on the way. There had only been about half a dozen delinquents from their school. Nothing he couldn't have handled with his experience. Had there been any more, she wouldn't have permitted him to go it alone even with his chauvinistic chivalry. Yet here it looked like her help might have been appreciated after all.

"Where's Chad?" she asked to voice her concerns obliquely. "The two of you are usually joined at the hip for these things. Something happen I should know about?"

Kurosaki responded with an even more disgruntled look than usual. "He's busy. Got himself a girlfriend."

She almost missed a step on that one. "For real?"

"Don't spread it around. He doesn't want to advertise things."

"Huh." Tatsuki kept walking as the sun edged further toward the horizon. She pulled her light jacket closer as a precaution. Sado Yasutora had been noticeably absent of late in their little get-togethers. After Ulquiorra's last revelation, it had been enough to get her wondering if he might not be the holdout after all. But this made more sense. Just the fact that she was even still thinking about that left her feeling ashamed, and the girl strove to push such unworthy thoughts from her mind. Although this did raise another issue…

"Hey, Ichigo."

"Yeah?"

"How serious are you and Rukia?"

He looked down at her in surprise but kept walking. "That's a funny question coming from you, Tatsuki." Something seemed to dawn on him then, and he shot her an uncomfortable look. "Hey, are you… seeing anybody?"

"No." The spiky-haired athlete threw her answer out so fast she almost didn't think about it. Unless you count your mortal enemy I'm keeping alive in a hole and feeding with my soul. Ugh, forget it, just stay on track. "And don't dodge the question, I want an answer. You told me you guys haven't done anything yet. At least nothing that would qualify as serious romantic stuff. What's the holdup?"

"We've been busy," he snapped a little more defensively. "There's all sorts of problems we have to consider. She's living in two worlds. Like half the time she's a ghost and the other half I'm in school or clubs or fighting Hollows… although not so much that anymore." Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck and winced, apparently having forgotten the beating he just took part in. Then his voice took on a more subdued tone. "To be honest, Tatsuki, I'm not sure where to go from here."

"Why not get married?"

Now he stopped dead in his tracks. "D… don't kid around! I'm only 17 years old! That's crazy!"

"They do it in America." She drew to a halt as well to study him. Her old friend's face had gone more white than the red she was initially expecting. "C'mon, all jokes aside, what's really keeping you two apart? I doubt it's your family. They all love her. And as for her family, I mean, sure, her brother seems to dislike you a whole bunch, but after he ties the knot with Queen Cleopatra the Sexy, I'm willing to bet his general mood is going to improve by a whole lot. That might even include looking more favorably on you."

The red-headed galoot just dug both hands into his pockets uncomfortably while looking everywhere but at her. Tatsuki felt glad it was late in the afternoon; if there were more people around they might start to wonder if the two of them were involved.

"Are you waiting for something?"

At this he froze. Then Ichigo's body sagged a little, as though some tension were drained away. When he finally looked at her the expression on his face caused Tatsuki to blink. It was so… mature, I guess! Or something like that. Maybe more the look of somebody stepping up to the gallows who's resigned to his fate.

"Yeah," was all Kurosaki said before he started the walk home again.

Recovering from this new experience in their relationship, she jogged to catch up. "I get the feeling it's not waiting 'til you graduate high school or you come of age or something normal like that. There's that hundred-year age gap between you, so it's never going to look quite legit on its face."

She left that statement hanging to see if he would respond. To her surprise, the usually taciturn teen replied back right away.

"I'm waiting to finish it with my Hollow."

The world got colder. All of a sudden she could clearly see those ghastly orange eyes and the rotten black teeth again, swollen leech tongue licking out obscenely over white lips. It made her want to punch something hard. Yet when Tatsuki looked at Ichigo, all she saw was a grim and rather determined young man stumping along on this rather fine autumn day.

He's different from me, she realized. Living in two worlds? It's not just Rukia. He's got one foot in the door already. Like a ghost trying to leap out of its body.

This thought left her more disturbed than remembering the Hollow. Ichigo was still alive! He had his whole future ahead of him. He deserved to grow old and die surrounded by a bunch of grandkids and mourners! And yeah, with Rukia by his side, if that was even possible.

That's what I want to see happen. So why does it feel like it'll never be? There's too much arrayed against them. What chance do they have?

Chance?

What am I thinking? We're the living, in charge of our futures. It's up to us to see it through, and if there's something we want, we need to put the effort in and not sit around making up excuses or blaming it on fate. That's the difference between those who slink on by when they see somebody getting beaten up and those who charge in kicking ass and taking names!

Her hand came down on his shoulder. "You'll beat it."

His pace slackened a bit. When he glanced over, Tatsuki wore the fiercest smile Ichigo could ever remember seeing on her.

"Maybe it won't be in the epic-lone-hero-manga-battle you've probably cooked up in your overinflated noggin, but I definitely know you'll win." She then gave him a solid punch to the arm to back this up. "You won't be fighting alone, I can guarantee that. I want the bastard's head too, don't forget."

He flinched and rubbed that spot. "I appreciate the support, but go easy, okay? I did just walk away from a brawl after all."

Tatsuki simply laughed. "Go on! If your head wasn't full of magic spells and girlfriends from beyond the grave, you'd have mopped up those mopes in two minutes flat!"

Her violent exuberance served to bring a smile to his face, making him look more his youthful years than had previously been the case. "I guess I'm lucky they haven't been too interested in focusing on me lately. Without Oushima to egg them on, it's been pretty peaceful at school."

"Who?"

"Oushima Reichi. From middle school, remember? With the lip piercings?"

It took her a second to remember. "Oh, right. That doofus. Whatever happened to him?"

"Just disappeared." A rather unpleasant smirk worked its way up the boy's face, giving him a rather devilish appearance to suit his hair. "I always figured a Hollow ate him and nobody noticed. Not very plausible, but the thought still makes me smile." Here he snorted unwholesomely.

For a while they walked in silence.

"When was that?" Tatsuki asked.

"I dunno. Sometime around the Autumn War? I never even noticed he was gone until after all that craziness went down. Didn't seem important considering everything that happened."

"Yeah. Right."

More uninterrupted walking.

"Hey, Tatsuki… thanks. For talking with me about this. Most of the other guys just skirt around it cuz they don't want to upset me or something. I'm glad I've got someone like you who isn't afraid to punch straight to the heart of things!"

"Don't call me a 'guy', you idiot!"

A foot swung through the air to collide forcefully with Kurosaki's gut, causing him to stagger back and hunch over. Breathing through his nostrils for a few seconds kept him from feeling like he was about to puke all over the place. When he looked up it was to find his old sparring partner had turned around to head back the way they came.

"Hey, Tatsuki, where you going? I wasn't trying to offend you, honest!"

"Don't flatter yourself," she threw behind her in a scornful manner without turning around. "I just remembered something I forgot to do. Try not to get your ass kicked on the way back home, alright? I'll see you at school tomorrow." So saying, she waved goodbye and continued on her way.

A wince of pain reminded him that home involved plenty of bandages and a treatment for possible internal bleeding. After feeling around to reassure himself there were no Hollows lurking about, Ichigo then struck out for the Kurosaki clinic and the potential healing that awaited him. Just hope nothing else goes wrong today.

---

"Damn that Kurosaki Ichigo!" one of the hoodlums from Karakura High grunted as he pinched the bridge of his bleeding nose. "We need to get him back!"

"Way ahead of you, my friend." Sitting propped against the gymnasium, the leader of the gang put away his cell phone and grinned. "You might not realize it, but this was only Round One! I've just put in the call for our comrades to show up." His head turned, and he smirked maliciously. "Looks like they're already here."

The roughed-up juveniles followed his lead and blanched to the man. Approaching them came a mean-looking gang of teenagers wearing the uniform of Karakura 1st High School. Leading them was a wiry fellow with glasses and a chain attached to both his left ear and nostril. The eyes behind those specs were slightly unhinged, striking terror into several hearts. They spread out in a line to surround the battered students.

"Hey, Yokochini," their boss greeted the new arrivals nonchalantly. "Nice of you to come."

"Wouldn't have missed it," the one called Yokochini replied. "I'll even forgive the nickname… just this once." He surveyed the rather intimidated Karakura High reprobates, and a chuckle hissed through his teeth. "I see Kurosaki Ichigo still knows how to lay the smackdown!" He licked his lips and shook his head. "Makes me damn nostalgic, I ain't afraid to admit."

"Well, here's some good news." The other gang leader found his feet. "I did some digging, and turns out our buddy Kurosaki's got himself a sweetheart! A nice little piece of ass working out of a local shop!"

"You don't say!" Here Yokochini showed his teeth in a way that couldn't even be called smiling. Rather it was more like a wild dog baring its fangs. "My old friend Ichigo finally noticed girls exist! Well, that makes things very interesting, doesn't it, boys?" Around him his henchmen all snickered on cue to emphasize their leader's villainy for anybody not as clever as them. Once this necessary bit of theater had passed he continued. "In that case, I think it's only fair we go and introduce ourselves to…"

He never got to finish that sentence, as someone took that moment to ram a car into his back.

At least, that's how it felt to Yokochini as he went sailing through the air to collide with his counterpart. Both of them slammed into the stone wall of the gymnasium to collapse in a tangle of groaning limbs.

In the space he had vacated, there stood a girl.

"BOSS!"

"Yokochini-sama!"

"She sent him flying!"

"Who the hell is this bitch?!"

The girl lowered her outstretched leg and looked from side to side at the toughs who now numbered nearly twenty strong.

"Arisawa Tatsuki," she supplied for their edification. "Karakura High, Second Y–" Here she paused, eyes closing in frustration and teeth gritting with a snarl. "You know what, screw that! I don't have time to play nice with you dipshits, so this is going to be fast, hard, and messy! Don't even THINK about complaining afterwards!"

She dropped her bag, and before it reached the ground the fiery karate master had already delivered a double tornado kick that sent the two scumbags to either side of her flying.

You couldn't call what happened next a 'fight'. Perhaps 'wholesale slaughter' summed it up better. Anyone watching might have found it more reminiscent of cow-tipping, a thoroughly reprehensible and vile thing to do against a poor unmoving animal that can't fight back. International law possibly prohibited this very thing, but no one present was keen on that sort of civilized reading.

In just under three minutes, when she was finished, Arisawa stepped over the broken pleading bodies. She zeroed in on the one from her own school who had seemed to be in charge. After kicking Yokochini's carcass off to one side, she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him upright. Their eyes met, and what the boy saw there made him wish he was among the unconscious.

"Please…" he gurgled through several broken teeth. "I'm sorry, we won't go near Ichigo or his girl, so please…"

"I only want to know one thing." She pulled him closer, making him whimper at the utter lack of emotion on her face. The girl wasn't even breathing hard after laying waste to all those men. "What happened to Oushima Reichi?"

"O… Oushima?" Now more puzzled than scared, he blinked and swallowed some blood. "Why do you want to know about…?" When she took a step back and cocked her fist in preparation to strike, he forgot about anything but keeping that from happening. "He left school! Like… two or three terms ago, when we were still in our freshman year! He dropped out!"

"Why?" she demanded in a low voice.

"S-some kind of… nervous breakdown, I think." His broken teeth were chattering so hard it sounded like maracas in his mouth. "One day we were out chasing down K… Kurosaki Ichigo, and he got separated, and something happened, like, he ran into some nut with a sword who started chasing him! He almost died! They n-never caught the guy! It scared him half to death, and after that he… I mean, he kinda…"

"WHAT?"

His life flashed before his eyes, and the delinquent quickly blurted out, "He started seeing ghosts!"

She blinked, drawing back in surprise. "Ghosts?" Tatsuki repeated.

"It's true."

Both of them looked down to where another boy had drawn himself to a sitting position. Larger than the rest, he had fared better in terms of outright injuries inflicted, but still clearly was in no state of mind to try and renew the assault. "He's not making it up, Boss," the other youth addressed her with the respectful title owed one who could deliver such carnage. "I was friends with Reichi since elementary school. He was a great guy and I really admired him. He never let anything get him down, even getting beaten up didn't faze him. But after that day, he was never the same."

Tatsuki studied this new informant. She let the other punk go so that he sank gratefully to his knees and moved to stand before her new minion. "So what happened to him?"

The big guy nursed his swollen jaw and tested a tooth for looseness. "Things got worse. Reichi claimed he could see ghosts everywhere. He said they haunted him in his sleep. No way he could concentrate on studying, so he dropped out of school. Last I went to visit him, he told me his parents were transferring him to a district up north where he could get help." When her expression clearly indicated more specific facts were required, the goon lifted his shoulders helplessly. "Didn't say where or even what. At first I thought he meant a sanatorium, but something his Mom said made me think it was actually a temple. Only there was something weird about it. I didn't ask. Reichi never contacted me after that. We lost touch. That's all I know, I swear."

The victorious maiden digested this information in silence. Afterwards she strode past to pick up her bag and sling it over one shoulder.

"Thanks for the info. Feel free to call an ambulance now. Just make sure not to mention me or Ichigo. As far as anyone else is concerned, you're two warring gangs fighting over turf. Got it?"

"Yes, Boss."

Tatsuki calmly walked away from the site of that dismembered alliance. This sounded very promising. But how to follow up on it? Maybe ask the parents, although that could raise alarms. Perhaps instead she could subtly inquire through official channels. After all, as a juvenile, Oushima had to be registered in any school district he occupied. Maybe Ochi-sensei could get the ball rolling in that respect? Provided she doesn't need to know why I'm asking.

Yeah. That sounds like a plan.

Feeling much happier, the new unofficial gang boss of two school systems set out on her way home.

---

A funeral pyre. A cleared space. And a corpse.

From a strictly minimal approach, that was really all you needed to hold a funeral. But Renji Abarai couldn't help feeling like a bit more should be done here. After all, they were honoring Yamamoto Genryusai-Shigekuni, former Commander-General of the Gotei 13 and mightiest shinigami in recorded history. Yet there was no incense to burn, no picture of the deceased. Just… the deceased, wrapped in a shroud. There wasn't even a coffin, for crying out loud!

"It was what he would have wanted," the dead man's closest ally, ex-lieutenant of the First Division Chōjirō Sasakibe, had confided to him earlier when he asked. "Yamamoto left behind no instructions regarding the disposal of his remains. Some might speculate this was owing to him never expecting to die. But I believe it reflects his sense of purpose. Should he perish, that meant there was no further use for him, and a corpse certainly held little merit. So just dispose of it without undue ceremony and continue fulfilling your duty. Yes, that reflects his outlook quite well, I believe."

The Siamese Company captain sat in the grass with a mat beneath him. His co-captain Neliel was handling things with their division. Nel didn't see the sense behind such proceedings (no surprise; Hollows ate their dead) and hadn't made plans to attend. The funeral was being held out in the ruins beyond the Fifth District. After having been cleared of debris, there remained nothing but grass and dirt. What a depressing sight. A view calculated to induce boredom.

Yet here he remained.

It was hard to say why. Renji came before first light while the preparations were still being completed. There was no specific viewing time. Sundown to sunset was all he had heard. At dusk the pyre would be lit, at which point they would all go their separate ways. A raised rectangle of logs five feet high housed the brush and kindling that would be used to start the blaze. Crowning this monument was Yamamoto's corpse along with the voided husk of his soul cutter, Ryū-jin Jakka.

Abarai had sat in this spot for hours observing the other mourners. Lord-Commander Kuchiki came promptly at sunrise, almost so that it seemed the sun had been waiting upon his appearance to peek over the horizon and shine upon His Lordship. An immature thought, but perhaps not altogether impossible. At Byakuya's insistence, the heads of the divisions were to stagger their visits if they came so that they were not all there at once. Apparently he disliked the idea of so many tempting targets drawing the eye of their enemies, whoever they might be. His new lieutenant accompanied him, and he and Renji chatted for a few moments about old times. Byakuya did not stay long, merely knelt respectfully for a few moments then stood and left along with his subordinate. Maybe Yamamoto would have appreciated such cold-hearted brusque behavior from his successor.

It isn't as though lingering for all this time…

… is a sign of fondness and devotion on your part.

Hey, I've got my reasons for being here!

Really? And what, pray tell…

… might those be?

Uhhh… duty? Grudging respect, maybe? Okay, how about I just want to make absolutely certain he doesn't get back up again, how does that sound?

More likely. But not…

… the truth, unless we are mistaken.

Just drop it, okay, guys? I'm here for the duration, so let's leave it at that.

His soul cutter made no further inquiries, and Renji went back to waiting. Saijin Komamura arrived shortly after him, but following a brief greeting to one another, they had not spoken. The deposed death god also found a spot to sit where he apparently intended to reside for the remainder of the ceremony. Meanwhile Abarai watched several shinigami from the former First Division (now Greyhound) come to pay their respects. A handful of older death gods from the academy or other divisions also stopped by. None of them stayed more than a few minutes. One other thing he noticed: nobody shed any tears. Even Komamura's eyes were dry. Somehow the very idea of doing so felt wrong. Yet at the same time, he took a tiny bit of warped satisfaction from it.

Two thousand years of flaming folks out of existence without a bit of guilt, and waddaya got to show for it, Old Man? Some half-hearted mourners whom Byakuya probably had to pay to be here! You can bet your mummified ass I'd have left long ago if it weren't for… for being…

Why am I here?

He asked, but no ready answer came. All Renji knew was that something compelled him to remain right to the flaming end. He had to see it happen. Yet right now it took all his willpower just to stay awake. Could this be like he had half-jokingly told Zabimaru, a desire to reassure himself of Yamamoto's demise? Or even less noble, a sort of petty irony for Rukia's sake: he tried to burn you, but it's him who'll wind up cooked while you're off laughing! C'mon, let the slow-roasting of the old turkey commence! Make sure he's nice and seasoned beforehand!

It was a far better end than Yamamoto deserved. If it were up to me, I would have fed his corpse to Hollows for what he tried to do to her. Or dumped his corpse in a sack, tied it to a rope attached to a Hollow, and whipped it across the jagged rocks of Hueco Mundo until he was nothing but a leaking bag of slop and offal. I would have hung his body upside down from a tree and fired arrows into it before leaving it to be pulled down and devoured by crows and carrion-eaters, I would have torn out his EYES, CUT HIS THROAT, BEAT HIS DEAD BODY WITH MY FISTS, I WOULD HAVE…!

"Ho, Abarai-kun. Fancy running into you here."

The next thing he knew Renji was on his feet and halfway to the pyre. He didn't recall rising. Why…?

He shook his head to clear it. Beside him stood Kisuke Urahara, head of the Shinigami Research and Development Bureau and fellow captain in the Gotei 7. Wearing the new design of black shihakusho and white commander's robe, the smiling scientist had a grip on his arm that felt a little tight. Hooded gray eyes stared penetratingly into Renji's own, and the younger man shivered.

"I was…" he began, but couldn't finish the sentence.

Urahara watched him gawk and fumble for a moment more before letting go. "This would be your first official death-watch for a captain, I take it. Welcome to the club! Quite a turnout, eh? I just ran into the commanders of Leopard Squad on their way out. I tell you, those two are as mismatched a pair as I ever laid eyes upon. And look, Captain Soifon and Lieutenant Iba are here, taking time off from putting the screws to some poor luckless soul! Hello, you two! Yes, don't worry, he's still dead, we just confirmed it!"

Renji turned to gape blankly at the other two officers. Soifon threw a black scowl at Kisuke like the only thing preventing her from putting a dagger between his eyes was the solemn event in question. Tetsuzaemon Iba bowed to them both before following his captain. The two of them settled on mats next to one another and proceeded to display their best impersonations of statues.

"Well, don't mind me," the head of Ibis Company chirped. "I'm just going to make a few discreet inquiries and then get back to base before Nemu euthanizes all my lab samples again. Give my regards to Rukia-chan if you see her, Abarai-kun!"

He then went traipsing off. "That's Abarai-taichou now, dammit!" Renji called after him. When Urahara just waved gaily back at him, his shoulders drooped and he clumped over to sit on one of the mats in the front row.

"Such a dreary affair. This wake could benefit from a bit of libations, wouldn't you say?"

Not a chance. Whenever I get drunk at a social gathering it always winds up causing trouble.

He practically saw Imaginary Ayasegawa's pout. "You were a lot more fun before they draped that captain's cloak over your tattooed shoulders, Renji-kun. Makes me glad I never rose higher than Fifth seat. I might have lost all trace of good humor, and what a frightful thought that is."

Can't you take a cue from Zabimaru and lay low for a while?

"And miss the chance to see Rukia-chan? Not on your life, O Ye of Little Eyebrows!"

You know you're just a made-up voice in my head, right? Stop acting as if you're real.

"Stop treating me as such and perhaps I will."

Having gotten the last word in appeared to satisfy that aspect of his disturbingly multifaceted psyche, allowing Renji some time to himself. Time crept by again at a snail's pace, making him long for a cup of liquor to lighten the mood at the very least. Not even that was forthcoming. Penurious old fart, you couldn't spring for a keg of brew at your own damn wake? Sundown couldn't come fast enough. This was too boring, and the day was warm, not a sound but the wind past my ears, if I dropped off for a bit would… anybody… notice…?

Don't sleep.

He jerked up with a start, trembling and breathing hard.

… stay awake. Watch and see…

He did so. Other people came. Jushirō Ukitake and Kyoraku Shunsui, whom he both caught himself referring to as 'Captain', to their amusement. It made his face flush. Neither of them lingered at the funeral, which caused him some surprise. Sure, Ukitake was busy planning for his upcoming wedding, but wouldn't he want to make a speech or something at a time like this? There was nothing else planned after the cremation that he knew of, so when would be a better time? Instead they mingled amongst the few others present. Friendly words were exchanged with Komamura and Sasakibe. After this the two men spoke to the Kidō Corps officers on hand who would light the pyre. And then they simply left.

Harsh? Perhaps. In their case, it could have something to do with lingering resentment over the loss of Unohana Retsu during the war. Or maybe they blamed the Old Man for not defending them when Aizen robbed them of their power. Of course, when you've lived as long as they have, who can say what your motivations might be? If I make it to 2,000 years old, I'll strive for insight. Until then, let them do what they think is best.

Lost in his musings, he didn't sense the familiar reiatsu approaching until it was too late.

"Renji!"

A heavy body tackled him to the ground. Strong arms wrapped around his astonished frame, while something very soft and warm and welcome pressed beautifully into the back of his robe. There came a delighted laugh, at which point his attacker drew back to regard him.

"I decided to come after all! I was worried when you didn't return after a few hours, so here I am! You look worn out. Has anything happened yet?"

Before him Neliel tu Odelschvank wore the most delighted smile. For anyone to turn such radiant features upon a man could not help but lift his spirits, especially should it be a thrilling woman like Nel. Having such a wonderful distraction at this drab spectacle was exactly what he had been hoping for mere moments past.

Just one problem.

"Nel," Renji scrabble upright with wide eyes and a strained smile, "w-what are you wearing?"

"Hm?" She looked down at herself then back at him. "Well, we had to wear black to a shinigami's parting ceremony, and white to identify us as captains. So I picked clothes that had both!"

Black and white. That pretty much summed it up. Unfortunately it meant she had turned up wearing a French maid's outfit, complete with fishnet stockings and lacy crinoline underskirt.

The Hollow bounced happily in front of him. There was a spotless apron over her black silk skirt and frills around the salaciously cut bodice. Nel's zanpakutō tucked into a sash around her waist that was tied in back with a great white bow. She sported fishnet gloves and shiny high-heeled shoes. The crowning touch came in the form of a flat headpiece sticking up out of her wealth of sea-green hair. She couldn't have looked more erotic if she tried.

Did she try?

"How lovely! Just look at that adorable little face! Oh, what a treasure to the world this woman is! Someone take a picture!"

Right now it seemed like his harmless little fetish regarding Nel's wardrobe had come right around to bite him soundly in the ass. If Soifon were still lurking around, she'd have murdered them both for sure before either knew what was happening. Fortunately at some point she and her lieutenant seemed to have up and left. Score one for me. Komamura hadn't moved from his spot, but was now staring at them with a perplexed expression written large on his canine features. As luck would have it he appeared to be the only major figure still in attendance. Perfect! Now I just have to get Neliel out of here before anybody important can…

"Wow… I retract every complaint I made about coming here. That stupid Sentaro's gonna be so crushed when I tell him he missed this!"

Please tell me what I think is happening isn't. It just can't.

When Renji turned, it was to find Kiyone Kotetsu watching him with absolutely gleeful eyes that clearly said Christmas had come early. Wearing a captain's uniform, her sister Isane Kotetsu stood wide-eyed and uncertain how to respond judging by the look on her face. To her left came a bit of a surprise in the form of Nanao Ise dressed in the uniform of a shinigami, complete with the most absolutely furious expression he could ever remember seeing on her. Her mouth was open, however no sound came out. The flash of her spectacles made him cringe.

And of course, at Isane's right hand was Lieutenant Rukia Kuchiki, very respectably dressed with her badge on proud display.

Anybody want to suggest a strategy to get us out of here alive? Zabimaru? Imaginary Ayasegawa? Anybody?

For once nobody spoke up. Traitors. I will get you for this!

"Abarai-taichou. Odelschvank-taichou," Isane finally declared as she approached them. "I am… that is, why are you…?" Quite suddenly she appeared to reach a decision. "Please excuse me." And with that she walked right on by. Kiyone skipped happily in her wake while flashing them a most self-satisfied smirk.

Renji knew without a doubt the story of this affair would be broadcast to all of Soul Society within the next five to ten minutes. However he could not spare his humiliation quite the attention it deserved, as Nanao Ise came up to loom above the crouching pair. "You are very fortunate we are at a funeral, Abarai-taichou," the spellcaster informed him in a low deadly monotone. She went stalking off before it could even dawn on him there were two possible interpretations of that statement, one of which indicated he might not live to see the sunset. The sight of Rukia drawing closer reminded him that he might not want to.

"I see you both decided to have some fun," the petite officer declared with a rather amused expression.

He needed to make one thing perfectly clear. "I had no idea this was going to happen."

"You said everybody knew he was going to die." Nel glanced over at him with one raised eyebrow. She placed a chummy hand on his shoulder and leaned in close. "In fact, you started a pool on it. I think somebody in Zaraki's crew won. Or am I wrong?"

Both women cocked their heads to study him with equally curious looks. Glancing desperately between them, the hapless oaf managed to stammer, "I… I'm not a bad person!"

His co-captain merely laughed before giving him another hug. "I know you're not!" Meanwhile Rukia quirked a smile and reached out to touch Neliel's arm. "Taichou, would you be so kind as to accompany me? There are a few matters I'd like to get your opinion about."

"I'm all yours, Rukia-chan. Bye, Renji, I'll see you back at camp!" She hopped up and the two girls parted company with him. "Say, will Ichigo be showing up at this thing too?" he heard his cheerful chanteuse ask as they drifted off. Their path took them in the direction of Komamura, whose furry face bore a rather panicked expression as he saw the scantily dressed woman and her stately sidekick approaching him. Were he still capable of performing shunpo, Renji felt certain he would be halfway to Hueco Mundo by this point.

Breathing a welcome sigh of relief, he dropped back down. Apparently Rukia had taken this as simply another case of Nel's naiveté, which it was really. Not his fault. They'd probably laugh about it later.

A cold shiver of dread let him know without turning his head that Nanao was glaring at him again. He resolved not to look in her direction for fear of being turned to stone. She truly was quite angry with him this time.

The feeling of impending execution dispersed after a while, as did the party from Heron Squad. Still his survival instincts told him to continue staring straight ahead at the white-draped body. It felt like his neck muscles were already turned to granite. How much time passed in this forced state of attentiveness was not clear. Those paying their respects came and went. He might have talked to them, though memory did not serve as to what was said. But after a while the moon appeared faintly on the horizon as the sun sank low.

When it finally dipped beyond the plains, a signal was given. Four mages interspersed in the cardinal direction points around the byre uttered a brief chant. With a whoosh of magic, the body of Yamamoto Genryusai-Shigekuni was surrounded by fire.

Renji sat and watched blazing orange flames leap and swarm about before him. Fire, whether in the material world or produced by soul power, always had a mesmerizing quality to it. You could watch for hours and not get bored because it changed from one moment to the next, never standing still. Like a dancer putting on a show for you. Or hungry birds of prey swooping about as they fell upon their meal.

Eat up, boys. You'll never get finer.

More.

The group of mages turned their heads in surprise as Captain Abarai walked past. Drawing closer to the pyre, the magically enhanced heat scorched his skin. Closer. Without knowing it his lips formed words to a spell with such speed and assurance it was like somebody whispered them in his ear. At once a perfect elliptical dome of blue magic appeared around his body, the result being similar to dropping into a cool bath as any trace of heat disappeared. He moved in to gaze upon the body while its coverings disappeared, allowing the starving flames to reach their main course.

The beard caught fire, reduced to glowing filaments that crumbled away before lighting up more. Withered flesh turned black, and then all trace of Yamamoto was lost in a hellish raft of destructive fury. The soul cutter stood out darkly against his chest as the cords of its handle went up in smoke.

Eat him alive. Strip him down to the bones until there's nothing left, then burn them to charcoal. Burn him away, every last trace of his existence. Let him burn, let him roast, let him DIE! DIE, YOU VILE LITTLE MONSTER! I AM WATCHING YOU BURN! DO YOU SEE ME? FEEL THE FLAMES AS THEY CONSUME YOU! I AM STILL HERE! AT LONG LAST I'M FREE!

At length he realized someone was shouting his name. Turning about, Renji noticed Urahara Kisuke and Tetsuzaemon Iba lit by the glow of the fire. Why were they back? Night had fallen, and the stars were coming out in the dusky blue sky. He came about and ambled over to them. At the same time the warding spell faded away in bands and patches around him, so that when he finally came to a halt nothing was left.

"Abarai-taichou! What happened?!" Iba's teeth were gritted. The conflagration reflected in his black shades. It almost hypnotized him again. Renji looked between them, puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"That was a high-class spell you used," Kisuke informed him. There was a disturbingly cold gleam in his narrowed eyes. "One I've never seen before. And perfectly cast. We couldn't get close. How did you learn it, Captain Abarai?"

In the reflection of Iba's shades he made out the last remnants of a body crumbling away. There might have been something like a sigh then, though whether real or imagined he could not say.

The ground shook. A voice shouted out loud even as a terrible premonition of peril seized Renji Abarai. He whirled around and stared in shock as behind the flames, two enormous red doors shot out of the ground to soar high into the twilight sky. A pair of half-blindfolded skeletons grew out of either side of these portals clutching a length of chain between them.

To his horror, the young fighter found himself standing before the Gates of Hell.

"I knew it!" somebody far behind him shouted triumphantly.

Renji could not even bring himself to see who made this declaration. His heart was beating hard from fear, and he could not remember to breathe. There came movement above, and he jerked involuntarily at the sight. Without warning the heavy metal links grew taut before snapping altogether. And then the Pit opened to greet them.

The pyre burned so high he couldn't really make anything out. Tongues of orange flame leapt up and were drawn backwards towards the open dimensional gateway, as though a vacuum was pulling them in. They curled in a circle that had no beginning or end, a Moebius strip of flame. Renji felt his clothes and hair rustle in the manner of a breeze.

Something reached out of the Hell gates, caught the fire. At the same time it seemed to blend into it, red and orange mixing together. This became a plasma that glowed white as it twisted sinuously earthward. Further back, Hell's Gates swung shut without a sound. The glowing mass of energy shaped itself into a perfect flat disc before the dumbstruck shinigami.

It then rotated in midair. When it had completed one revolution, the light was gone, and in its place a figure emerged.

A man. He stood taller than any of them, at least seven feet. A suit of European origin covered him. Everything about it was white, from the coat, vest, pants and buttons. Only the tie was red so that it seemed to glow from an internal fire. A white fedora perched atop his head and white loafers adorned his feet. Gloves of matching hue covered his hands. What skin they could see was white too, and there appeared to be no hair whatsoever upon his head, nor ears. Instead of a face they all found themselves confronted by a cloth that hung down from the brim of the hat to completely obscure this being's features. Imprinted in red on this sheet was a large kanji that read, 'demon'. The position of the strokes almost reminded Renji of two eyes over a square nose with a little moustache curling off beneath them.

"Wha-a-at the fuck is this thing?"

All three shinigami turned to find Ikkaku Madarame padding up behind them. He had his sword slung over one shoulder and the other hand tucked into his robes. At his side was a tiny fellow with limp hair who resembled a mouse and almost seemed familiar to Renji. This one flinched and rubbed his temples with a groan as though suffering from a bad hangover. "Can we turn down the lights?" he muttered painfully.

"W–O A-G Y–U S–S T–E C–T?"

A jarring echo with every syllable made his head feel like it was being shaken frantically from side to side just by hearing it. A ringing in both ears resulted, and all Abarai could do was turn back about to gape at the invader. Did it just… talk?

"Yo, White Noise!" Ikkaku hollered as he bent over double. "Ya wanna maybe use words that we can understand?"

Out of this entire assemblage only Saijin Komamura remained fully upright. As the dog-faced veteran looked between them in perplexity, the invader's attention seemed to focus on him.

"R–T: W–O A-G Y–U S–S T–E C–T?"

This time the words made Renji sit down and clutch himself. Something felt wrong, like every organ inside his body had just become twice as heavy in the last few seconds. Not painful, just very peculiar. Tingles went up his scalp. After a while the feeling began to fade. Judging by the way Urahara and Iba were behaving, the same effect was felt by them. The little guy didn't seem to be taking it quite as bad, but considering the way he swayed groggily on his feet, that didn't say much.

At seeing the state of his comrades, Komamura came slowly forward to confront their visitor. "Who are you?"

Before them, the emissary of Hell did not move. The kanji features of its mask appeared to shift and contract ever so slightly, though.

"W–E… A–Re… Jigoku."

That's much better. Like somebody being strangled at the bottom of a well. Renji now found he could stand and face this creature. He drew back to glance between his fellows, wincing at a dullness of his senses. "Anybody up on what's happening right now? Urahara-san?"

"I wish I knew." The blond scientist had actually pulled his soul cutter from somewhere and held it in apparent readiness. Before them the one calling itself Jigoku did not move. Considering it with calm eyes, Urahara stepped forward to confront the towering entity. "Jigoku… what brings you to Soul Society?"

A crackle of wood and fire at its back served to emphasize every word in its deep hollow voice. "The Principal has been officially terminated. Corollary effect of Contractual obligation must be confirmed by the Proxy in order to proceed."

The alien entity fell silent once more. It remained still as stone.

"Can you be more specific, Sir Demon?" Iba hazarded.

"Repeat: the Principal has been officially terminated. Corollary effect…"

Those shinigami present looked uncertainly between one another. Then hell butterflies appeared on the fingers of both Tetsuzaemon and Urahara. They launched out to flutter over the leaping flames before vanishing on their appointed errands.

"Everyone just relax," Kisuke stated. His voice was steady, but not for a second did he take his hand off the hilt of his soul cutter. "We're going to get to the bottom of this."

---

Thanks to their teacher, the gang found themselves in the Karakura High gymnasium early that Saturday morning. Rukia had come back from Soul Society the previous evening and Noboru took the chance to approach her about demonstrating the kagura dance for the high schoolers. She actually said yes, which took Michiru somewhat by surprise. However it came as a welcome one. Her story had hit a bit of a snag and she desperately needed inspiration to kick-start her creative batteries. Watching an actual purification ritual like this might just do the trick.

The unassuming writer sat among her friends on the bleachers, observing them. It was nice to see so many had shown up. Ichigo kept fidgeting and craning his head over towards the locker room entrance where Rukia was getting dressed with the help of Ochi Misato, while Kon and Noboru argued about the workings of a music player they had brought. The trio of Chizuru, Orihime and Tatsuki went through their normal routine before settling down. Both redheads expressed differing levels of concern over Arisawa for what they claimed was a noticeable lack of energy on her part, which she flatly denied.

Michiru's eyes drifted around. Keigo had curled up on a bench to take a nap after loudly declaring it was too soon on a Saturday to be out of bed. Next to him Kunieda Ryō and Mizuiro Kojima had their attentions riveted on what they held in their hands, in her case a book, in his a phone. She pouted a little. Weren't they going to pay any attention? Sure, most people in the KOPS were leaning towards Kon's mirror game suggestion or her fortune-telling idea, which left the meek high-schooler feeling rather proud. Still, Rukia did take time off from both her jobs to help them with this. Maybe it was due to Noboru's insistence or just a chance to be with Kurosaki, but that didn't make it any less nice a gesture. It meant she might really consider herself a member of their group.

Right then the locker door opened. Ichigo perked up immediately, only to deflate when just Ochi-sensei emerged. She traipsed across the gym floor humming to herself, which on its face was never a good indication. Their teacher stopped to converse with Kon and Noboru. Once things seemed to be settled to her satisfaction, she turned to address them all.

"Now, everyone, eyes over here. I will hold you back a grade until you're in your twenties unless I see those peepers fastened on me right now." The fact that she would inarguably do it meant every one of her students obeyed without hesitation. "Excellent!" Misato beamed. "Now, without further ado, Kuchiki-chan is going to demonstrate a traditional Soul Society dance for us. Let's all give her a nice round of applause."

They proceeded to do so. Right then the locker room opened again, and Rukia stepped out wearing a…

Huh.

Why does she have on a bathrobe? That is not what I was expecting.

Their shinigami friend crossed the gymnasium at a brisk pace. Her feet were bare, that was another unusual thing. Didn't the kagura dance require robes and a staff with paper charms? That much she could still remember. Maybe this was a Soul Society variant. Meanwhile Rukia spoke briefly with Kon and Noboru, who seemingly assured her all was ready. The mod soul went to sit down. Michiru saw the ghost princess flash a look toward Kurosaki and smile warmly, making him perk up like a puppy spotting its owner. No surprise there, she totally understood where he was coming from. This made her glance wistfully around for confirmation. Sure enough, Uryu was not in attendance. Too bad. I'll have to make do with what I've been given.

"Holy shi–!"

Was that Ichigo? Quickly she turned back to find out what might be the problem. A flash of white alerted her, in time to see Rukia slip out of her robe and hand it to Noboru before turning to face them.

Michiru's mouth fell open. Holy shinigami! That is definitely not traditional, at least not in Japan!

At first she thought, 'Rukia's naked!' There was just too much skin showing! Then it dawned on her she did have clothes on… if you could call them that. There was some kind of dark band wound around her chest like a bra. It had sheer fabric that almost let you think you could look right through it, only its surface was bedecked with twining patterns and shapes whose opacity served to hide from view anything specific. Matching bracelets with tiny silver bells adorned both wrists. Other than this her torso was completely bare. A black veil with silver stitching covered the lower half of her face, seeming to emphasize the pale skin and deep amethyst eyes just above it.

With an effort Ogawa forced her attention lower to find Rukia had on some type of black frilly loincloth or belt. This too was just dark enough to keep her wondering if she cocked her head at the right angle there might be more to see. Fastened to this were two long flowing skirts at front and back decorated in small shining onyx beads that flashed ever so faintly. As previously noted her feet were bare, only now another string of tiny bells could be made out on each ankle.

Nobody said a word. Before them the small dark-haired girl bowed forward slightly. Both hands rose in slow dramatic fashion to cross overhead at the wrists. Eyes closed, she placed one foot before the other and waited in this position without moving a muscle.

The music started. After this Ogawa couldn't look away even if she wanted to.

Drums beat while unfamiliar instruments zipped up and down from one note to the other without pause. This brought forth a reaction from the dancer. Her hands began to twine around one another even as they remained locked at the wrist, like subtle snakes weaving back and forth. More noticeable was the way her hips began to move, swinging to the rhythm of the drumbeat. They snapped right, then left, so fast and hard as to make the crystal beads clatter together. Michiru jumped in her seat a little.

Rukia turned to present her side to them, in the process drawing more attention to her bare leg as it slipped out of that fold of black silk. One hand came down to settle on her gyrating waist. The other continued to draw patterns in the air, while purple eyes remained hooded, having not looked at them once. She drew closer with every flick of her figure, skipping lightly forward while her feet never seemed to leave the ground completely.

Michiru didn't know what they were watching. All the same this performance made her heart pound, and she could feel her cheeks going red even as her ears started to tingle. She couldn't really tell if the others were reacting the same way as her.

Not that it mattered. It had never really dawned on her just how fit Rukia was. She obviously had to be in good shape considering her career as a soldier, ghost or otherwise. But in Michiru's head she had always categorized Kuchiki Rukia somewhere in her own body bracket: small, maybe not quite as underdeveloped, but nowhere near the womanly proportions of, say, Orihime. Athletic, only not to the same extent as Tatsuki, or even Kunieda. It had been comforting, actually, for there to be another girl in their group who wasn't a complete bombshell. Or tall, busty, feisty, whatever you want to call it. How did I, of all people, not notice before? The school uniform she wore when we first met didn't cover up that much!

But that little bit seemingly made all the difference. Because now Michiru could see the other girl's arms and shoulders fully. Muscles moved visibly beneath the skin, smooth and warm with life. Her legs were the same: solid, but not overdeveloped. Just toned in a way that spoke of fullness, strength. She had a flat stomach with a wider waist than might be expected. Here too you could see the muscles standing out as the curvaceous outline of her body altered into new and more appealing patterns with every gracefully executed move she made.

The sinuous sway of hips halted. Rukia turned to face them with legs spread wide apart, arms extended out to either side as she bent slightly at the knees. Percussion hummed a wild beat in the air, and she began to fling her head in a circle, shoulder-length hair whipping across those firm shoulders in breathtaking passion. With unnerving speed the exotic performer then drew her outspread limbs in to close up like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Her hands then swept before her to weave about in fluid patterns, mesmerizing and unpredictable as fire. They were so absorbing Michiru almost didn't notice Rukia creeping closer to them.

For the first time, the dancing temptress lifted her head, and the other girl gave a start when their eyes met. Is she… looking right at me?! Oh please don't, please, I'm not ready, she thought desperately. She found herself leaning forward in anticipation. Then from the corner of one frantic eye Michiru noticed Chizuru doing the same thing, and Ichigo too. Was she looking at all of them at once? Could it be some kind of spell, an illusion?

Abruptly Rukia whirled away, and with that the hypnotic charm was broken, allowing Michiru to look guiltily about as she panted for air. She wasn't the only one. Orihime wore a look of delight with both arms wrapped excitedly about Tatsuki's neck, who didn't seem to notice. Mizuiro and Ryō had finally left off their separate distractions as they looked on with quiet thoughtful intensity. Kon clutched the bleachers beneath him as though to keep himself from launching off his seat. And Ichigo… didn't move an inch. His back was to her, but even so, she could see his shoulders bunched hard and tight as iron. For just a second the girl thought about leaping out there and joining the dance. To have anyone watching her in this same manner was exhilarating… and then it became terrifying.

What am I thinking?! I couldn't possibly do that! Unless… it was for the right person. I mean, NO! Absolutely not!

And then she was caught up in the dance again. The woman she almost couldn't think of as Rukia anymore moved in a stately walk past the bleachers, one leg crossing swiftly over the other in a long step, followed after by its partner sliding past just as fast. Sometimes when she did this her breast swayed in sync with the song while her hips stood still; other times it was the reverse. The dancer twirled about in a blur of footsteps to stand before them again as she flung her head back, spine bending in a thrilling bow. Then she began to undulate from navel to collarbone, chest thrusting forth only to recede a moment later. It was tantalizing and frightening, so that Michiru worried she might hurt herself doing that. Don't, not for my sake!

The music altered. Now there was only a lone sharp snap of the drum. With neck still thrown back, her shoulders began to shake in time, clenched fists uplifted. A sharp crack from the stereo made Michiru jump again, and in a flash Rukia took several rapid steps backwards, at which point she dropped down to kneel abeyant before them, arms outstretched and face hidden inside them.

The performance had ended.

"WOO-HOO! Yeah! Alright, baa-san! Qué FANTASTICO!"

Enthusiastic clapping filled what was otherwise graveyard quiet. Those more alert than others turned to find Noboru Kouki on his feet applauding without reservation. He looked between their faces, grinning with delight. "Did you see that? Huh?!" he demanded. "C'mon, get on your FEET, people! My baa-san ROCKS!"

The boy raced over to Rukia as she climbed upright. He handed over a towel that she used to dab at her face, only slightly out of breath. They conferred quietly together, and Rukia beamed at his full-throated praise. Looking quite pleased (and perhaps a little anxious), she turned her attention to the KOPS.

"What did you think?"

Cool as ice, Kunieda Ryō stood. She slipped the book into her purse, pushed a button on a cellphone, and stepped down to the same level as Rukia. There the track phenom turned bland, neutral features on her classmates.

"I can't speak for the rest of you, but I vote we do this." She indicated towards the skimpily dressed enchantress with a nod. "Excuse me." Without another word Ryō exited the gym.

Keigo turned wide eyes on Noboru. "That… wasn't a kagura dance," he breathed incredulously, sitting up straight as a board. "You said she knew the kagura!"

The youth frowned. "No, actually, you guys said your people didn't have traditional dances, so I reminded you that you did, then I told you baa-san could dance, and you all got interested!" Asano looked over at Rukia, and when she smiled he apparently forgot about any further complaints.

After a bit more stunned silence Mahana raised her hand. "Rukia-chan, who taught you how to move like that?"

"A dear friend of mine from Soul Society." Her face grew a trifle wistful. "He encouraged me to broaden my horizons. Actually, he also taught the vice-captain of the Eleventh… I mean, Tiger. You should see her, she's really quite good. Better than me. Just a little shy about showing it."

"This is something boys can do?" Mizuiro sounded skeptical.

"Of course!"

Tatsuki Arisawa snapped to her feet, whole face an algae bloom of crimson. "I am NOT doing THAT in front of a bunch of people!" she spluttered. "I-I can't even picture doing that in front of a mirror!"

"Oh, don't sell yourself short, Arisawa," Misato Ochi laughed. "You have an excellent physique, I'm sure you can pull it off. Now then, Rukia-chan, can you really teach these kids to dance in just under two months?"

"I believe so. But just to be on the safe side, perhaps you should still work on one of the other suggestions as a backup plan."

"That sounds like a great idea! Now then, whom should we include? Obviously Inoue, she's the most suited physically for something like this."

"I agree," Noboru chimed in with a disturbing leer.

"This is so exciting!" The girl in question tittered and hopped down to join Rukia. "Can we get started today?"

"YES!" This from Chizuru, who suddenly glomped the startled shinigami with a delighted squeal. "Dear Rukia! I see you in a whole new light! Let's arrange for a private showing later on, what do you say?" This time both Tatsuki and Noboru leapt in to pry her loose with outraged shouts.

"Asano-san? You all right there?" Misato called out when he didn't make a move or join in.

"Yes, sensei. Just give me a minute, I… can't stand up yet."

Somewhat removed from this animated discussion, Michiru watched the whole thing unfold. Right then she noticed something. Out of them all, the two people she would have expected to provide the biggest reactions weren't. This being Ichigo and Kon. Her classmate remained unmoving, while their unofficial guardian just sat there staring at Rukia with an odd expression. Almost like he hadn't noticed her before and was silently taking in this marvelous new person who had danced nimbly into his life.

As she was thinking this, Ichigo Kurosaki rose from his seat. He didn't say anything, and most of the others were too busy talking amongst themselves to notice. But Michiru saw, and so did Rukia.

Before anyone could ask, he stepped down and walked fast as he could towards the exit.

"Ichigo?" Tatsuki called out upon spotting him.

Kon hopped up. "I'm on it." He proceeded to jog in pursuit of the moody teen, catching the door just before it closed and slipping through.

Left with only Keigo up in the stands, Michiru turned curious eyes on Rukia once more. What she saw sent a stab of grief through her. The shinigami princess was gazing off at the spot where Ichigo had last been. She didn't look sad. That wasn't what caused Michiru's reaction. Rather it had more to do with the clear, calm, mature way she behaved. Not chasing after him or demanding to know what was going on. She gave him space. Like an adult. But clearly should he need or want to tell her what that was about, Rukia would be right there ready to hear it and figure out how best to respond.

I never felt intimidated by her the way I do with other girls. Partly because we were both short and not popping out of our shirts. That's really what caught my interest in the first place. And the confidence Rukia had despite not being an idealized version of sexy womanhood came as a relief too. If she could be satisfied with herself, that meant so could I.

This was different. Now the gulf had widened again, leaving Ogawa uncertain and a touch anguished. Yet at the same time, it gave her a fantastic idea for how to proceed with her story.

---

"What are you still doing around here, Kon?"

The person in question skidded to a halt, surprised to find that Ichigo hadn't gotten far at all. In fact, he stood just a few steps away with hands pressed against the building and head ducked low. Kon's eyes narrowed when he noticed the scraped knuckles that were already starting to ooze blood.

"I came to find out what the hell that was all about," he answered cautiously.

"My… tenant… got agitated. I had to set him straight." Kurosaki stood up and reached into his pants pocket to produce a roll of bandages and some first-aid spray. It came as no surprise he would carry something of that nature, considering how many fights he got into on a regular basis. A shot of the burning antiseptic caused him to grimace. While doing so he fixed a displeased look on the frowning soul across from him. "So?"

Everything about him, from his voice to his face, screamed hostility. Like he was spoiling for a fight. Kon used this observation to prevent his own temper from getting out of check. "So what?"

"You haven't answered my question. Why are you still hanging around?" Ichigo never took his eyes off the mod as he started to bandage his injuries.

This was getting a little esoteric. "I don't think I know what you mean."

"Then I'll spell it out for you." After applying some tape, the substitute shinigami flexed his fingers carefully. "Rukia's spoken for. So just drop it already. You got a body, go make a life for yourself. Because I'm getting tired of this."

It's his Hollow, Kon thought quickly. The thing's playing on him, working him over and pushing his worst buttons, the ones it practically owns. That's the root cause of this.

He looked in the kid's eyes.

Bull. This is all him. That arrogant little punk.

"Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?" he demanded in a soft voice. His hands were kept securely at his sides, but the legs were just itching to cut loose. This too he resolutely fought down.

"I'm the guy Rukia chose. She made her decision. It definitely wasn't you. I'm giving fair warning here, Kon. Either you stop sniffing around her or I'll stop pretending I don't see it."

Kon went icy with anger. He could feel himself shivering from it. There was an urge to do criminal violence he hadn't felt since that skirmish in Hueco Mundo. "Definitely?" he repeated, a smile working its way up his face. "Oh, sure. Definitely not me, huh? Cuz I'm just a mod soul, is that what you're saying, Ichigo?"

"Cut the crap. I don't care if you were born in a dead guy's lab or whatever." His voice was uncharacteristically soft now, like he was trying to be reasonable all of a sudden. That made it even worse. "But anybody who tries to do what you're doing isn't a man in my book. Ask yourself this…" And here his chin rose slightly, a look of cold condemnation in his eyes. "If somebody else pulled this stunt on you, trying to steal your girl right out from under your nose, how happy would that make you feel? If you had an ounce of pride, you'd have kicked his ass long before, and for half the shit you've pulled. Only I chose not to, because we're friends and I know how you…"

"Liar."

"… feel about her, so I could forgi…" Kon had spoken so quietly Ichigo continued talking for a few seconds. At length he stopped to regard his counterpart. Those fierce blue eyes were glaring at him with no hint of the friendship he had insisted upon. When it was clear Ichigo hadn't missed his statement, the mod soul's mouth curled in contempt.

"You just didn't think I was a threat. But that was before I got this body." Kon slid his hands in his pockets and lounged casually in one spot, leg crooked and head tilted to the side. He let a smile touch his lips and didn't even try to hide the meanness in it. "Then all of a sudden that 'bad behavior' you're going on about took on a whole new light, didn't it? That's when you started getting scared for real."

With a groan the frustrated teen closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his head. He was fast losing patience with this situation. "Can you be any more full of yourself? Maybe I'm giving you more credit than you deserve. Did you honestly think some assembly line gigai was going to help when it came to Rukia?"

"It's not the body, kid." He shook his head. "No, no, no. It's me. I made a choice all on my own. This," one hand gestured down his frame, "is just the result of that. I decided I wasn't going to play house-pet anymore. I wanted Rukia to know the real me!"

Kon proudly jabbed a thumb at his chest. There were tears in his eyes he didn't bother to hide. "ME! Kaizō Konpakku! Not the little loudmouth teddy bear that nobody takes seriously! I chose to be a MAN! Because a man is someone to respect, someone you can turn to for help, and someone you can love!"

"Aw, geez, Kon, you're not in love with her!" Ichigo yelled, real fury showing through for the first time. "You're just a crush that's gone on too long! You're a… stalker, for pity's sake, a perverted creep going around eyeballing girls and peaking in windows, a…"

"So how come you left me alone with your sisters, huh?"

Blind rage, and then those bandaged knuckles had connected with his jaw.

Kon twisted and stumbled but stayed on his feet. Yet when Ichigo followed up with a roundhouse kick to the stomach, it passed through an empty patch of air, causing him to lose his balance and go staggering. When he came around, the mod was regarding him from a few paces off nursing his jaw.

"That's right, kid. I've put a lot more thought into this than you have. You're just a juvenile, swinging your fists at every problem."

The furious brawler dove for him, only for Kon to vanish and reappear behind him well out of reach. As he spun around this time, however, Ichigo's hand was already thrusting into his pocket.

"You plan on telling Karin and Yuzu how you beat me up and why?"

To his relief that actually got through. On the verge of doing something they might both regret, Kurosaki went still, not moving an inch while seeming to vibrate with suppressed homicidal urges. The innocuous candy stick housing several gikongan soul pills peeked halfway out of his pocket. Kon nodded upon seeing that.

"Like I said, I've had more time to think, and it served me pretty good. If I were really the dirtbag you claim, I couldn't have gotten within ten feet of them before you kicked my ass. Instead you trusted me to look out for the girls. That's when I first knew you didn't think of me as nothing anymore. Made me feel kinda proud. And yeah…"

Here Kon swallowed down a tightness in his throat. "I did feel like shit when I thought about what I was doing: trying to steal my best friend's girl. But since I'm a real person, it was mine to feel! If mods were only made to fight I could never have felt that way! It's cuz I'm a mod soul! I'm as much alive as you or anyone else, no matter what body I'm in. And that's how I could fall in love with Rukia when I was only a pebble in her hand! Which you knew but didn't care about since in your eyes I was j-just some… s-stupid talking toy!"

Ichigo actually flinched at that shout. Which was good, because Kon was getting so worked up his mouth didn't seem to work properly anymore. The two of them squared off for a time with nothing further being said or done as they both strove to come to grips with all this.

"I love her too," the red-haired teen managed to rasp. "You can't pretend that's not real. Calling me a kid doesn't change it. So what's your excuse now?"

"You've had all the opportunities," Kon shot back with a growl. "You could have done everything with her. It made me sick to think about it! But even worse was when you didn't do a damn thing. Not even a date, or a kiss! When Tatsuki said that I thought she must be joking, but she wasn't. What's wrong with you?"

It didn't escape his attention that Ichigo grew visibly calmer then. He stood up straight, regarding the other boy across from him.

"I've thought about this too, Kon. And it hurts me way worse than you, seeing everything I've got within reach. Today's gonna make that torment a whole lot bigger, I'm not ashamed to admit. But so long as there's the slightest chance I might hurt her then I can't let anything happen. Not until I win this fight."

Kon watched his rival with narrowed eyes. "This isn't middle school kiddy crap anymore, Ichigo. I'm not an enemy you can just beat up and call it over. It's serious as marriage, sex, and death. And if you're not mature enough to realize that, then get the hell out of the way for the people who are!"

"That's not what I meant, but whatever," he retorted softly. "I see where you're coming from now a little better." Then a slight smile touched his face so that he actually looked happy for a change. "Y'know something funny, Kon? Out of all the people who could have a crush on Rukia, I'm kind of glad it's you. It's like… you feel it too, so I know it must be right, huh?"

"Uh…" He wasn't sure whether to take that as an insult or not. Feeling somewhat at a disadvantage now for reasons he couldn't explain, the lanky mod shot back with, "Don't forget, I'm the one who saw Rukia first! Saw her for an amazing, desirable woman, and felt something real from it, even when I was just a pill!" He indicated towards the gymnasium. "Now I'm going back inside to congratulate her. You coming?"

"No. Gonna head home. I'll say hi to Karin and Yuzu for you." At this Ichigo Kurosaki raised his hand in farewell. "Bye."

Thinking about the girls left Kon even more uneasy. Before he could stop he found himself muttering, "Thanks."

Ichigo walked off then. Kon watched him leave the school grounds before heading back inside. When he did it was to find the source of their argument had covered herself up with the bathrobe again, which was rather disappointing. But now that he knew she owned that outfit, he could imagine her in it as much as he wanted. This served to lift his spirits tremendously.

Some of the girls and even Mizuiro were making an effort to emulate the moves so recently demonstrated under their new tutor's careful eye. She paused in her instructions upon noting Kon's approach.

"We had a talk," he offered by way of explanation. "Cleared the air between us. Like men."

Rukia's eyes lingered on him before giving a short nod. There was gratitude in that simple gesture, sufficient to warm him inside and out.

Standing off to one side, Keigo gave a contemptuous snort. "I know how Ichigo 'clears the air'. Nice shiner you got there, Kon."

He reached up to touch the side of his face where he had been struck. "Hardly feel it." No big deal. His body healed better than a human. Kon then joined in on their animated discussion.

Watching the youngsters gabble and exhort one another in high excitement, Misato Ochi was just thinking about what to buy for dinner before dropping by Ishida's tonight when Tatsuki Arisawa sidled up to her.

"Ochi-sensei? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Tatsuki-chan! What's up?"

Making a great effort to look casual, the spiky-headed student rubbed the bandage on her arm self-consciously. "I wanted to ask if you could… uhh, look up somebody for me in the national student registry."

This caused Misato's eyebrows to rise well over the rim of her glasses. Her first impression was that some poor soul might soon be getting an ass-whuppin' over something they did back in middle school. However the level of focused fury coming off her student wasn't quite sufficient to back up that assumption. Oh, well. No harm then.

"Okay. What's the name?"

"Oushima Reichi."

---

"What we discuss here does not leave this room."

All nodded in silent agreement at this terse pronouncement. In a command room of Greyhound Division, a selection of Gotei 7 officers conferred at a long table. Several screens emerging from the wood displayed a live feed from the site of Yamamoto's funeral, where the infernal bulwark that called itself Jigoku remained standing stiffly at attention. A few Kidō Corps mages and Stealth Forces operatives could be seen close at hand, watching it intently.

At the center of the table, Lord-Commander Kuchiki gazed wordlessly at the image of Hell's messenger. Upon first receiving word of this incident he had given orders to restrict knowledge of it to no further than a few people, most of whom were now present in this room. To his left sat Captain Abarai sporting a frown more deeply pronounced than that of his leader. Accompanying him was the archmage of the Kidō Corps himself, Tessai Tsukabishi, attired in the deep purple robes of his office once more. And beside him Urahara Kisuke looked uncharacteristically alert. His gaze never left the screen, as though attempting to will forth answers which up 'til now were in woefully short supply.

On the Kuchiki lord's right lounged his bride-to-be, Yoruichi Shihoin. Like Tessai, she stood out for not assuming the white robes of a shinigami captain, made up for by Soifon's unwavering presence at her side. The last member of this conclave proved to be none other than Jushirō Ukitake, who relaxed amiably amidst these prestigious souls with no outward evidence that their staggering spiritual power rendered them any more intimidating than when he could boast the same.

Lieutenant Iba placed a datapad in front of the Lord-Commander before backing away. "There have been eyes on it at every moment for the last three days. It hasn't even tried to leave. In addition, the Gates of Hell have remained the entire time rather than retreating as is their usual wont. There's no precedent we're aware of that would explain this situation." The Second Seat of Viper Company looked up from his report with a frown. "Further attempts at communication have yielded nothing new. At present we can only guess as to its intentions, although the possibility of this 'Jigoku' being the spearhead of an invasion force can't be ruled out."

"I think it took our new friend a while to realize the 'Proxy' it was looking for wasn't in attendance," Kisuke offered as an explanation. "Otherwise we might never have even gotten a name out of it. We can reasonably speculate that it was… I don't think 'programmed' is an entirely inappropriate word… to respond to all other individuals with a request to produce that person. Hence the whole 'The Principal has been officially terminated' speech given to anybody new who tries to chat with it."

Hands laced before his face, Byakuya spoke without turning his head. "Tsukabishi-san, do you have anything new to add?"

Tessai pushed the glasses up his nose before responding. His voice remained assured as ever, though not without a slight twinge of disappointment if you listened closely. "After performing certain rituals and consulting records pertaining to this topic, I feel confident that Jigoku is a native of Hell and not one of its captives. Incidents of reported escape tell of a savage and immediate response on the part of the hell-born, with few managing to evade recapture for more than a few moments. But this has always been a tricky area of study. The demons have never engaged in any sort of dialogue with us or the living, and we cannot enter Hell, so our information concerning the realm and its residents is scant at best."

"But communication between us and them must have happened at some point," Yoruichi pointed out, leaning forward to address her fellow former fugitive. "It can't be a coincidence that the thing showed up right after Yamamoto's funeral. And those words it emphasizes somehow... 'Principal', 'Proxy', and 'Contract'. I think we can all agree that the Commander-General was this 'Principal' it keeps harping about?"

"That would be a logical conclusion," Tessai agreed, "but who can say whether logic holds any meaning for this type of entity? Jigoku does not appear to be a soul in the traditional sense. My conclusion is that what we are seeing is a sort of vessel built to convey a message on the part of Hell."

"And that message is, 'Take me to your New Leader," Renji groused in frustration. He stirred in his seat to regard the man who had once been his own self-proclaimed nemesis. "Are you sure you don't want to give it another try, Lord-Commander? Maybe now that it's had a chance to cool down the thing might recognize you."

"I doubt that would produce any meaningful results."

Indeed, on the very night this mystery began, Byakuya had responded to Kisuke's summons with remarkable alacrity. Even as the light of Yamamoto's extirpation was still dwindling, he had listened to the account of what took place before attempting to address Jigoku. Although the fact that he was the Commander-General's duly installed replacement was made clear, the white-garbed demon simply repeated its stock formula before lapsing back into silence.

"Ukitake-senpai. You knew Commander-General Yamamoto longer than any of us. Can you offer insight on this matter?"

That venerable figure stirred at being addressed by Byakuya. He blew out a wan breath and crossed his arms while gazing up at the ceiling. "My old master kept secrets where he felt they were warranted. If he had any concourse with Hell, it happened without my knowledge. As Tessai-san said, it's difficult to imagine how one would even begin to approach them. In my experience the hell-born have never interfered in our world or the mortal realm beyond simply laying claim to their appointed prey. Those Hollows who were damned by their life on Earth would fall to our blades and immediately have their souls taken, at which point the Gates of Hell departed until making their next appearance."

"It would be a fascinating point of research, I'll admit." This Kisuke conceded with a trace of his renowned scholarly zeal. "To learn how Hell truly operates and what laws it might abide by would answer mysteries that presage history. But considering the complete lack of samples or a way to obtain them, even I must concede any attempt at research sounds like a fool's errand."

"So what the hell are we supposed to do?" Captain Abarai snapped. "Blindfold everybody in Soul Society and have them walk in front of the hell-bot until it finally finds who it's looking for? We can't keep a lid on this forever. And we can't just leave it, even if the damn thing is happy to sit there for all eternity."

"Why does this Jigoku not simply tell us the name of its target?" Soifon mused, breaking her silence for the first time that evening. "The matter could be simply decided that way."

Yoruichi rested one hand on her cheek in thought. "If it's just a machine, it might not have been given anything like a name. Maybe it just scans every soul who approaches it and compares that against what it's supposed to be looking for."

"That 'process of elimination' idea of yours is sounding better by the second, Renji-kun." Urahara tapped a fan against his chin and grinned gamely.

"Lady Isane's input could prove valuable," Tessai pointed out. "Her company Ibis includes the former Fifth Squad, whose members were charged with maintaining records and intel concerning known Hollows and their powers, as well as all recognized zanpakutō since even before the founding of the Gotei 13. Information in regards to Hell could be included in their lore, if only tangentially."

Lord-Commander Kuchiki's eyes narrowed just a tad. "We already have trusted people combing through the Great Spirit Library in search of a clue to help guide us. Approaching anyone previously under the command of Aizen is a risk I cannot condone at this time." The young lord stood up then. "I believe that is sufficient for now. Unless there is anything else to add, I will adjourn the meeting at this time. Return to your duties and keep abreast of news that might pertain to this matter."

The various representatives of Soul Society rose to make their exits then.

"Ukitake-san, a word, if I may."

About to depart, the white-haired soul paused. This came as no great surprise. All the same, it did bring back uncomfortable memories of what the old Commander-General had required of him following some counsel meetings. He tried not to let those unworthy thoughts taint his bearing when the heads of Kuchiki and Shihoin approached.

"We appreciate your willingness to be included in these affairs, Jushirō-sama," Yoruichi stated with a friendly smile. Her golden eyes gave nothing away, however, leaving him to respond a bit warily, "I'm pleased to offer help where I can."

He coughed a bit, more from social discomfort than any medical ailment. Still, a quick flash of concern showed on both their faces. The idea they might still harbor worries about his health proved rather flattering, even should it be feigned. Ukitake chose to put it to his advantage. "How long do you intend to keep the other captains and nobles in the dark, Lord-Commander?"

His pointed question caused those gray eyes to focus on him more keenly, but otherwise the aloof lord kept his cool. It was Yoruichi who responded. "The fewer privy to this, the less chance our enemies might find out and turn it to their advantage. A betrayal of that magnitude is not something we can afford."

This line of conversation served to stoke the retired captain's insecurity. Considering his allegiance to the Arashi and forthcoming marriage to the Lady of Kotetsu, he felt a certain measure of disobedience if not outright treachery by withholding this information from them. However he had agreed to obey the Lord-Commander's wishes until this meeting was concluded.

"Still," Byakuya continued without awaiting a response, "if the situation persists, Captain Kotetsu at the very least should be informed, assuming she hasn't found out already through her own channels. I will leave it to your discretion as to whether or not you choose to reveal the truth of this matter to your intended bride."

At this Jushirō smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Lord-Commander. If you'll excuse me now, I have other duties to attend."

"We know all about it." The sultry speed goddess leaned her head against Byakuya's shoulder in a playfully possessive manner. He did not speak out against this bold evidence of their closeness, which surprised Jushirō nonetheless. "Our clans are practically racing us towards the altar. Should wind of demons or other such ill omens reach them, I'm afraid they might skip the formalities and just lock us in a room together until I'm pregnant."

To their elder's relief, this last statement did cause Lord-Commander Kuchiki's head to jerk ever so slightly in her direction. In response she merely began toying with the end of his scarf. Still, it was comforting to know not everything in his world had been turned upside-down. The future held as much in terms of familiarity as it did change. The thought brought a smile to his face.

With a final bow which they both reciprocated, he left them to their private affairs.

---

Rania shrank back against a pillar in superstitious dread. Around the ragged Gypsy, phantoms spun without pause across the enormous ballroom floor. Hundreds of ghostly dancers courted one another, their feet never touching the ground.

The girl looked from one end of the vast space to another. She could no longer see the door which led her in here. Everything just stretched on away forever (infinitely?), with more twirling partners visible far off. Eerie music played as those unearthly souls labored on, faces cold and uncaring as they stared into each other's dead white eyes. It was nothing like the wild and exuberant displays she knew.

A pair floated past her hiding spot. Man and woman, they were both young, dressed regally like all the others. Yet there was no passion between them. They might as well have been waltzing alone. This was being forced upon them. A punishment, she realized; they danced not for the sake of one another or even themselves, but for someone else's cruel entertainment (enjoyment?).

They're trapped here, she realized.

And suddenly she could take no more. The fear was gone, replaced with outrage. How dare someone take the gifts of music and dance and use them to hurt others! This went against her people's way of life so surely that it struck into the young wanderer's heart.

Before she knew it Rania was on her feet and striding out into the center of the ballroom. A pair of masked wraiths passed right through her, but she felt only a slight stirring of clothes and hair. Upon reaching an empty spot, she stopped. Flinging her hands up into the air, the furious prisoner assumed a pose with head bent and eyes closed, listening not to the perfect but empty music in the hall, but the angry beat of her own heart.

And then she began to dance.

Tattered skirt whirled around her. With fiercest grace she spun one leg out, revealing thigh and calve without care. Rania performed not the stately formal dances of the nobility, but her own people's joyous expression that came more from the blood than the head. Flipping her hips provocatively, she shot fierce smoldering glances over her shoulder, imagining a man of the tribes watching on the sidelines. His face was not clear in her head. Still she sought to provoke him, pull him into the light of the great bonfire to join her in wild abandonment. Her arms rippled like silk flowing in the breeze. Every move was calculated to strip away inhibitions and seize hold of a bravo's interest so that he could not help himself but join her. This was dance! This was life!

As the hot-blooded Gypsy waif continued to burn a passionate trail across the dance floor, the ghosts seemingly took no more notice of her than she did of them. When she drew close, they did not move away. However as Rania passed through the ethereal performers, some of them stirred. An elderly man with a white beard shook his bald head, regarding the woman in his arms in confusion. She too gave a brief start of recognition before both lapsed back into bland indifference. This same brief inspiration happened again and again, with no lasting effect.

It was only when the young couple from before touched her did something change. As Rania stormed through the nobleman with limbs whirling in enticement, his face altered. Color returned to his eyes and he stared at his partner as though seeing her for the first time. Her own white orbs remained distant as the moon. A shudder went through him, and the warmth began to fade as their heartless pairing continued. Yet before it could vanish completely the pale shade looked over and spied Rania. In desperation he seized his partner and spun her about so that both of them moved through the dancing peasant girl.

At this the dead woman's face lit up. She gazed in astonishment at the man across from her. They continued to move in time, never missing a beat, locked in perfect synchronized step. Yet there was more to it now. Not just blind movement of phantom limbs, but an eagerness, a yearning was growing between them. Their forms gained in color. Neither spoke, yet their expressions cried out to one another.

It spread out from them. More dancers became aware of one another. As they did one could almost read the history in their separate performances. Here a father danced with his daughter on the day of her marriage. There a gallant duke escorted his spry duchess as they celebrated forty years of wedded bliss. A shy lady took the hand of a man for the first time, and thrilled at his touch. Lovers held one another all aware that they were soon to part and never meet again.

The unseen orchestra began to play louder. As though aghast at being defied by those lost souls whom it had previously commanded, the music sought to bring them back under its spell. To no avail. Violins skirled a warning, pipes shrieked in outrage; to no avail. Each man and woman paid attention only to the person across from them. They danced for one another now. Louder and angrier the notes became, more desperate, driven by a mortal terror.

Suddenly the young couple from before stopped.

"Friedrich," the spectral woman whispered longingly.

"Paula," he responded with no less passion. They bent forward to share a kiss.

As they did, harp strings snapped. Trumpets choked with blood. Violins were tossed into pitiless flames to burn. With a final terrible scream of despair, the phantom orchestra went silent, and the hall grew quiet.

Then someone began to clap loudly. "Bravo!"

Rania stumbled to a halt and looked around in bewilderment. The ballroom was empty. Candles burned, but the spectral dancers were all gone. She stood alone in that space, which no longer went on forever. She could see the doors at either end leading out.

"Bravo, little lady! Ya actually broke my spell on 'em! But do ye think the Graff'll be pleased when he finds out?"

The girl turned to find herself confronted by an eerie specter more disturbing for being solid. He was dressed in plain winding gray robes that wound around him like a toga. His thin arms and legs were bare, with white skin and curved dark nails that ended in points. A gray hood shrouded his head so completely that it covered his eyes. The only part of his face visible was a great white toothy smile stretching from ear to ear. This foreboding apparition clutched a long staff topped by a gleaming scythe blade fashioned in the shape of an animal's jawbone. The weapon stood straight up in the air as though planted in the floor, and he hung off it, horned feet rubbing against the haft, fingers opening and closing along its length. This pale menace rubbed a cheek against his perch and chuckled as he regarded her standing there in astonishment.

"Lemme introduce myself, O Honored Guest! I'm called Gehrin, a humble servant of the Graff, and I–"

---

Looking this over, I really do tend to repeat myself a whole lot. So many adverbs. How many times did I use 'dance' or 'dancers'? Is there a better word? I wonder if anyone will guess the Romanization of Gehrin's name?

"Michiru-chan, are you working on a cellphone novel?"

"No!" Super-fast the part-time writer saved her work before tucking the phone into her book bag. She then continued walking as they made their way homeward. Please, oh please, don't let her ask what it's about!

"Really? Because at first I just thought you were doing a lot of texting, only you wrote too long for that. And I know you're in the Creative Writing Club, which got me thinking this might be something other than homework, and I figured…"

"Can we please not talk about it?" Michiru blurted out.

Across from her Orihime drew back in surprise. "Okay." The two of them continued traversing the streets of Karakura on their way home. After a bit Michiru started to wonder if she might have hurt the other girl's feelings, but when she cast a look her way, there was nothing but tranquility on that beautiful face. How did Kurosaki ever say no to her? Okay, granted, after today I'm seeing Rukia in a whole new light, but…

Something occurred to her then. "O-Orihime-san?"

"Yes?"

"Are you really going to… dance… I mean, the way that Rukia did, in front of the whole school?"

"Yes, absolutely! I mean, no offence to Kon, his mind-guessing idea will be great fun too, and I don't see why I can't do both, oh, and no offence to you either, Michiru-chan, I'm sure the fortune-telling would have been a blast…"

"Don't mention it." She really wasn't all that disturbed at how the voting turned out. Why not? Having cast her own ballot for the sexy dancing (and thank goodness they were anonymous), it came as no surprise when that won hands down.

"… of course, you'll be up there too, and we won't even have to find a new costume, you can just wear Rukia-chan's…"

"Pardon?" The smaller teen felt there must be some confusion here. Does she think I'm going to join in onstage?

"… unless she's dancing with us too. Come to think of it, where did she get that costume from? I'll have to ask, I doubt she just had it lying around. I mean that… would…"

Between one word and the next Inoue stopped. Her head turned, mouth opened in a small moue of surprise. Then she leapt forward and wrapped her arms around Michiru.

"O-ORIHIME?!"

An explosion blew dust and concrete high into the air. Through that concealment, something large could be seen moving. Moments later a Hollow reared its head high above the cloud. It peered about, green eyes burning at either side of a reptilian mask reminiscent of a cave salamander. The body shared this impression, with four legs on a black-dotted trunk swinging a long thick tail from side to side. Small green flames hovered around it like will-o-the-wisps.

One of these attendant orbs collided with something to pop with a small 'oomph'. The Hollow looked to see what might have caused this. As the smoke cleared, an orange gleam showed through. Moments later Orihime Inoue came into view still holding onto an awestruck Ogawa. Three ornamental sprites hovered around them keeping the force field up.

Michiru remained stock-still, unsure of what might be happening. She wasn't hurt. Clearly something bad just happened. Had Orihime saved her? The bubbly redhead still wouldn't let go, which under these circumstances only served to heighten the sense of imminent danger. Could this be more spirit stuff? A faint ochre tint surrounded them both. When Michiru looked she thought there might be something beyond the barrier, perceivable mainly by its passage through the dwindling cloud of dust. It appeared to her in a sort of warped-glass twisting of the environment as it moved.

Fear rose up strong enough to make her sick. Is that a Hollow?

Another ball of flame sought to breach the Shun-Shun Rika barrier only to perish. The spectral marauder came about fully to regard them. Its attendants flew in orbit around its head, and that bone mask cocked to one side as though paying heed.

"Don't worry," Orihime whispered. "It can't get us while we're in here."

As she said that, the Hollow raised one four-toed foot and slammed it down hard in front of them. The pavement split as slabs of sidewalk came rearing up hard and fast. This underground eruption flung both girls off their feet. Inoue let out a scream, and just like that the magic dome vanished.

Hard stone seemed to pummel every angle of her body as Michiru rolled to a stop. Dizzily she craned her head around, trying to figure out where she was and what to do next. The sight of her backpack got things moving. Get to the phone. Call someone. Kurosaki, Rukia, Ishida, it didn't matter. Get them over here before it's too late.

She lurched onto her stomach to go crawling across the broken concrete. Unbeknownst to Michiru, this movement caught the Hollow's eye. It edged closer, the will-o-the-wisps darting around her unseen. When they reported back, the beast seemed to make up its mind. As she drew to within a foot of her backpack it was already reaching for her. Michiru took out the phone and sat up without noticing.

"Shiten Saigoshun…"

Off to one side came a voice. She lifted the phone to her ear and turned her head just as a gigantic hand moved to enclose her.

"I reject!"

Right then the amber glow came back. However when she looked this time the bleeding teen was surprised to find the barrier did not seem to be around her. Instead it encased a huge monster whose hand was less than an inch from her face. The shock this engendered kept her from dialing, or even remembering how to work a phone. So that is a real Hollow? she wondered abstractly. It's my first time seeing one. She took note of its mask and the inhuman body. How weird. And exciting. I can't wait to tell everyone.

Hang on. It's fading away again.

Even as she realized this the shell's glow grew in intensity. Within those depths the Hollow remained in its outstretched position. It appeared to be frozen, yet at the same time she could make out a sort of trembling going through it. And while this took place, patches of it were simply vanishing without a trace. Like somebody was breaking apart a jigsaw puzzle. The light increased at the same time this process accelerated.

That shuddering throughout its body grew worse. The Hollow's jaws opened, and a faint but audible moan came out. Almost a whimper. This sound actually made her cringe, at which point the dome began to flicker very badly. Yet moments later the magic stabilized once more.

Their attacker was almost completely gone now. Only a few bits still hovered in midair, including the head. Then parts of this dissolved away as well. To her surprise, Michiru thought she caught a glimpse of something resembling a human face whose mouth was shaping words, only for that to disappear before she could make them out.

A second later the aura died, leaving absolutely nothing in its wake.

"Are you hurt, Michiru-chan?"

She turned around. A few feet away Orihime swayed on her feet. There was blood streaming down one side of her face and she held her left arm gingerly. Yet the look she wore still radiated transcendent calm. Is this all just a weird dream I'm having?

"Inoue-san! Ogawa-san! What happened?"

Right then Michiru felt certain she must be hallucinating at the very least, because who should turn up but Ishida Uryu. Wow. He's wearing normal clothes. I don't see him out of a school uniform much. Nice quality. He's such a snappy dresser. Gotta remember to mention that in my story. Funny, Orihime looks more panicked than when we were under attack. Oh, that's right, he asked a question.

"It's fine, Ishida-san," his secret admirer drawled and got to her feet. Still a little wobbly there. "I saw my first Hollow. Oh, don't worry, Orihime took care of it. Uh-oh, stood up too fast…"

The next thing she knew, Michiru found herself being cradled in the arms of the Quincy himself. He wore a look of concern that only served to make him even more attractive. And he caught me before I could fall. What a great guy.

"Ishida-kun, can you take her straight home? I think she should lie down after that."

"Wait, Orihime! Don't leave, you're hurt! Come with me and I'll see to treating those injuries."

"No, I'll be fine, regeneration's my thing, remember? I need to get home, still have to cook dinner, you two go ahead, take care of each other, okay, bye!"

Michiru shot her a grateful look as she ran off. Thanks.

Uryu appeared to be confused as he watched their inscrutable friend depart. But where Inoue Orihime was concerned, the same went for pretty much everybody. Still, I've never known a nicer person. So glad we're on good terms.

"Can you stand, Ogawa-san?"

A giddy courage took hold of her. "Long enough for you to get me to the altar, Ulrich!"

He frowned. "Better not. I think you hit your head. Here, I'll carry you the rest of the way. Try to stay awake. Which direction is your house?"

And then he was lifting her in his arms. Just like a prince in a fairy tale. Honestly, this day has been too good to me. I wonder if it really could be all a dream?

Ah, who cares? Fact or fiction, I'm glad either way. "Straight on 'til morning," she murmured with a sweep of her arm down the street, and then they were off.

---

The Lady of the Kotetsu and her future husband sat across from one another on the floor of a private audience chamber. Magnificent silk screens were painted with breathtaking panoramas by the most acclaimed artists in all of Soul Society. Two full suits of armor were stationed against the wall behind Isane, weapons brandished. The air was pleasantly warm and held the faintest scent of burning candles and incense.

I'm concentrating on the furnishings more than I am her, Jushirō thought.

When he did finally force his gaze back to the noblewoman across from him, it was to find she was doing the same thing. Isane Kotetsu wore a filigree of delicate white gold bands containing bright sapphires that winked from within her short silver hair. Her robes were a lovely deep indigo shade sporting turquoise and silver cranes stitched into them. A shame her fingers were twisting the fabric so hard she might ruin it. Dark chocolate eyes roamed all about the room as that ancient soul wore one of the most decidedly put-upon expressions he had ever seen. Conversation between them was stilted, forced. This had been going on for the past twenty minutes without relent.

How could two people who have known each other for so long have absolutely nothing to talk about? If it were Shunsui here we'd slip right into conversation.

Well, maybe I should marry him then.

The thought actually brought a bark of laughter to his lips. Startled, Isane looked at him as though she were a deer and he a hunter taking aim at her. Ukitake couldn't resist sharing. "I just realized that if they wanted me to marry someone with whom I'm completely at ease, I'd be getting wed to Shunsui!"

Only when the words left his mouth did he realize how condescending and even contemptuous that might sound to her. Yet before he could begin to attempt an explanation, to his surprise Isane smiled. "To be fair, I feel anyone could marry Kyoraku-sama and count themselves fortunate."

The tension in the air lessened noticeably then. Ukitake took this time to study the younger woman. She still refers to Shunsui so respectfully. And me too. Isane Kotetsu is by far our social superior, and now outranks us in the military as well. Yet in her mind we are still figures of veneration. It's not just a question of age. For her whole life I was held up as an ideal for all shinigami to aspire towards. That must be hard to get past. And if it falls to anyone to help her break free of that indoctrination, it should be me.

"You have always been blessed with a kind heart, Isane-dono," he pronounced gladly. "Your concern for the wellbeing of others has garnered you a legendary status among the Gotei 13. As a captain I often found myself wishing I could directly do as much for our troops as you."

This admission took her by surprise. For a moment he thought the sense of ease between them might have been lost. The tall healer spoke in a wary tone. "I'm… pleased to be complimented so." After a bit of hesitation she added a little more forcefully, "And you needn't refer to me by 'dono'. If we are to be… husband and wife… perhaps now would be a good time to start addressing one another less… formally. At least in private."

He seized upon this advantage. "You mean as man and woman, not two pillars of the shinigami order and ancient nobles of high regard?"

The great lady looked away from him again, but this time there was a slight blush to her cheeks and she spoke with a touch of anxiety. "Yes. Assuming we are able to do so."

"Well, I for one cannot forget who you are."

She turned back to him uncertainly. Jushirō found it easier to articulate his feelings and wasted no time to seize upon this glibness lest it vanish.

"Nor would I want to. Isane, you are a distinguished shinigami and head of a Great House. Your success in both those roles has only reinforced the good impression I have always carried for you. Should I be asked to wed, I wish to enter marriage free of any unnecessary restrictions we might hold for one another. But at the same time, I refuse to disregard those excellent aspects of you which are already known to me. There is no need to start from a blank slate. This arrangement is at the behest of our clans, it is true. But I look on our union as an opportunity to find new reasons to admire you, even if they are not as lofty as those I have mentioned. For example…"

Here Jushirō took a deep breath before approaching this most delicate of topics. "You look very beautiful today, Isane."

Even centuries of royal training proved insufficient to hide the shock that swept up her face. "You don't think I'm too tall?" she blurted out suddenly, then flung up a sleeve to cover her mouth as her eyes widened in mortification.

"Height does not intimidate me," he sought to reassure her while containing a most undignified fit of merriment. "And it is hardly the greatest advantage you hold between us. I do not apologize for complimenting you," he added when she hid even further behind a delicately embroidered hem. "While I have been forced to maintain a courteous distance towards women in the past, there is no reason to do so concerning a lady with whom I will spend the rest of my days." However short that might be, he thought to himself. Even before losing his death god powers, Isane would have been almost guaranteed to outlive him by many years.

"I will… try to become accustomed to such openness on your part," she murmured from behind a wall of cloth. "So many important moments in my life have come as surprises. Assuming control of the Kotetsu, being made captain of Heron Squad; none were events I had ever wished for. Now I find myself facing perhaps the biggest moment of all."

"Even when becoming Lady of the Kotetsu, you had your younger sister to provide support," he reminded her gently. "And upon accepting the rank of captain, a worthy lieutenant appeared at your side." Ukitake touched a hand to his chest. "Now I stand ready to aid you in any way I can."

It sounded like she was smiling a little. "I knew you to be charming, Lord Ukitake. In this case, it shall be a cooperation of equals once we are bound together."

"Considering the state of events, I feel it best to treat each other with as much honesty as possible."

"Yet it seems nothing can happen in our lives without a measure of drama." She drew up to look at him squarely and sighed. "So we have no idea who the 'Proxy' is, or what this 'Contract' it mentioned might be about?"

Back to business. Well, perhaps they had made sufficient headway in their personal relationship for one night. Best not push his luck. "That was the gist of our meeting. I have no doubt it will be made clear in time, though perhaps not to anyone's liking."

Isane emitted a half-hearted chuckle. "Please tell me this Proxy isn't Aizen, or worse, Ichimaru."

Worse yet, Unohana. But Jushirō chose to keep such thoughts to himself. One more reminder that he could never be completely honest with this woman, and for reasons she had agreed to without even being aware of it now. Still one more reason to admire her. "I plan to inform Lord Arashi next. Hopefully he can appreciate the need for secrecy in this matter, even if he does wish to remain informed. Will you also be making inquiries?"

"Perhaps." Her face assumed a surprisingly mischievous expression. "I have… avenues of information not even the Stealth Forces can boast of."

He chuckled at the thought. That was hardly an exaggeration. No doubt Kiyone could be counted upon to use her position as the preeminent gossip in Soul Society to try and tease out some new strands of this mystery. Or even suppress it, if necessary. Should they wish to keep wind of this affair from getting around, it would be necessary to employ the services of the Mistress of Whispers herself. "I look forward to hearing the results."

"As do I." Both of them then looked towards one of the suits of armor behind her. "Did you get all that, Kiyone?"

The antique war gear jerked forward to come crashing on its face. There then came a great flailing and flinging of limbs as bits and pieces of gear were removed. Moments later a small form scrambled upright with the masked helm still stuck on her face. "You can count on me!" the younger Kotetsu sister barked. Giving a strict military salute, Kiyone hastily fled the room, still trying to pry loose the helmet as she did.

The betrothed nobles watched her departure before turning back to one another. "She won't fail you," Ukitake assured her. "In the meantime, we can depend upon some of the greatest minds in Soul Society not to let us down either."

---

The development of the Sokyōku halberd. A cursory treatise on the existence of vasto lorde. Indications that Hueco Mundo might have been inhabited prior to the Hollows. Exploring methods of dimensional travel beyond senkaimon.

What did it all mean?

Urahara Kisuke examined row upon row of files flowing before him. They blinked up before shifting back in ordered procession. He scanned the title and description, being careful not to open any or even look at them for very long. Being the work product of Mayuri Kurotsuchi, one could never be too careful.

Yet try though he might, the logic escaped him. What in the world did these have to do with Hell?

He leaned back in his chair and considered. Upon returning to his domain, the eager scientist had been all fired up to tackle the mystery of Jigoku and its presence here. Since this mission was top secret he couldn't ask any of the other SR&D boys to offer their assistance. In fact even his most trusted subordinates needed to be kept out of the loop here. Lord-Commander's orders, no getting around them. For now. He was nowhere near stymied enough to risk ruffling any feathers, especially considering the fact that Yoruichi would not appreciate it at this particular time.

Perhaps she fears giving him any excuse to call off the nuptials, leaving her standing at the altar a jilted bride, as it were. How utterly jejune.

Not to question your keen understanding of the heart, but it would take more than an invasion from Hell to keep Byakuya from this marriage. Knowing him he's got it all planned out.

We couldn't care less. They deserve each other.

Far be it from me to contradict you, Your Eminence.

Your veiled impertinence amuses us, boy. Would you care to explain the meaning behind this tiresome perusal of centuries-old readings?

Well, if you're truly dying to know, I think I might be onto something. If we look at what isn't present rather than what is, a pattern could begin to emerge. You need only carefully pick out…

Proceed apace. We have other concerns. Carry on with your amusements.

As Behinime's attentions faded, her wielder reflected on how irritating it was to have a soul cutter who harbored so little interest in his life. Were it not for her low opinion of all other beings unrelated to themselves, she might never choose to assist him at all. Not the most reliable partner. At the very least, however, he could depend upon her craving for pain. Otherwise she might have abandoned him at any point during a past battle. Did Mayuri ever have such issues with his sword spirit?

Speaking of his old research assistant, best get back to work. The division head returned to examining this potential avenue of exploration. Upon first tackling the Jigoku problem, he had taken as much empirical data in existence into account. Attempts to scan or communicate with the creature yielded nothing more than they had previously learned. It did not register in any way as a soul that he could determine. In time he might be willing to try more aggressive methods of investigation, including direct contact with the demon and perhaps even environmental stimuli such as violence being directed against it. Heaven knows he only had to mention the existence of a brand new opponent to the Kenpachi to test that particular experiment. But prior to that, Kisuke first resolved to scour all available records in his possession pertaining to the realm of eternal torment.

His findings were illuminating in that they were so scanty. The entire research database of the R&D Bureau laid out at his fingertips from the time he first founded it, and aside from a few preliminary proposals from back in his day, pretty much nothing came up. No results whatsoever. Even the word 'Hell' was excised with a deliberate precision that immediately drew his attention.

There was only one reason all these curious and demented scientists he surrounded himself with would show no interest whatsoever in an open area of research. And that would be they were told not to, by someone with the influence and menace necessary to enforce such a ruling. There were only two people he could think of that fit the bill: Yamamoto Genryusai-Shigekuni and Mayuri Kurotsuchi. Considering Jigoku's hypothesized involvement with the former, he could safely rely on Tessai to go through whatever evidence might appear in the old warhorse's records. Which left him to investigate Mayuri. One of his least favorite pastimes.

It was upon searching the other man's files did the lack of hits become starkly apparent. Enough to rouse his curiosity further. Mayuri always wanted to know more. He thirsted for new avenues of exploration like some men longed for wine. Yet according to his own tenuously available history, not once in the century during which he ran the Bureau did he attempt an investigation of the Hell dimension.

That was all the incentive Kisuke needed to dive in. He refashioned his search algorithm, fine-tuning and honing it to seek out not only a term's presence, but its conspicuous absence, or even influence. Which brought up his current findings. Reported instances of animals gaining souls. Traditional winter festivals of ancient tribes. A documented timeline of the Wild Hunt's appearances (and won't that make for interesting bedtime reading at a later date?). Quincy powers and their heritage. Ritualistic human sacrifice among ancient civilizations. Arcane blood magic ceremonies.

"What's it got to do with Hell?" he mused aloud.

"Nothing."

The captain tensed in his seat. He turned to glower behind him, making little effort to mask his annoyance. "Hiding in the walls again, Lieutenant Kurotsuchi?"

Emotionless green eyes regarded him right back. With hands clasped before her, the daughter of Mayuri Kurotsuchi managed to appear both demurely reserved and vaguely threatening. Their time spent working together had affirmed a suspicion that her father geared Nemu into a sort of anti-Urahara unit prior to his incapacitation. Her behavior, while industrious and dedicated on the surface, came with a pronounced lack of loyalty he had enjoyed from his own creations, Ururu and Jinta. Not for the first time today Kisuke regretted being unable to call on their services in this endeavor. If he wanted to work alone and isolated from the world, he would have joined the Kidō Corps.

"You instructed me to remind you not to be late to dinner," the synthetic soul spoke softly as was her wont. "Lady Shihoin has expressed concern for what she referred to as 'old habits' on your part."

Only then did it dawn on him how hungry he really felt. Funny. After living in a state of near-constant deprivation for well over a century, one would think his soul might acclimate to the point where it required only a bare minimum to maintain peak working efficiency. I really should have monitored my health more closely during that time, for research purposes. Yoruichi's right. I do tend to neglect myself.

Before he could consider taking a break, though, one thing had caught his attention. "What did you mean before?"

"I am not certain I understand. Can you be more specific, taichou?"

"You said 'nothing' when I asked about Hell. How did you know what I was referring to?"

"Conditional logic. If you are investigating Mayuri-sama's records, and your goal is to find information pertaining to the Underworld, then you will have found nothing."

Kisuke digested this information before proceeding. "And why not?"

"No such records exist in Mayuri-sama's accredited work history."

The genius researcher seized on this with the speed of a cobra striking. "Then where do they exist?"

"The Black Files."

That caught him by surprise. He didn't really expect her to respond. Usually whenever the conversation turned to things she felt her father wouldn't want him knowing, Nemu clammed up. She was nothing if not devoted to her sire. That was something he would have to work on. "Miss Kurotsuchi, would you be so kind as to elaborate, if you are able to without triggering a self-destruct program?"

She flicked him a look that on anyone else might have been condescending. For Nemu it was just more of the same concentrated disinterest. "Work done prior to his official association with you and the Shinigami Research and Development Bureau. That being those investigations conducted immediately preceding the forty years he spent in the Maggot's Nest. The ones Mayuri-sama had reason to suspect might have been responsible for his arrest, conviction and incarceration."

This made her superior officer sit up and take notice. "You're telling me he actually cared enough about that to not want to go to prison again?"

"Yes. It was his wish to avoid a repeat of that affair, at least until your confirmed termination when he could use any subsequent imprisonment to appreciate the event fully."

Translation: taking advantage of his time cooped up in a jail cell to laugh his ass off about me being dead. Typical Mayuri. You always were such a spirited underling.

Captain Urahara hopped up from his desk, picking up Benihime in her cane form as he did. The smiling academic twirled her about one hand upon coming to a halt before the Second Seat of his division. Time for the big question. "Nemu-chan," he lilted, ceasing to juggle his soul cutter and draping it over his shoulders with both hands dangling off the wood. "Can you by any chance direct me to where I might locate and peruse these Black Files in question?"

"Yes, Captain." At a slight flick of one wrist the floor beneath them glowed in a circle. Kisuke glanced down before looking back at Nemu with an easy smile she failed to return. They remained in their relative positions as a private transporter beam rose to enfold them. Less than a second later the view of his sunlit underground office disappeared to be replaced by a much darker and more gloomy locale.

He broke off their staring match to look around. The sight that greeted his eyes came as no surprise. Nemu stepped swiftly past him, and upon reaching her goal she turned back about and held up one hand. Urahara sauntered closer, tapping his cane with every other step until he stood at her side.

Towering above them rose the green calcite formation which housed what remained of Nemu's creator, Mayuri Kurotsuchi.

"The Black Files were deemed too dangerous to exist in any external format," she supplied. Overhead the frozen face of her anguished forbearer gazed silently into the distance without taking notice of their presence. "To access them you must needs establish contact with Mayuri-sama and inquire as to the details directly."

So saying she bowed and turned away, departing that chamber without even waiting for permission. And perhaps that was for the best. Urahara regarded the imprisoned madman in a sort of trance. Even to lightly brush that surface would expose one to indescribable pain. A thousand lifetimes of agony was contained within his form, a sort of Hell in and of itself, one born from the lunatic doctor's own hand. Some might think this was the most fitting end for a person so completely disinterested in the suffering he inflicted upon others. Such an unforgivable monster deserved that much torment and more.

Slowly his cane's tip rose to dangle a scant inch from the spire's touch.

That much and more.

Don't even think about it, boy.

Wouldn't dream of it, my sweet.

He placed Benihime securely on the ground, letting his hands rest upon her hilt. A small smile began to grow on his face, filled with delicious excitement at the thought of the peril that awaited him.

"Well, old friend," Kisuke sang to the empty room. "It would seem I need your help again."

To be continued…