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.

30. Winter's Touch: Dying Wish

Around them the war continued unabated. Hell on earth, the forces of damnation waging an unimaginable frenzy of slaughter, as though aware they would soon lose their connection to this plane.

Graff Totholtz sank to his knees clutching the silver arrow protruding from his chest. Fangs bared, he strove to pull it free unsuccessfully. A snarl emerged from his throat as the holy weapon remained lodged deep in his heart. Its power coursed through him, obliterating the vampire lord from the inside out. His true demonic visage flashed through, failing to manifest after this mortal blow. Once again the gates of Hell opened wide, yearning for his black soul.

The young Romany lay where she had fallen, encircled in Ulric's arms. His broken bow was cast to one side. All his attention focused on her pale, beautiful face. At last, to his utter relief, her eyes opened, only to instantly focus on the dying Graff. Red eyes focused on Rania in turn. They burned with a hunger unmatched.

And to Ulric's dismay, she held out her hand to him. "Radu," she whispered. "Help…"

Awash in his own ruin, hell-born and holy power burning him with their internal conflict, for a moment Totholtz felt only bafflement. Did she honestly expect his aid at a time like this?

"Help…" Rania gasped, "… her!"

Only then did he understand. His gaze traveled past her, to where his daughter burned just like him. The human boy Inglebert held tight to Xiomara, screaming in pain yet unwilling to let her go. The curse would destroy his daughter's body once more until he was resurrected, just as it had decades past upon his first death and every seventeen years since.

Rania's last words came back to him. 'You can. Just as you chose to be damned, you can choose to be redeemed! The curse is not unbreakable. Redemption does exist… if you can only find it in your heart… to admit it…'

There in her hand lay the promise of redemption. And death. If he accepted Rania's offer, he would die for good. No more would his vampiric powers enable revival at a later date. Within her palm rested the ultimate sacrifice. To give his life for the sake of another.

Her hypocrisy and self-interest were blatant. All she wanted was to end his hold over her for good. Which Radu would never allow. His hatred must endure. The world would be made to pay for what it cost him! Even should he die here, one day his followers would restore him to existence, and his campaign to plunge the world into Hell would begin anew!

Totholtz was just about to spit his rejection of her offer. But in that moment, Inglebert lifted his head and let loose a soul-shattering scream.

The sound shocked him. For in it Radu von Totholtz recognized the same devastating lament he himself had uttered upon losing his Suzan. Grief. Agony. Helplessness. All this and more he knew. History repeating itself, the same thing happening again, as grief begat grief.

His body blazed, skin burning to ash, bones melting and snapping like heat-bathed twigs. The vampire lord felt none of this. He only continued to stare spell-bound at the sight of his dying daughter. A torture he himself had subjected her to for over seventy years.

'Please,' her golden eyes seemed to beg him. 'Let it END!'

His child was in pain. Only he could put an end to it. In that moment Radu remembered a hundred moments when he and Suzan had cared for their infant babe, nursing her through sickness, abandoning sleep so as to never leave her side, awash with dread at the thought they might lose her, and rejoicing when she pulled through and they could be a family once again.

My… family! My DAUGHTER!

And he reached for Rania.

Even as he did, Totholtz knew it was too late. Holy fire consumed him, obliterating his presence from this world. No force of Earth or Hell could possibly stand against the judgement of Heaven. His chance had slipped away.

Despite knowing this, Graff Totholtz of Wallachia once again defied the Lord as he surged forward and seized hold of the Romany girl's offered hand.

Immediately a joyous carillon of bells rang out, so loud it brought the war to a halt. Both sides were stunned, whether human or demon. A great light flared at the hillock where the leaders of these armies fought, and all those who looked upon it could only tremble as they felt the power of the Almighty descend from on high.

Rania kept her fingers tightly wound around Totholtz's. She refused to let go, even as the infernal flames that destroyed his mortal body made her want to scream. Without regret, without hesitation, she poured out all that had been imbued into her. She was the conduit for something so profound mere words could not do it justice. Mercy. Forgiveness. Reconciliation. Joy. Acceptance. Just as she had when lifting her own vampiric essence, Rania felt engulfed by the enormity of it all, cherished beyond belief, and all this she unselfishly offered to Totholtz so that he too might experience it.

Another soul passed through her then. Rania felt the earnest gratitude as Suzan leapt to be with her husband, come what may. It was only right. That much she knew, though it grieved her somewhat.

The light of providence blazed, a divine lamp lighting the entire cosmos. Greater than the sun, no shadow could exist in that conflagration. Only truth. For one brief moment, the entire human race forgot to hate and fear one another. Held in the embrace of the divine, doubt was impossible, and for decades hence they would try to explain to those who came after them how it had felt.

Soft as a candle flickering out, the heavenly presence departed.

Inglebert held his breath. The entire time that had taken place he had not taken his eyes off Xiomara. Whatever prayers he offered in his heart seemed to have been answered, for the woman he loved lay whole and well before him. The redheaded hero could find nothing to say, even as her golden eyes flickered open and she looked all around. Upon catching sight of him, she smiled with such relief that he knew this was not a dream.

Then Xiomara appeared to notice she was naked. A frustrated sigh escaped her throat. "Dammit," she muttered sullenly. "Not again."

At this Inglebert swept her into a tearful embrace, and she had no choice but to hold onto him just as tightly. The tears that fell then were only from relief.

After a time, though, both remembered the reason for this miracle. Rising together, the hopeful lovers stumbled weakly over to join their fellows. There they stood looking down, Inglebert cradling Xiomara's head against his chest as she stared sadly at her life's work come to a close.

Radu von Totholtz was dead. Yet unlike both times before, his body remained in this world. The Graff lay stretched out upon the sward, eyes closed as though he were only in peaceful slumber. That unearthly face no longer held a trace of pride or malice. Only the dignity of a man who had accepted death without fear. Rania still held onto his hand, examining that noble visage which remained hauntingly beautiful. Even knowing that this was the only way it could be, a small part of her still yearned to hear his voice once again, gaze into his bewitching gray eyes and marvel at the force of this singular personality.

Only one man could have tempted her to eternal damnation. The young Romany knew then that a part of her would long for the Graff until her dying day.

But as Ulric whispered her name, she remembered a gentle man's love, and what it meant to have a home.

Together, the four of them helped to bury Totholtz on that hillside, marking the grave with his sword and a garland of wild roses. They stole away before anyone could seek to question them.

Three gigantic monitors froze on an image of the four heroes departing towards the sunset, and everyone watching erupted in cheers as the anime ended and the credits began to roll with special extended footage.

It was truly a wedding for the ages.

The entire Rikugi-en Gardens in Tokyo had been rented out for this special occasion by the production company for 'Wanderer in Shadows.' Partygoers mingled freely with wedding guests, neither quite sure which was which. Many attendees of the actual ceremony elected to come in costume at the behest of the bride and groom themselves. The chapel pews had been crowded with vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, and succubi. A few daring souls even came as smiling shinigami. Many sought to outdo one another in terms of sheer attention to detail and extravagance.

Yet all agreed that the couple themselves stole the show when it came to creativity. Uryū Ishida entered the chapel dressed in tailor-made raiment of Imperial Archer-Angel Ulric Sterne. White cloth with touches of vibrant turquoise and shining silver caused murmurs of wonder and appreciation as he entered the cathedral, and many lamented their lack of cellphones as the official photographer made sure to capture this moment for posterity.

When the bridal procession began, a hush fell over the guests. For Michiru Ohgawa had elected to be joined in wedlock wearing a faithful reproduction of Rania's gown from Volume 3. Glossy green silk dark as ivy leaves made the red scarf wrapped around her throat stand out all the more, and the heavy veil still could not hide her tears as she walked beaming down the aisle. Her father handed her away with a kiss on the cheek, and then there was just the two of them flanked by bridesmaids and bridegrooms. The priest, a bit uncomfortable at all this pageantry, still performed his duty without a hitch. And when they exchanged rings, vows and a kiss, the chapel was filled to the rafters with shouts of joy.

Afterwards the wedding party drove to the park where they hosted their fans. No expense was spared. It was like a Renaissance fair in the heart of Tokyo, complete with an outdoor banquet offering food free to all attendees. There was spiced wine, roast lamb on spits, and a red velvet cake boasting six tiers and black frosting.

All this was magnificent enough. But when an antique carriage pulled by six thoroughbred horses came trotting down a lane, few seemed sure what it might portend. Those at the bride and groom's table were equally mystified, and Uryū threw a sharp glance at Ichigo Kurosaki, who shoved both hands in his pockets and whistled while gazing up at the sky.

Before the eyes of all, the carriage door opened, and a gasp went up from hundreds of throats as Radu von Totholtz swept out into the night.

Many were wont to admit afterwards that they almost felt compelled to go to their knees before this regal figure. Wrapped in the vampire's black cloak with blood-red lining, he made his way to the main table where the bride sat transfixed clutching her husband's arm, who seemed no less thunderstruck at this occurrence.

That majestic figure swept them a European bow, extending one arm out with great cape draped over it. "May your union be blessed," he intoned quietly in a deep, cold voice that gave the audience chills. Then without another word, the vampire nobleman returned to his carriage and vanished into the deepening dusk like a ghost.

"I thought for sure he'd burst into flames under direct sunlight," Ichigo drawled while leaning against a cherry blossom tree with a cup of grog in one hand. "Or at least turn into a bat and fly off."

"Oh, hush, you oaf." Beside him Rukia dabbed at her weeping eyes with a handkerchief while wearing a proud smile. She had never seen her Nii-sama look more majestic, even more so by a gracious willingness to go along with his sister's unreasonable yet honest request. No one else would go so far for a loved one's happiness.

"Just saying," her lover continued without any appreciation for the significance of this moment. "There are going to be some frustrated paparazzi when they find out none of their shots caught His Lordship on camera. They might think he really was a vampire!"

"I made that concession myself," Rukia remarked without bothering to acknowledge his rudeness. "It allowed Nii-sama to maintain anonymity in the mortal world. They can just resign themselves to never knowing the truth of the matter."

"Rukia-san!"

They both turned as Michiru Ishida herself came racing toward them waving excitedly followed closely by Uryū, almost tripping over her gown so exuberant was she. The tiny bride rushed to wrap the equally slight shinigami in a giddy hug, weeping and laughing so hard it took several seconds to catch her breath.

"That…" Michiru managed to gasp once she had steadied herself enough to pull away, still gripping Rukia's shoulders with unmatched strength. "That was AMAZING! How did you convince him…?!" She was crying too hard to continue, until at last with a determined shake of her head the newlywed finally got herself under control. "Thank you!" she managed, wiping at her glistening cheeks with a laugh. "Thank you both, so much! It was perfect!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Rukia smiled. "Byakuya-niisama was more amenable to the idea than expected. Yoruichi might have had something to do with that."

"Plus this stunt also gave us a chance to have those Kuchiki guardsmen buddies of yours show up," Ichigo added to Uryū.

"They told me they would try to make it," the newly married Quincy gave a wry grin. "Imagine my surprise to see them unobtrusively escorting His Highness."

Still chatting animatedly with Rukia, at this Michiru rounded on her husband. "Your spirit friends were here? When? I wanted to finally meet them!"

He regarded her with a measure of surprise. "They were walking right behind Byakuya. You didn't see?"

"Really? Umm, well, I guess not! I must have been concentrating so much on Lord Kuchiki that I completely overlooked them." She threw an apologetic glance at Rukia. "Sorry. My ability to spot ghosts has never been something to brag about. Will you apologize for me, Rukia-chan?"

"We can make formal introductions later," the Kuchiki princess sought hurriedly to placate her anxious friend. "It's no problem, really."

"I still can't believe it! But…" Here Michiru stopped and took a step back. Her head tilted to one side. "Umm… I meant to ask before… why did you two choose those costumes?"

They glanced at each other. "What do you mean?" Ichigo asked. "We're Rajnee!"

"And Bernadette," Rukia added.

The newlyweds looked the other couple over, with her in red wig, green contacts and boy's apparel, while he resembled a rough-and-tumble ruffian with long red hair and pointed furry ears. It was clear what their intentions had been, but…

"You didn't…" Michiru started to say, then switched to, "There weren't any other characters you felt were more… relatable?"

Ichigo and Rukia just stared back. She could practically see the question marks floating over their big dumb heads.

Seriously? Are they both that dense?

Oh, whatever. "Never mind," the blushing bride offered a fond smile. "I'm just glad everything worked out so well."

This was something of an understatement. Uryū's mother showing up at the ceremony out of the blue was made even more uncomfortable when she ran into both her ex-husband and Governor Misato Ochi. Ever since the previous governor's unfortunate accident left him unable to fulfill his duties, the lieutenant-governor and former teacher had assumed the position in his absence. Her proclaimed annexation of neighboring districts was met with confusion all around, but when their unstoppable head of regional government then began making noise about seceding from Japan altogether, things went from bad to worse.

With a bloody civil war looming on the horizon the likes of which had not been seen since the Warring States era, the government was just gearing up to send in the military when Ochi announced all plans for forming her own country were off. Few knew that this turnabout came entirely as a result of Ryūken Ishida offering to marry her in exchange for calling a halt to the madness, which Misato happily accepted. That this might have been her goal from the beginning somehow seemed even more scary than what just took place.

A small private wedding followed, and with that, the crisis had been averted. Uryū privately confided to Michiru that his father first considered just killing Misato, but was talked out of it by Komamura. The Ishida family's guardian deity attended both weddings, first in spirit guise, and now in a customized gigai which, thanks to the theme of the whole affair, served to raise only a few eyebrows.

As the two girls conversed, Ichigo sidled over to Uryū. He examined the white-clad bowman from top to bottom, then said simply, "It suits you."

Ishida arched an eyebrow behind his silver glasses. "Was that meant to be a joke? It's handmade, what do you expect?"

"I meant marriage."

"Oh." His eyes drifted over to the happily gabbling Michiru. The smile that came over Uryū's face was so soft it rendered him completely unrecognizable, at least to Ichigo. "I believe… this might be the best thing I've ever done in my life."

Such an emotional moment left Ichigo squirming in his wolfman costume, and he decided now might be a good time to bail before the topic of marriage turned to his own unusual living conditions. "Hey, I'm gonna go grab some food. Take care of the girls for me, will ya?"

"Certainly." Ishida remained absorbed by the love of his life. "Enjoy my largesse. I'll instruct the staff to provide you with a doggy bag."

"Bastard." A punch to the arm only made the Quincy grin in response, and with a brief nod to Rukia that she reciprocated, the substitute shinigami wandered off into the crowd of revelers, for once not feeling in any way out of place. Everyone seemed so carefree. As he walked, snippets of conversation came to his ears that made him grin.

"And War Helm's mask coming off? I literally screamed at that reveal!"

"It's because he was Xiomara's guardian angel. The feather when he died, the symbolism? C'mon, so obvious!"

"An angel with a dog's head?"

"Cherubim in Western mythology are sometimes represented with the heads of animals!"

"But did you see that huge guy cosplaying as him? When the author and her husband came in? That blew my mind! So lifelike!"

Ichigo moved on, searching for one of the food tables. It was somewhat mind-boggling, seeing all these people in costume. And that from a person who had witnessed a veritable war of the worlds in real life. Kind of like an anime convention, which technically it was by this point. Over the press he caught sight of a small stage where another power couple was holding court to the delight of their fans.

"I could easily see Rania and Xiomara as a couple."

"Well, of course you'd say that. But wouldn't it lead to daddy issues? I mean, her father was trying to score with the same woman."

"Yes! The tension! The awkward romance! Walking in on them when they're tangled up on the floor together, smooth strong legs wrapped around one another, moaning and panting …!"

"Okay, thank you, Chizuru, remember there are children here!"

"Good point. You add that little Bernadette to the mix and…

"AND we're moving on to our next guest!"

The sound of their talk show receded into the mayhem as he moved away. Mahana Natsui and Chizuru Honshō were too busy streaming a live interview session with fans and people of relevance to bother with an old high school chum anyway. They had been promised an interview with the newlyweds later on, having already spoken to several voice actors from the anime, the mangaka who illustrated the comic, and some clearly enraptured audience members. Those two had really proven to be a good team. Their show was a mix of gossip, social exposition, and off-the-cuff humor. The duo popped up all over Japan, interviewing random passersby, patronizing venues to give their critiques, or just hanging out. If it weren't for Michiru and Uryū, he'd rank them as the most successful members of their graduating class.

Speaking of which, I wonder what Chad's been up to lately? Haven't heard from him in a while. I should ask Kenta or…

"E-excuse me, but… can we take our picture with you?"

"Sure ya can, sweetie!"

Ichigo ground to a halt. His head whipped around, face pale and heart laboring as he tried to determine from which direction…

"Alright, everybody, smile for the camera!"

"Thank you, thanks so much! I can't wait to post this on my account!"

"I mean, your costumes are just incredible. Did you make them yourselves?"

"Enjoy the show, girls! Cute kids. Oh, hey, look who's here!

It had only taken a few seconds to reach them. Even so, he had been afraid of losing their trail in this massive crowd. Small chance of that. Obviously they weren't trying to hide from him. As such, Werewolf Rajnee found himself standing before the Shinigami Lohengrin and Semele the Succubus.

"How's it goin', kid?" Gin Ichimaru smiled from beneath his hood.

"You look parched," Rangiku Matsumoto added beside him, hoisting a jug of saké over one shoulder. She took a swig and then held it out to him, blue eyes dancing with wine and merriment. "Care for a drink?"

He ignored the invitation. "What are you doing here?"

Lohengrin peered around the festivities and gave a shrug. "Same as everybody else, I reckon. Havin' a good time!"

Seeing the way Ichigo's jaw clenched at their facetious behavior, Matsumoto of all people attempted to cool things down. "We're really not here to cause a stink, Kurosaki-kun," she informed him, drawing closer and bending down to offer a playful wink. It warmed her heart to see the boy color at this even considering their adversarial relationship. Such a cuddly little delinquent! "I'm actually a huge fan of the title! And there was no way I'd pass up an opportunity to flaunt these babies out in public."

She hefted her breasts, straining against the revealing temptress apparel she had on. It was amusing how fast he snapped his eyes away to keep from staring.

"That's the God's honest truth." Ichimaru rested against his scythe topped by an animal jawbone sharpened down to a point. There was nothing artificial about that prop. Some poor creature probably gave its life just so he could put it on display. "Just consider us a happy couple out enjoyin' the fair! We got nothin' up our sleeves." To confirm this he slipped his skinny arms out of his robe and waggled his fingers, weapon held loosely in the crook of one arm.

Ichigo glared, unconvinced but confident nonetheless. There was no way they'd try something here. Drawing attention wasn't their style. Plus he had a large concentration of strong allies at hand. If these two made a stink, it would only take a few seconds to bring the cavalry down on them hard.

All the same, I can't just let them walk around free and clear.

"Aw, did we put your nose outta joint?" the Shinigami mocked. "I think he ain't got a clue what to do with us, m'dear."

"Well, now I'm just feeling guilty." Adopting a tragically crestfallen expression, the Succubus leaned on her partner's shoulder. With trembling lower lip and eyes brimming with tears, she said, "Here we've gone and ruined this nice young man's evening! It's such a shame."

"Actually," Lohengrin jumped in before Ichigo could retort. "There is a way we'd see clear to leaving y'all to your festivities and not cause any more trouble."

They regarded him expectantly. If this was all just an act, that was clearly his cue to speak. "What?" Ichigo growled, eyes flicking between them suspiciously.

"Introduce us to the bride and groom."

"Over here!"

"Speak o' the devil," Ichimaru grinned.

For his part, Ichigo felt his spine stiffen as Ishida Michiru came trotting over to them, hiking her dress around her ankles so as not to trip. The bride's face was red from joy and tears beneath the long veil that still crowned her head. She came dashing up to Ichigo's side, only then seeming to take notice of the company he kept. A delighted smile lit up her face as she took in their costumes, and she was about to exclaim in delight over such devoted effort, when the Shinigami turned his cowled head to her and smiled.

"Hel-lo, imouto-chan!"

Her heart almost skipped a beat. Michiru's eyed grew wide as all the strength left her body in an instant. Even if the voice wasn't familiar enough, she knew that smile without a doubt. It had held a place of prominence in some of her worst nightmares over the past few years. Seeing it again gave her the dizzying impression that despite being surrounded by literally thousands of people she was back in that deserted city, not a soul around. For a moment Michiru felt certain she was about to faint.

A strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. It offered both support and protection. And just as bizarre, the person providing this show of strength was Ichigo Kurosaki, the person she used to find most intimidating.

Perhaps it was this dichotomy that allowed her to find her voice. "What's going on?"

"Hey, the blushing bride!"

This new voice drew her attention to the woman. For a moment all she saw was a character from her novel. Then another memory from years ago arose, allowing her to recognize this figure as well, one who offered far more menace than Kurosaki ever had. Still, there was nothing but friendliness to be found in that beautiful woman's face as she crouched before the smaller girl, cocking her head to one side in charming fashion.

"Well, look at you," Semele cooed. "All grown up! And into such a fine young lady! You really proved all the doubters wrong, Ohgawa-chan. Oops! Sorry, I meant Ishida-chan. Congratulations on that, by the way."

Bewildered, Michiru glanced between the deadly pair and Ichigo. His attention remained fixated on that sinister smiling duo. Nonetheless she felt comforted just to have him near. Almost like a magic aura encasing her in a spell that would brook no harm. For the first time, she understood a little what caused Rukia to fall in love with this man.

"We really did come here to have fun," the voluptuous demoness informed them. "But there was one other reason." Behind her, Lohengrin flipped open an old-fashioned cellphone and passed it to his partner. This she accepted and held out to the bewildered bride with a serious expression. "It's for you."

About to question what this meant, Michiru jumped slightly when the phone began to ring. She glanced imploringly from one face to another, not sure what to do here. To her surprise, even Ichigo gave a quick nod, indicating it was safe to answer. Feeling somewhat more secure, she inhaled and timidly reached out to take the device, bringing it to her ear and pushing a button to accept the call.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Hello, child."

For the second time that night, her heart rose up in her throat, almost choking her.

"You'll have to forgive me," the woman on the other end spoke in chillingly familiar tones. "I had no wish to take away from your evening in any way by appearing there in person. But at the same time, it seemed ungrateful not to reach out in some way. And any gift I sent would be viewed with disfavor. Understandably so, I'll admit. So I settled on this."

The person she had known simply as Uguisu continued to speak without giving Michiru a chance to interject. Good thing, because no reply came to mind. "I'll be brief, Michiru-chan. The work you made provided me with so much entertainment. I'm glad you finished your story, and applaud you for making such a success of it. Even had fame and fortune eluded you, however, in my eyes, it would not have diminished your achievement. Because you were able… to bring joy to one person… when they needed it so very… very badly… and I…"

There was a discordant quality to the speaker's voice now. Like the reception had gone bad, so that a haunting echo could be heard behind every word.

"… wanted you to know…"

Michiru had the strangest feeling like she was falling down a long black tunnel.

A pause. Then in trembling tones. as though forcing something out, "… that I am so very glad I you DIDN'T lived KILLYOU."

The bride stared up at the sky, cradling the phone against her ear. At last she said…

"Thank you."

And the line went dead.

When it was apparent the conversation had ended, Semele took the phone away from her. She squeezed the girl's hand as she did, offering a smile and perhaps something more meaningful, for Michiru smiled back, wiping a hand across her eyes. "Thank you," she said again more clearly, "for letting me have a chance to say that."

Blue eyes studied that sweet face thoughtfully. At last the Succubus decided on simply saying, "You're very welcome, beautiful. And may I say, a girl really does look her best in a bridal dress!" She shot an accusing glance up at her colleague. "I wouldn't know, of course."

"Plenty o' guys willin' to do the honors," he sniffed somewhat testily, peering around their environs. Then, in a lower voice, "I think we better get goin' now."

With a lighthearted sigh the scantily clad temptress rose to join him. "If you say so." Hooking arms, the mismatched couple both saluted Michiru together. "Our sincere congratulations to you, young lady," Semele spoke.

"Give our best to your hubbie," Lohengrin added as they turned away.

"And knock his socks off in bed tonight!" Semele called out gaily. With a final lighthearted wave, the two of them slipped behind the bole of a tree. They did not emerge around the other side.

Perhaps some spell broke with their departure, for all at once several people around them suddenly became aware that one of the stars of the evening was in their presence. In no time, Ishida Michiru found herself bombarded by exotically dressed fans eager to offer their own warmest regards while also demanding to know the answers to their most pertinent fandom questions.

Still somewhat shaken from that experience, with a little help from her glowering self-appointed werewolf bodyguard, Michiru fielded their exhortations and interrogations with a confidence she would never have guessed she could possess only a few years prior. And as the night wore on, she found herself not regretting the incident, frightening though it may have been at the time.

In truth, it felt like a bad part of her life had been laid to rest. Now the future opened before her, a path she need not fear walking alone, for the man she loved would be at her side.

It was truly a wedding for the ages. One people would talk about for decades to come.

---

Tōshirō was not surprised to find Kon waiting at the arranged rendezvous point for his next trial. Considering his opponent, she would probably want all the time available to prepare.

The two of them did not speak much during the trip. And when at last they came out into the temple cavern that was their base of operations, he made no comment when Kon simply turned and left without a word.

"Yo! Over here."

Sitting by himself in the shadow of the huge bronze statue dominating this tableau, Gin Ichimaru waved gaily at him. Feeling his blood run cold, the ice sorcerer squared his shoulders and headed cautiously over. The renegade waited for him with no outward sign of impatience.

At last they faced one another. Ichimaru lounged on the idol's dais with one knee pulled to his chest, rocking slowly back and forth. The same small replica of a pagoda that had been here on their first encounter remained beside him.

"Hope you're prepared, little fella," the fox spirit grinned at him. "She's really been lookin' forward to this!"

A quick glance around confirmed his initial assessment. They were alone. Upon seeing this, Gin gave a malicious chuckle. "See, thing is, I'm sure you were startin' to get bored, havin' yer ass kicked in the exact same place time after time. Which is why we set up something special for this bout!"

Gin pointed a finger at the model's base and traced all the way to its tip. "Me and Rangiku called in a few favors and got ourselves a little pocket dimension, kinda like the one you hid all those souls in back during the Autumn War. She's in here. Waitin' for ya. All I gotta do is send ya inside."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Hitsugaya demanded sharply.

In response Ichimaru rested his cheek on an upraised knee. "Just wanted to make one thing clear," he declared softly. "Rangiku's not the type to go easy on people. Fact is, you might be in greater danger now than with any of the others. So be sure'n show her a good time. I'd hate to see my girl disappointed, y'know?"

"Don't call her that, you filth."

For a time there was silence as the two powerful souls gazed at one another. It had not been his intent to pick a fight with Gin at this time, but even Tōshirō was shocked to find how angry it made him to hear this beast refer to Rangiku so familiarly. A sense of sharpness settled over his mind, as though focusing on the man before him even more than before, to better appreciate the menace he represented. This had always been the way between them, from the first moment they laid eyes on each other when he came upon Ichimaru menacing little Momo. He had known then this demon meant deadly harm to the people most important to him.

As the standoff continued, Hitsugaya had the strangest feeling, as though he were on the cusp of realizing something important. But before he could grasp it, Gin simply said, "Let's begin."

With that the silver fox hopped upright. Giving a flick of his wrist, something like a white hell butterfly emerged. At the same time a shoji door appeared before Hitsugaya. The spectral insect landed on him, and the portal opened wide, revealing an intense outpouring of white light.

There was no time to spend debating what dangers this might involve. Instead the captain of Soul Society marched resolutely into that gleaming void. The doors shut behind him.

For a moment he could make nothing out. Squinting against the glare, there came a rush of wind, mixed with a familiar scent. Something soft brushed against his face, and he brought up an arm reflexively…

"Finally! There you are."

When he dropped his hand, he found himself in a wide field of white daffodils. The wind stirred his hair. Off in the distance, hazy mountains ringed this valley to thrust white-capped peaks into a beautiful sky shaded the color of sunset. Yet there was no sun visible.

Rangiku Matsumoto stood some distance off watching him. She wore the modified battle regalia of a shinigami similar to what he had on. Her zanpakutō was strapped to her back, a pink scarf wound around her neck. To his surprise, she had on her lieutenant's badge as well. Was this some attempt to mess with his head? After what Gin said, he had been expecting a war-maiden similar to that Arisawa girl. But the pleasant smile on Rangiku's face spoke only to happiness at seeing him once more.

Take care. She is without a doubt your most troublesome challenge.

I know.

"What do you think?" the sultry shinigami extended an arm to take in the whole landscape. "Nice view, eh? I had it specially made for you."

Hitsugaya cast a searching look around, and finally gave a short nod. "I like it," was all he said.

She crossed her arms and cocked her head charmingly. "You notice the daffodils?"

"They're hard to miss." Then, because she seemed to be expecting more from him, he added, "I'm glad you still feel connected to your old squad enough to reference it."

For some reason, the look she gave him right then made Hitsugaya feel like he had given the wrong answer. After a few seconds spent regarding him in that light, she bent down and broke off a flower. Bringing it up to her face, Rangiku regarded the beautiful white petals sadly. "Do you know what another name for the daffodil is, Taichou?"

His hand itched to draw his sword. This presentiment of danger had no bearing on their current predicament, however. Perhaps Rangiku was finally going to explain what this whole business of trials and codenames was really about? A part of him couldn't help but be curious at the prospect. "I never was much for ikebana. Flower arrangement was more Unohana's thing."

She smiled at that, but only for a moment. "It's called a Narcissus," Matsumoto explained patiently. "There's a legend about it from ancient Greece. Supposedly a young man was so beautiful that he fell in love with the sight of his own reflection in a pond, and remained there yearning after himself while the woman who loved him was forced to watch from afar heartbroken, able only to echo the feelings he held for himself."

The frond slipped from her fingers, and she dusted off her hands. "Eventually the gods changed the young man into a flower that flourishes on the banks of streams, and that's how this little beauty got its name. The moral of the story is not to be too enamored with yourself."

Hitsugaya could only marvel at the irony of that statement as Matsumoto brushed one hand lazily through thick honey-colored locks with a long, drawn-out sigh. This act only served to emphasize how a more perfect example of physical beauty could not be conceived. "Is that what this has been all about, Rangiku?" he asked softly. "Were you trying to tell me I shouldn't be so self-absorbed?"

Her shoulders merely lifted in a shrug. "Maybe," she murmured." Those half-lidded blue eyes traveled around their private paradise. His old lieutenant wore a troubled expression now, and she hugged herself, shivering slightly as though cold. "You know me, Taichou; never one to plan too far ahead, always taking life as it comes to me." Her gaze traveled over to rest upon him. "I, for one, never thought I had a destiny. Or any sort of purpose, actually. That's probably why I never made any headway when it came to learning bankai. For all her faults, Haineko knows what she is meant for.

"Which is why I was always a little confused by you, Captain. It felt like you knew what you were meant to do in this life. But after a while I asked myself… is it because he was just born that way, or did someone kind of, y'know… force that idea on him? Like a kid brought up with no clear goals who's suddenly told that he's some great savior destined to rescue the world, and that's become his perception of himself to the point where it's all he sees: his own impressive tailor-made fate reflected before him, to the exclusion of all else."

Before he could respond she offered him a pointed look. "Why did you become a shinigami, Hitsugaya?"

To his consternation he found himself squirming under her cool gaze. Was this what she intended their battle to be? One of introspection, of character? Not the sort of clash he had been expecting; then again, Matsumoto had no real chance against him in a one-on-one fight. Was he meant to defeat her with words?

Having come to this realization, Tōshirō chose his reply carefully. "I was following Momo," he admitted. "She wanted to be a shinigami, and I planned to be close by, to protect her if need be."

"That sounds about right. You certainly are a natural-born protector." Her bosom swelled as she inhaled deeply and offered him a canny look. "But then you found yourself a captain, and everything changed."

That was true. Upon entering the Shinō Academy, he had been somewhat surprised to learn how powerful he was in comparison to everyone else. But after graduating, the revelation that he was being fast-tracked to head of a division came out of the blue. There hadn't even been a chance to get accustomed to the regular uniform before he found them draping a white haori around his shoulders. And from then on he was Captain Tōshirō Hitsugaya, First Seat of Division Ten. No longer just the quiet shunned urchin in the First Ring, but a leader of men.

And he took to it well, there could be no denying that. Leadership, command, combat; having observed other people's interactions from afar for so long, he found himself better suited than he ever realized to orchestrate the running of a division. Momo's wellbeing remained on his mind, to be sure. But in addition to that, there were the people who looked to him for leadership.

One of whom was standing right across from him now.

It was then he realized something.

"Do you blame yourself, Rangiku?"

A slight flickering of the eyelids. Nothing more. But being a seasoned observer of other people, he noticed this telltale sign. "How do you mean, Taichou?"

He lifted his chin to regard her seriously. "I never forgot what you did for me. You woke me up to my potential. I found Hyōrinmaru in large part thanks to you. By meeting and interacting with a real shinigami, the first I ever knew… I saw what people like us were capable of. I realized we didn't have to just accept what was given. We could demand more. And be loud about it, even!" A slight, affectionate smile softened his face, and Rangiku actually blushed to see it. "Were it not for you," he continued, "I might never have had the courage or the inclination to even think about pursuing my future. I wouldn't have cared enough to become a death god."

"And because of that," he continued in a somber vein, "Aizen found me. And Gin. They both want me dead. But that's not your fault. In fact, I'd almost assuredly be dead already had you not picked me up that day. Without you, I wouldn't have been prepared for them. They'd have killed me in an instant before I even knew what was happening.

"You saved me, Rangiku. And I believe that's what you're trying to do here with these trials. You want to make sure that when the time comes, I'll be as capable as I can be. And for that, I thank you."

He then clasped both hands to his sides before bowing deeply from the waist.

"Oh, Taichou…"

The scent of smoke tickled his nose, and he felt something shift on his back.

"… you are dead wrong."

Before he knew it, the straps holding the scabbard on his back were cut, and the whole thing lifted free. When Hitsugaya jerked upright, it was to see his sword settling neatly into Matsumoto's hand, deposited by a swirling cloud of smoke.

She got you.

Rangiku gazed at him, tucking his purloined zanpakutō neatly into her belt like a spoil of war. "I'm actually here to do as much harm as I can. Because I want more from you than just a noble hero with stars in his eyes."

Her own had narrowed, focused and hungry as a wolf stalking its prey. "For I am Ishtar, the Deadly Sin of Lust. And you belong to me, little boy."

So saying, she attacked.

Haineko swirled around her mistress and came launching towards his face. In response Hitsugaya vanished only to reappear a hundred yards away, an incantation already tripping off his tongue. "…udō #61: Rikujōkōrō!"

Immediately five beams of yellow energy blazed around Matsumoto's midsection. However rather than pinioning her in place, the sealing spell flickered, then warped, and finally shattered.

The look on his face as she turned to regard him seemed to amuse the lovely thief. "Oh, come on, Taichou," she scoffed. "Don't look so flummoxed. The very first time you sparred with Kurosaki Ichigo, you pulled the exact same move." She then patted his purloined scabbard. "Our sheaths serve to contain the power of our soul cutters, and as such can be used to block their powers." She offered him a flirty wink. "Consider yourself effectively emasculated, young man."

A quick dash toward her was met with a raging galestorm of gray particles sharp as shuriken that tore up the earth before him, forcing Hitsugaya to leap back. Haineko almost seemed to growl as she swirled about her lady, indicating without words that she would not abide any attempt to do Rangiku harm.

Are you still with me?

Yes. But as to our wellbeing, Haineko will not speak to me. I cannot divine their true intent. You may wish to abandon subtlety.

Something tells me she's got that covered.

Another blast from Haineko went wide as he leapt nimbly around it before aiming once more to reclaim his soul cutter. Even as he did, though, there came a preemptive warning of hot magic as his foot touched a particular patch of ground, right before bands of burning flame burst up to wrap around his body.

Sleeping kidō! She must have set them beforehand. There could be dozens scattered around. She really is using every trick in the book.

But it's nothing I can't handle.

A sudden exertion of his own immense spiritual strength saw the bindings fray and snap a few seconds later. Not soon enough, however, as Matsumoto suddenly called out, "Hadō #4: Byakurai!"

At her command, a bolt of blue lightning leapt from one outstretched finger to collide with his chest. The deadly spell impacted with the force of a clothyard shaft, and he grimaced as pain registered. But this low-level attack failed to penetrate his reishi-enhanced armor, causing more discomfort than any real damage.

By now Tōshirō had freed himself from the restrictive casting and moved to find surer footing. He regarded Matsumoto with newfound wariness. The gorgeous enchantress had once more draped herself in the protective embrace of her shikai, a cloud of deadly mist churning swiftly, as though spoiling for a fight.

"You all right over there?" she called playfully, cupping a hand to her mouth.

His captain's coat was burnt black in that spot, but otherwise unharmed. Tōshirō wiped a hand over it while glowering at her. "Raikōhō would have packed more punch, or even Sōren Sokatsui." he observed, watching her for an opening to retrieve his weapon. "Are you playing around, Matsumoto?"

"We always hurt the ones we love, Captain," she responded brightly. "Anyway, it's one of the most hotly debated topics at the Shinō Academy: can a lieutenant in shikai match up against a captain even when their zanpakutō is sealed? They've been pondering that question for ages! Thought I'd give it a try, you know?" And she threw him a flirtatious wink.

This isn't her style.

How so?

Matsumoto likes to get a feel for her opponents first during a fight. But once she's taken their measure, there's no hesitation, no chatting. She just crushes them, swiftly and without mercy.

And yet there is no need for her to evaluate us. After all, she knows very well how we fight. So why hold off?

Maybe battle isn't what she's after. Like I thought before; it could be all about the whole reason she roped me into this spectacle.

Then perhaps you should ask.

So he did.

"What's your game, Matsumoto?"

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "You're the genius here. Why not tell me?"

Whether she really meant it or not, he took the time to ponder his response. "If it's a fight you wanted, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Or even the other matches before this."

His eyes traveled up to that heavenly view awash in the colors of deepening twilight. In truth, he had given serious consideration long beforehand to what running this gauntlet of diverse and dangerous opponents might signify overall. Tōshirō Hitsugaya did not rise to his position without having a good head on his shoulders. And there was far more to being a captain than combat skill (with a few notable exceptions). But even someone like Zaraki was widely considered to be a very perceptive and versatile fighter. So much variety just screamed an overarching purpose.

And certain things did become clear in hindsight. First there had been Atalanta, who clearly outmatched him in terms of speed, perhaps even without the disabling limiter. Then came the duo of Samson and Delilah; brute force meshed with the ability to beguile the senses and strike without warning. To disregard them in a real fight would have meant certain death. Afterwards he faced the Hollow Le Pierrot, an enemy who could manipulate the world around her and hide anywhere. She might be standing right beside you and you'd never even realize it.

Fighting Khātam Suleiman was simply a question of being overpowered. Her strength was leaps and bounds beyond anything he could currently produce. It could never be called a fair fight. And now there came Ishtar herself, the goddess of pleasure. What did she represent?

Putting that aside for the time being, what one constant theme ran through all these challenges? On this there seemed to be no other solution than…

"You're preparing me to face Aizen."

"Yeah," Matsumoto shrugged and let out a weary laugh. "I guess I am."

He nodded. "Thought so." Then those serious green eyes she always found so exhilarating rose to focus on her. "I'm ready to resume our match. May I have my soul cutter back now, Matsumoto?"

She patted the black lacquer sheath, careful not to touch the handle for fear of its icy power. "Come and get it, sweetie-pie."

"I see."

With that Hitsugaya reached into his pocket and produced something that looked like a child's bubble toy. Matsumoto actually gave a gasp of amazed laughter upon seeing him raise it to his lips and blow. Surprising to see him acting his age, so to speak…

There then came a popping sound, and instantly a figure resembling Hitsugaya tumbled to the ground, fully clothed in human attire.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "A portable gigai? Interesting…"

"Rukia Kuchiki gave it to me," he offered back while the doppelganger rose to stand beside him, proof it already had an active gikongan inside. "Apparently it was one of Urahara's old products that he left lying around the shop. She claimed them along with a few other things."

This was not exactly breaking news. What caused Rangiku to do a double-take was the realization that the gigai carried a nodachi longsword taller than itself. About to press for more information, a sudden shift in her weight caught Matsumoto's attention. Glancing down, she was alarmed to find the confiscated sword at her hip to be… melting!

Rangiku looked up with a crafty smile. "Oh, you little cheater," she cooed.

Never losing that appearance of studious calm, he held out a hand, and the mod soul responded by flipping the sword around and presenting it hilt first to its master, which he accepted. Examining Hyōrinmaru from handle to tip, he nodded approvingly at his servant, upon which the gigai bowed and went trotting off a ways to crouch down among the field of flowers, peering over the tops with a grim expression as though convinced it remained completely hidden.

"You knew I'd try to steal your sword, huh?"

He looked over to where his crafty second now stood with arms crossed and a smile of admiration on her face. "That or put a limiter seal on me. But this seemed more likely, since I suspected you intended to face me at close to your real strength. I also anticipated you would summon Haineko beforehand and put the handle back in its scabbard to try and trick me. It's just the way you are, Matsumoto."

"Ah, got me." Heaving a put-upon sigh, the tall beauty once more pushed a hand through her thick luxuriant locks, looking terribly disappointed. "I hate being predictable. It's not my style!"

This bouncy tease act served to make him crack a grin. Hitsugaya took this chance to have a look around. It really was a fantastic locale she made for him. That had been his first clue she wasn't serious about fighting him here. Why go to the trouble of fashioning something so lovely just to destroy it? Small though this dimension may be, a lot of detail had gone into its design.

Could this place be special to her? It suddenly dawned on him that he knew precious little about Rangiku's past. She had always been close-lipped about that, if nothing else. Clearly she and Gin shared some measure of history together, but what about before that? Did she die in the real world and become a spirit afterwards, or was she a native of Soul Society like himself? Was that what she meant about this place feeling like home? Just where was she from, anyway?

Hitsugaya shook his head. There would be time enough for that later. He still had one task left to accomplish. "Matsumoto!" the captain called. "I take it we're done here. Will Ichimaru face me now? I'd like to get this over with."

"You're not eager to get away from me, are you, Taichou?" she teased. "Got some sweet young thing waiting to go on a date, maybe? And besides…"

Her hand slipped back to grip the handle of Haineko.

"… who said anything about being done?"

Something in the way she spoke made him tense mistrustfully.

"Remember that old academic question before, about whether a lieutenant in shikai could beat a captain?" Matsumoto called gamely. "I don't think they could, really. So in that case, why don't we take it one level higher?"

The airborne ash began to swirl around her even faster. Hitsugaya's jaw clenched as a previously unthinkable occurrence began to take place. No, it couldn't be!

Rangiku's next words confirmed it could.

"Bankai…"

There came a growl like thunder, or some huge cat.

"… AOME NO RAIJŪ!"

In a flash, the world exploded.

In mere moments, that previously peaceful setting was transformed. The sky turned black, and icy winds whipped crystalline snowflakes sharp as daggers. Bolts of lightning rained down to devastate the valley from one end to another. Every bit of vegetation had frozen solid, leaving only a white field robbed of any life. Savage flaming bursts appeared as well, seemingly out of nowhere. Clods of scorched soil and shattered daffodils pattered down from the resulting explosions.

Aloft with the aid of his bankai, Tōshirō Hitsugaya dodged desperately to one side, narrowly missing as a jagged bolt of lightning shot to impact the earth far below. There was no time to catch his breath or think of a strategy; the bolts fell with the speed and ferocity of a maddened Greek god, laying indiscriminate waste to their environment. Devastating peals of thunder accompanied every strike even as snow-borne gales howled in challenge. Ice and lightning; the very forces of nature itself gave battle.

An instinctive sense of danger caused him to frantically vacate his current position moments before lightning arced from the sky, only for another to fall in tandem with the force of a guillotine blade and shatter his right wing. Off balance, Tōshirō dove straight down to land on the ground, counting on the old adage of lightning never striking the same spot twice to give himself a bit of breathing time.

This time-honored saying proved false, however, as another jagged bolt even bigger than the last connected with a tremendous explosion of thunder that blew the earth to pieces.

"Thank you for letting me keep the scabbard, Taichou. I don't feel the slightest bit chilly!"

A last-second casting of Danku overhead had saved him from any major damage. Still, Tōshirō's ears were ringing as he clambered to his feet, shattered ice crumbling off his wings and tail. No heavenly death fell in the vicinity. This allowed him to get his first good look at its true source.

Rangiku Matsumoto was in her element. Literally. For curled around her was a giant four-legged beast thirty feet from nose to tail. Whether cat, dog or some animal not found outside storybooks, the Blue-Eyed Thunder Creature flicked its tail lazily, baring crackling teeth at him with eyes that flared a stunning azure. Its claws extended in murderous flashes of pure energy. Haineko's bankai had a skin composed of electrical webs, leaving it transparent as a result and allowing him to see its mistress illuminated within that unearthly form.

White lightning played over her body and coursed across the ground at her feet. The shining goddess admired the play of electricity crackling between her fingers, weaving them back and forth to watch arcs of power dance. She then popped a thumb in her mouth and laughed as it came out with sparks.

Matsumoto flicked her wrist, grinning. "Ouch! Well, that'll teach me not to do anything so stupid ever again."

"I should have…!" Clutching Hyōrinmaru so hard the handle bit into his ice claws, Hitsugaya drew breath in quick pants. His wits were still rattled by that last explosion. "… known! You always did… like to hit your enemy… fast and hard!"

"Admit it, Taichou! You didn't really believe I could pull it off, did you?"

The smell of charred earth. Bursts of intense light that made everything stand out clear as day. The taste of blood in his mouth. All this left him feeling woozy. And angry with himself for not realizing it sooner. He recalled Renji Abarai once telling him that Rangiku might be the strongest out of all the lieutenants from his generation. The current Captain of Siamese Company achieved bankai after several decades of trying, eventually earning himself a place among the highest coterie of the Gotei 7. Given her own phenomenal talent, he should have known that with just a little dedication, Matsumoto would be more than capable of achieving at least that much.

Guarded by her towering familiar, the former Second Seat looked immensely pleased with herself. As well she should be. "I'll admit, it wasn't easy. Haineko and I… well, let's just say we have a bit too much in common. Full of ourselves, averse to intense effort, inclined to distraction…"

As if to emphasize this, Aome no Raijū turned its head and began busily licking a paw. Long ears of tufted lightning twitched in studious absorption. It more closely resembled a combination of lynx and jackal, but there could be no definite consensus considering how its spectral form was in a constant state of motion even while sitting relatively still.

"But I gave it my best shot!" the new storm queen declared triumphantly. "With a little bit of prodding, I'll admit. Gin can be a cruel taskmaster, in case you didn't know." She ducked her head, a fond smile causing her face to shine with happiness. "But he knew how much I wanted this. So he never let up, or allowed me to get down when things didn't work out the way I wanted. My guy, all the way."

Clear blue eyes leveled once more on the battered youth. They glowed with phosphorescence similar to that of her bankai, and even more threat.

"I did it all for you, Taichou. For this moment. So that we could go out with a bang."

Tōshirō looked at her, then the hellscape in which they resided. Snow lay in drifts, but all this lightning was interfering with his control. It wasn't just that, though. Ash still whirled around, leaving streaks of sharp orange flame whenever a stray spark ignited them. The particles in the air were so fine, every shot of electricity created an explosion. Any ice he tried to form was blown apart almost immediately. He couldn't get ahold of the environment as a result. A raw, untamed bankai, but it served to negate his own elemental weapon to no small extent.

Fire and lightning; two fierce sides of the same coin. Did Haineko give her wielder a bankai specifically designed to counter his? They really were a good match. Bombastic force of nature, impossible to ignore, and yet undeniably arresting. Heartstopping, even. How very appropriate for the goddess of desire.

She wants something from me.

If I'm right and this really does come back to Aizen… if Matsumoto's goal is to prepare me for the next time I must face that treacherous madman again… then what purpose does fighting her serve? She knows I can't hurt her. Not really. I would never do that. Not for any reason.

Could that be the reason?

Tough love, you think?

Or a harsh lesson. We always hurt the ones we love, as she said. And in case you did not know, in the legends, Ishtar causes as much pain as pleasure. She is cruel.

I was afraid of that.

Swallowing, he lifted tired eyes to the mistress of this chaotic domain. "I won't do it, Matsumoto."

Lightning flashed, illuminating her form in stark detail. She flicked a nod over to Haineko, who growled sulkily but lifted one paw. In response a line of current snapped from one claw to rake across his cheek, burning him so severely the flesh sizzled and turned black.

"Do you think I'm playing around with you, boy?" she purred acidly.

The cold frown she wore made him shudder. Hitsugaya touched his flaming cheek, wincing at the feel of hot burning flesh. Could this be considered a light slap? Matsumoto always said he had better get used to that sort of thing from women.

He let his hand fall. "No. But you're crazy if you think I'm actually going to hurt you."

So saying, he started to walk towards her.

The thunder deity gave a small, "Tch!" of disapproval. She crossed both arms over her stomach and blew out her breath. As if this were a signal, Aome no Raijū rose to all fours. It uttered a snarl that quickly built to a roar, and from its mouth a stream of electricity flew to impact with Hitsugaya's chest.

It felt like a giant swatting a fly. His armor proved no use against this attack. Hitsugaya flew backwards, losing control of his own body as he did, so that he could only twitch and jerk numbly. His helpless form tumbled to the frozen turf where he convulsed in a ball, feverishly shaking as everything he knew about himself just went wrong.

"Get up."

His thrashing died down. For several seconds the captain just lay there panting for air. But at last he obeyed, struggling to a sitting position before standing to face her once more.

And he took a step forward again.

Hyōrinmaru lay on the ground between them. He made no move to retrieve the weapon on his way by. Instead he concentrated on the lesson this punishment was meant to teach him.

"I know what these trials have been about," he whispered, voice hoarse and eyes narrowed to slits. Jittery pain still surged through his limbs that made every movement torture. But there were worse kinds of agony in the world. "Every one of the challenges up 'til now was an aspect of Aizen. He's faster than me. He'll hit me when I least expect it. He controls any battlefield he stands in, and if that's not enough, he can just overwhelm me so that there's simply no hope of winning."

"But worst of all, he doesn't really need any of that. Because with one flick of his sword, he can make me see, hear and feel a person whom I care deeply about. And while I'm frozen from my own feelings, he'll cut me down. And that's that. I'll be dead."

Lightning reflected in her eyes as she watched him approach. "So you know what you have to do, then."

"Yeah," Hitsugaya nodded slowly while continuing to draw closer. "Yeah, I get it. You want me to harm someone I care about. You want me to drive my sword through your body for real, so that when Aizen calls up an image of you, Momo, Granny or anyone else, I won't let it distract me."

His head came up, and Matsumoto exulted at the fury in every line of his face.

"You want me to know the difference between an illusion and reality!" Tōshirō snarled. "To burn that feeling into my soul, and kill any hesitation before it can take hold! So that I won't hesitate! I'll just cut right through without a second thought no matter what trick he pulls!"

"That's right," Matsumoto declared softly, a thrill of menace and seduction flavoring her every breath. "Plant your sword in me, Hitsugaya Tōshirō. Drive it in deep, hard, and sure, until you break my flesh and spill my blood."

She reached up and tugged aside the cross-flap of her robe to expose a measure of full smooth breast, tantalizing, perfect. "Don't be afraid. It'll only hurt for a second. You don't have to worry. Gin's observing the proceedings. If things look bad, he'll spirit me right out of danger. Big Sister is here to help you guide it in." Her smile brimmed with the deepest and darkest lust. "Because I want you to!" she panted.

These words made his blood run hot. There must have been some insidious magic at work, because for a moment it felt like not Matsumoto standing before him, but her twisted lover Gin. A mass of sick desires yearning to draw blood. A wild animal, a fox on the loose. This demon would hurt him if he didn't fight back. Hurt him badly, and then go on to do the same to someone else. Another innocent falling prey to her deadly wiles! Because a weak little boy couldn't man up and do what needed to be done!

Murderous lust throbbed in tandem to the ache of his battered body, screaming to find release. Attack! KILL! Plunge icy claws into her chest! Tear out her heart if need be! Revenge for the injuries inflicted on you! By all that's holy, that woman is literally ASKING FOR IT!

In that instant Aome no Raijū snarled. Thunder rocked the air, loud enough to deafen everything. And as the world went quiet around him, Hitsugaya took a deep breath.

He then turned his head and spat out a wad of blood.

"Not gonna happen!"

"Yes, it will, Taichou," she declared softly. The beautiful woman smiled as she wiped away a tear. "I will make you do it. Even if it tears your heart out, you are going to hurt me. Otherwise…"

"What?" he countered. "You'll kill me?"

"Someone will," she gave a gasp of near hysterical laughter. "You'll wind up dead, kid!"

This caused him to crack a smile. "There are worse things."

Matsumoto stiffened, face clouding over in sudden rage. "Are you that much in love with yourself that you can't take a little pain in your heart?! A heart's there to help you deal with the bad stuff, not avoid them! It won't break from a little trauma! What are you so scared of?! Think you're too perfect to descend from heaven to join the rest of us and make a mistake? Get over yourself and DO IT!"

She swept out an arm angrily. Lightning flowed over his limbs, intended to inflict hurt but not incapacitate. And it was awful. Like being attacked and torn apart from the inside out. The pain blazed so bright he could almost believe he wasn't going to live through it.

But Tōshirō kept walking. And after a while they stood practically toe-to-toe, him looking up at her steadily, while she gazed back wearing a look of utter contempt.

"What will you do," Matsumoto hissed, "if at the very moment you're about to deliver the deathblow to Aizen, he brings up an image of me? You really going to die for a fantasy?"

It was heartbreaking the way he smiled at her then. "Honestly, if that happens, I'll thank him. For letting me have one last look at you, Matsumoto."

The lightning had died out a while ago. But it was only right then that she knew she had lost.

Above them, Aome no Raijū opened its mouth and gave a great jaw-cracking yawn, as though bored by all this. The lightning beast then curled up in a ball, tucked both paws under its chin and closed its eyes. Slowly it began to fade from view. The skies cleared as it did, until finally there was just the two death gods together in a broken field of blasted flowers. Petals drifted through the air, white and harmless.

Rangiku knelt and rested one arm on her upturned knee. She studied the boy before her gravely. It had always been a longshot. Stubbornness was one of his most endearing traits. But maybe there was more than just being a thickheaded little brat at work right now? There were parts of every individual that made them who they were. And this right here might represent a fundamental aspect of Hitsugaya Tōshirō's personality.

He would never hurt the ones he loved. Not even if it killed him.

With that she withdrew his stolen scabbard and handed it back. "Thought you were more proactive than this," she informed him a bit accusingly. "Throwing in the towel isn't your style, Taichou."

He accepted it with a lazy shrug. "I don't always have to win."

"You could have had your moment of clarity a bit sooner, you know. I don't like torturing people."

"Right," the boy captain retorted glibly. "That's more Gin's thing."

She opened her mouth to issue a hot retort.

A flash of white came, fast as another bolt of lightning. Rangiku knew what this meant even as the spell seized hold of her, so that she could do nothing but cry out…

"GIN!"

It wasn't much. But it saved Tōshirō's life all the same.

He fell, rolling across the blasted soil in a desperate flash-step, snatching up Hyōrinmaru as he did. Coming upright, Hitsugaya jerked his sword around just in time to deflect a vicious sword strike. Another followed that he barely managed to parry. It passed over his shoulder, cutting through the armor to draw blood. He hissed in frustration but stood his ground.

"Doin' alright there, Tōshirō-kun? Yer lookin' a little pale."

Over a hundred meters away, Ichimaru Gin retracted his saber and stood tapping it on his shoulder with hand on hip. He looked extraordinarily pleased with himself.

The reason for that was obvious. In the cleared space between them lay Hitsugaya's left arm, severed below the elbow.

Taking advantage of this momentary respite, the boy captain tore a long strip off his own cloak and wound it tightly above the elbow, tightening the knot down with his teeth. Ice formed around the wound to seal it up. All the while, he kept angry eyes leveled on Gin. His nemesis seemed uncharacteristically willing to let him perform this much in terms of first aid. No reason to ask why.

Your bankai is depleting by the second.

I know, Hyōrinmaru.

There was no need to look at the petal timers at his back for confirmation. Two down, with a third well on its way. Even if he went all out now, there was no guarantee it would be enough to kill Ichimaru. But sealing the sword came with its own risks.

Still, better to have the option of resorting to bankai in the future than burning through his reserves now and winding up dead.

Ice prosthetics shattered, wings and tail unable to sustain themselves as he reverted to the less powerful shikai. But a dragon emerged from the sickle-bladed sword all the same, rising to hover at its master's back and fix red eyes on the sneering fox regarding them right back.

His final trial awaited. And this one might really be to the death.

So be it.

With that he flew across the field at Gin, blade aimed at his heart. The architect of evil stood his ground, whipping out Shinso to deliver a flurry of long-distance attacks. Hyōrinmaru interposed pillars of ice between them which served to decrease the speed of these sniper shots, but only slightly. Still, it allowed Tōshirō to alter his route, slipping past the extending blade as it returned to its fount. Thanks to this he was able to bridge the gap, and with a shout of pure loathing he swung down.

Shinso snapped back to dagger size and caught the strike on its razor-sharp edge. A deep boom resounded from the conflict of their power. Gin held the blade before his face one-handed as though to mock his opponent's recent incapacitation, smirking all the while.

As their swords strained against one another, Hitsugaya took this chance to ask a single question. "Where's Momo?"

The way Gin bared his teeth gleefully at this confirmed what he had known all along. Ichimaru had never known Hinamori Momo's whereabouts. He just used that to guarantee Hitsugaya would play his little game long enough to see the younger man dead.

They broke apart in a quick blaze of sparks. White robe flapping around him, Gin dashed nimbly across the plain with Tōshirō following in hot pursuit. When a wall of ice rose behind him at one lash of the icy familiar's tail, the fox spirit simply swept out his shikai in a blow that would have chopped down a whole forest, causing Tōshirō to duck and leveling the barricade in the process.

Tōshirō…

I know!

There was no other choice but to keep fighting, though the enemy had clearly planned this well. First Rangiku served to force him into bankai where he used up energy fighting her. Then the amputation took him unawares; not to kill, for Gin did not believe in letting his victims off so lightly. Instead the wound served to cost him strength. Even with limited field medicine, Tōshirō's blood continued to stain the ground, leaking spirit energy with every drop. Gin need only continue to press the fight until Hitsugaya had drained himself and could no longer muster a defense. Then the fox would cause even more pain, grinding down to the bone, until finally, the end…

Despite knowing this, Tōshirō gave pursuit, engaging the deadly swordsman without stop. He did not surrender. He did not admit defeat, even on the slight chance that groveling might be sufficiently humiliating for Gin to spare his life. Tōshirō Hitsugaya would never demean himself in such a way.

After all, he had his pride.

Some might consider this his greatest failing. Tōshirō liked to think he knew better, but past experience told a different story. He did indeed hold himself above the rest; perhaps not in the same way as other men, scorning their words and deeds in favor of his own. But putting his own decisions before theirs and reasoning that it was all for the best? Of this, he knew himself to be guilty. No law could hold him back when he made up his mind. No enemy was beyond the reach of his blade no matter how high they might stand. Once his course was set, he could not be balked by any force in Heaven or Earth.

And that was why this final foe truly served as his most arduous struggle. He didn't need to wonder what codename Rangiku had chosen for her partner in this little game of theirs. While not quite as well-versed in matters of mythology as some of his learned cohorts, there was only one being in all creation known to embody both limitless pride and unholy evil. An angel… nay, an archfiend, one who held his head so high above others that even crouched in the deepest depths of Hell, his overweening sense of self-worth caused baleful eyes to fasten upon the very throne of Heaven with selfish purpose.

The Deadly Sin of Pride: Lucifer.

Their battle continued apace. No spells were cast, nor further words spoken between them. Instead came only the clash of steel on steel. Tōshirō sought to limit the loss of his own depleted soul energy by not relying too much on manipulations of ice, which would prove costly to his already dwindling reserves.

A desperate thrust proved too aggressive, and upon sidestepping it Gin clenched one hand into a fist and backhanded Tōshirō across the jaw. He staggered, ears ringing, stamping down on Hyōrinmaru's chain to catch a stroke that would have taken his leg off at the knee.

Gin didn't seem to mind. He just kept smiling. Always that vile, bloodthirsty smile.

The ancient blades rang against one another. Ichimaru used the power of his shikai to good effect even in close quarters, changing the length of the blade to suit his needs so that Tōshirō never knew just what to expect. Up close it became a tanto dagger to block his swing with minimal effort, then a wakizashi scraping along his weapon's length to slice through the armor around his underarm. Blood now flowed beneath the enchanted cloth, threatening to cost him his grip eventually.

He stumbled back, and the rebel shinigami did not follow, dagger presented defensively before him, left hand hovering over the shaft with fingers spread wide, though he was missing two on that hand.

Thinking quickly, Hitsugaya decided to take a cue from his current lieutenant in terms of amputated limbs. He bent down and snatched up Hyōrinmaru's sickle, slapping it against the bleeding stump of his left arm. The chain wrapped around that half-moon blade for better purchase, and ice further encased it. Now equipped with two weapons and a makeshift shield, he once more sprang in pursuit of the sneering spirit.

Gin seemingly considered this development sufficient to change strategies, for he kept his distance. They were well matched in terms of strength, but smaller size meant Hitsugaya had a leg up as far as speed. To counter this, the kitsune turned once again to the power of his soul cutter. Shinso stabbed out from any length, sometimes impacting against his warding arm with the force of a cannonball, others feinting backward to cause him to defend against an attack that never manifested. In this way he kept the younger captain on guard, unable to draw close enough to so much as draw blood.

When Shinso next crashed against his sickle full force, the sword found itself immediately encased in ice, frozen against Hitsugaya's body. Rather than be caught like any regular weapon, the zanpakutō simply retracted with the same level of strength as its initial impact, cracking the snare and sending Hitsugaya stumbling off balance as it rewound only to come tearing back with a malicious hiss.

A wild stroke served to knock Shinso aside, but she came again, and again, fast as Rangiku's bankai and far more merciless. The tip grazed his shoulder, then succeeded in punching a hole clean through his ribcage before sliding out smooth as water. Hitsugaya felt his body contract instinctively around the wound, and he doubled over with a wet cough.

Gin gave a negligent flick of the wrist to remove any blood as his partner came back, then began to close in, sword arm extended to one side carving a path through the frozen field of wildflowers. The white robe flapped around his ankles.

Death approaches.

He hasn't gone bankai yet. That means we still have a chance.

I am prepared.

In a flash Ichimaru swung his arm up, and suddenly Shinso was the length of a redwood. Tōshirō twisted his torso, feeling the wind ruffle his hair as that lethal edge nearly took his ear off. But such a big move left Gin momentarily exposed. Hitsugaya took this opportunity, springing forward and delivering a blow that would cleave his skeletal nemesis through the collarbone.

But Shinso retracted with unerring speed to protect her master. Once again she was back at minimal size, permitting him to manipulate her fast enough to cross blades and save himself. His free hand then lashed out to seize Hitsugaya's sword arm by the wrist. When the captain countered by swinging his scythe prosthetic, Ichimaru struck fast, flipping his weapon adroitly to block the blow.

At the same instant, the now downturned blade shot out and impaled Hitsugaya clean through the foot.

Touching the blizzard mage's body even through cloth proved deadly cold. Feeling his whole arm go numb, Gin gave up on inflicting any further damage and let go of the icy youth, springing back to gain a measure of distance. He wiggled his limb to try and get the feeling back.

Meanwhile his opponent had no intention of letting up. Fighting the likes of Kenpachi Zaraki and his loopy lieutenant this last year had taught Tōshirō what his body could endure in terms of pain. Whereas before this accumulation of wounds would have overtaken him long past, now he could continue to fight without regard for any injury. And so, bleeding but undaunted, he launched himself at Ichimaru once more.

The fox demon grinned, and met his charge. Their swords rang…

Almost…

Blood sprayed from a cut on Hitsugaya's temple.

Almost…!

Shinso catapulted into his shield at close quarters, even stronger at this distance, knocking him away. He felt bone snap halfway to the elbow in explosive internal injury.

Hitsugaya landed hard but came back to his feet instantly, only to see another flash of white headed straight towards him. He prepared to defend…

NOW!

With a tired gasp, the Captain of Leopard Company dropped his guard and let the ghastly spear slide straight into his chest.

As Tōshirō crumpled to his knees, Gin watched the boy suspiciously but did not press his advantage. He had not been expecting the fight to be over so soon. Could this be a trick, an attempt to draw him in closer to perform some last-ditch suicidal assault? Considering the kid's real target was Aizen, he did not discount such a tactic as implausible. One should go to any lengths to kill your enemy, after all. Perhaps best to press down and carve him open first before…

GIN!

Startled, he called Shinso back to him. As she snapped into his hand, immediately a white aura around her stood out. An alarm triggered inside him such that he prepared to call on his trump card.

There was no time to summon bankai, though. For at that moment, Gin Ichimaru and his deadly weapon were completely frozen.

Across the way, the architect of this prison wasted no time. He leveled Hyōrinmaru at the serpent's head and raced to deliver a killing stroke. Trapped in ice, Gin could not escape. For this was an attack developed while under the tutelage of Shinji Hirako and the Vaizard, designed specifically for combating Aizen Sosuke. It could be used even in shikai, and in terms of fatality, was on par with any move he had using bankai.

Bōrei, the Flash Freeze.

When an enemy's blade entered his body, by concentrating every scrap of frigid power he possessed at that point, he could plant a bomb of sorts upon the blade which then latched onto it irremovably before detonating. The one limit to Kyoka Suigetsu's sense-altering power was a self-imposed one. No matter how or when he did it, Aizen preferred to let his opponents feel his blade entering their flesh, so they could better appreciate how thoroughly he had dominated them through his godly power. But that arrogance would prove costly the next time they met.

Pride. We all have it. Now both Aizen and Gin will take it to their graves.

Encased in solid ice, Ichimaru couldn't move, couldn't speak. He saw his enemy's approach, recognized the promise of death in his gaze.

Shinso fired.

Hitsugaya was not surprised by this. He had come in at an angle that kept him well clear of that horrific weapon's trajectory even if Gin did make a futile effort. The shaft leapt straight out, veering far wide of his approach.

And then it curved.

Only a fool would completely disregard such a weapon as this. So when it happened, Tōshirō was not taken totally by surprise. He was able to bring his sickle-shield up in time to prevent Shinso from laying open his throat. The impact proved nowhere near as strong as he had come to expect.

But it served the purpose of knocking him off balance. With the attack blunted, Shinso seized this chance to return to Gin's hand and fired once again. This time her journey was short, as she twisted once more to drive through the side of Ichimaru's open mouth, tearing it free in a burst of ice and blood.

As Hyōrinmaru lunged to run him through the brain, through shredded lips Ichimaru gasped, "Bankai, Makaiso!"

The stupendous release of spirit energy blew away both the Flash Freeze and its caster. Straining against what felt like hurricane-force winds, Tōshirō Hitsugaya screamed aloud, "Bankai, Daiguren Hyōrinmaru!"

Moments later he was aloft, flying in a circle over the blasted valley's remains. Wings and tail had returned, along with a new icy arm that flexed its claws as though alive. His full power came back as well, and with it the flower-petal timers letting him know how much life he had to live.

Staring wide-eyed at the sight below, Hitsugaya had to wonder if he would even get that long.

Where once there had been a level plain of frozen flowers without ornament, a new structure blossomed. This immense flower thrust out of the earth, a collection of polished steel knives interconnecting to form a multi-faceted spire. The world around them was reflected in endless viewpoints from all sides. Within this Cubist cairn of death, Gin Ichimaru crouched safe from all harm, protected by the power of his Hellish Spear.

I'm so high up. Can he spot me?

As if in answer, a sudden prick of pain appeared in his cheek. Blood bubbled up, not even enough to form a trickle.

Seconds later, the smallest gash opened on one ear. Hitsugaya reached up to touch it with a frown. He knew how Gin's bankai worked. Was this all it could manage from a distance?

As if waiting for this confirmation, his stomach split open.

Moments later Tōshirō Hitsugaya hit the ground on all fours trying desperately to freeze the wound and keep any organs from spilling loose. Even as he did his right ear came off to dangle from a strip of skin. When the half-dead youth looked up, he found himself staring at his own reflection in the spear fortress. And there standing next to him, with no indication that he existed otherwise evident, was the image of Gin Ichimaru.

'You die now.'

The madman's lips formed these words without any accompanying sound. So saying, Ichimaru raised his sword and plunged it through Tōshirō's back.

Even as he felt the new injury open up, Hitsugaya came to his feet with a scream. He swung his huge weapon at the place where Gin should be standing, as though the man were merely invisible. But when an equivalent gaping wound opened up where his sword's reflection touched Gin's, some measure of sanity reasserted itself, and no more did the captain send fruitless self-defeating attacks at the enchanted construct. He was caught in the spell of Gin's bankai, and any attempt to do harm would be turned back upon the wielder.

Tōshirō took a firm grip on his sword with both hands and closed his eyes. "Hyōten–"

He gritted his teeth as a phantom blade split one side of his mouth open, then another, giving him a Glasgow smile. Despite this, the blood-spattered soul managed to grit out, "Hyōten Hyakkasō!"

A hole in the clouds opened up through which snow began to fall. Tōshirō stood stock still, giving no notice to the many wounds both light and deadly opening across his body. One of his eyes was split by a blow that would scar him for life. A hamstring tore even as he felt his liver being punctured. Ghostly teeth took hold of his dangling ear and ripped it painfully off.

Yet through all this he made not a sound. And the snow continued to fall.

Drifting flakes finally caught upon the surface of Makaiso. Immediately they burst in wintery explosions, forming clumps of purest ice. At the same time, the exact thing happened to Hitsugaya. And still he did not move or speak. The process continued. His body was gouged and stripped, brutalized and vandalized as though a rabid dog were tearing at him.

More ice grenades dropped on both him and the spire. In doing so, they covered the reflective fortress, warping and distorting the images shown therein. Doing so seemed to inhibit Makaiso's power, causing some attacks to be shallow, or curve in strange zig-zagging lines over Hitsugaya's skin.

Emerald eyes snapped open to fasten on the mirror demon hovering near him, and he roared aloud, "There is a person I'm meant to fight, AND IT'S NOT YOU! GET OUT OF MY WAY, ICHIMARU GIN!"

The fractured views of their surroundings changed suddenly to form a closeup of a single huge crimson eye staring at him. It then traveled down to reveal a smiling mouth, whose bloody lips said, 'Make me, boy.'

At this point the snow fell too heavily for more to be made out. An instant later there came a blast of cold vapor. When it cleared, Ichimaru's bankai was entombed in a flower garden of refracting ice.

From within a smaller version of this prison, Hitsugaya slid out and stumbled off. His own cold power could not injure him even when turned back by Gin's magic, it seemed. Teetering on maimed legs, he took only a moment to study the buried structure.

Then he turned his back on that menace and sat down heavily. Crossing his legs, the snowy-haired prodigy flipped his sword and buried it point-first in the soil. His other hand now assumed the classic Taoist meditation position before his face as his one good eye closed.

He began to concentrate.

From out of the ground behind him a mirrored wall shot forth. Within its depths, Ichimaru examined the world before quickly locating his prey. The vicious fox spirit sauntered over a few steps to stand at his back. Hitsugaya took no notice of him.

To the surprise of anyone watching, Gin did not resume his sport. Instead he stood with arms crossed and a frown on his face. His eyes were closed again, and he fingered the handle of Shinso held loosely in the maimed hand. Was that trepidation? Could a creature like this, long used to death and pain, experience anything a sane person might recognize?

Casually, some might say warily, he reached down and pricked Hitsugaya's cheek with the point of his dagger. Blood beaded up to come sliding down. Gin touched a hand to his own cheek in search of damage.

When his fingers came away with no sign of injury, he grinned a foxy grin.

Hitsugaya saw none of this. He had already slid deep into a meditative trance. For eight years he had endured the torturous attentions of Lord-Commander Byakuya Kuchiki. This imposing and unapproachable man for some reason took it upon himself to oversee what he called Tōshirō's 'betterment.' Which involved daily meditation, lectures, examination of treatises, and just plain driving him nuts. There could be no doubt that the 28th Lord of the Kuchiki knew a great deal about spirits and what it meant to be a shinigami. But in terms of making his lessons interesting, his student found him severely lacking.

However, this did not prevent the young captain from grudgingly recognizing the worth of such exercises in terms of his development. He was not so proud as to refuse well-intended aid. As a result of this long tutelage, Tōshirō had come to appreciate many aspects of his power and himself that he might have neglected otherwise.

His knowledge of Hyōrinmaru deepened. He could draw upon aspects of the spirit that did not derive entirely from raw power and its application. There was more to death gods than being simple executioners and guides for lost souls, no matter how important those tasks might be.

One thing he had found most aggravating and bewildering of all was the concept of bare-handed absolution. Long sought after by mystics and those more inclined to esoteric topics in Soul Society, the idea was that a zanpakutō did not fundamentally function as a sword. Despite the clear amount of evidence to suggest otherwise, certain scholars and masters of the blade insisted it was possible to purify a Hollow or rescue a plus without even drawing blade from scabbard or casting any spell. By finding the true path of the soul cutter, they claimed, one could go beyond any notions of form and substance, whether your own or your enemy's.

An intriguing proposal, actually. It was said that a lone death god, having fully mastered this technique and regardless of how weak they may be in terms of spiritual power, could breach the defenses of a Hollow even should they be Menos Grande or any breed of arrancar, and purify the foul spirit instantly without so much as drawing their sword.

To his knowledge it had never been accomplished, and there was a brief list of crazies who made the attempt only to find their careers curt short in the belly of a hungry Hollow. But Lord Byakuya Kuchiki had completed the most comprehensive study of this concept to date. And according to him, it was not impossible. So the two of them had bent their efforts (one more eagerly than the other) to achieving such a profound principle.

Tōshirō had never come close to understanding what the concept of bare-handed absolution meant, much less pulled it off. But right now, he had absolutely nothing else to his name. No weapon in his arsenal could penetrate the enchanted protection afforded by Makaiso. If by some miracle he could successfully pull this off, it just might prove enough to win the day.

The miserable bastard was at it again. He could feel new injuries appearing. Resolutely Hitsugaya strove to focus past this, concentrating on the connection between himself and his guardian spirit from which all shinigami power flowed. He just needed to grasp hold of that nebulous concept for once! Don't let me die following the mad boring example of Byakuya Kuchiki, dammit…!

Even as he thought this, a new sensation settled over him.

For perhaps the only time in his life, Tōshirō Hitsugaya felt cold.

At first he thought it must be his own oncoming death. But with it came a sense of… weight, you might say. A force, pressing down on him, heavy and strong, penetrating his body down to its deepest foundations. Hitsugaya inhaled sharply.

Tōshirō…

I think… I think I'm doing it! Hyōrinmaru, do you feel…?!

Farewell.

There came a humming sound. And with that, Tōshirō Hitsugaya felt himself wrung dry. The world turned white before his eyes.

Next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor of a massive stone cavern.

When he turned his head, it was to find Gin Ichimaru struggling to his feet. The demented killer swayed for a moment, blood dripping down his chin. He began to tremble suddenly as though wracked by extreme cold. This sensation was clearly the only thing keeping him from going after Hitsugaya, if the look on his face was any indication.

Instead the kitsune spun about and howled, "RANGIKU!"

That was when Hitsugaya saw her, standing in the shadow of this temple's great idol. She was bending up from the miniature pagoda which housed their pocket dimension, whose roof had been removed to reveal a small black pyramid. An ebony cylinder stuck out of its side.

Staring blearily at this weird sight, a fact dawned on him. He had seen something like this before. It resembled the emergency safety measures deployed during lieutenant trials, when applicants faced off against captains like him to prove their mettle. Once activated, columns of deathstone would absorb the spirit energy of all participants. This was to ensure things didn't get out of hand and no one died.

Did she just…?

"You promised NOT to interfere!" Gin snarled. He staggered towards Matsumoto, still shivering violently. Perhaps the effects of Bōrei still lingered now that he had lost the protection of his bankai. Whatever the case, both he and Hitsugaya had been stripped of shinigami power for the time being. Shinso now settled back in its sheath, as did Hyōrinmaru.

Rangiku was the only one of them possessing any strength, and she turned to regard her lover with chilly neutral eyes. "It's over, Gin," she told him. "I'm not letting you two kill each other."

At this Ichimaru leveled a trembling finger back at Hitsugaya. "He failed, dammit. The kid FAILED! He couldn't kill me! That means he can't kill Aizen either! He doesn't stand a chance, just like I told you!"

"That's not for you to decide."

It was Tōshirō who said that, and Ichimaru whipped around to glare at him, eyes firmly shut but mouth worked in a snarl of hatred. The boy captain had climbed to his feet and walked haltingly over to retrieve his missing hand, which had joined them in dimensional travel. The ear took a bit of searching, but he found that too.

Now half-blind, gutted and severely mutilated, the broken youth turned to stand stooped over shivering with one hand pressed to his belly. The combat suit he wore had sealed up on its own, and might be the only thing keeping him from spilling intestines all over the floor.

But when Rangiku made to approach, he shook his head tiredly to forestall her. "No. No healing. You've done enough, Matsumoto." Then, perhaps to avoid any misunderstandings he added, "I'm grateful. But this is where we part ways."

She didn't appear to know what to say to that, and only watched him with sad eyes. From a pocket the lone warrior produced another portable gigai dispenser. Upon release, the faux body that came out was blank without a gikongan pill inside. But when Tōshirō slipped down into it, he arose completely whole, if somewhat naked. This gigai would serve to keep him stable until he could reach the urgent medical care he so desperately needed. The Kurosaki clinic seemed like a good place to start. No need for much explanation that way. He'd just tell them Zaraki got carried away. They'd buy that.

"Take care of Gin," he told her, wiggling his hand to make sure it was attached. Nice to be able to see again. "I'll go wait until you're ready to show me home." He then offered her a tired smile which she tried vainly to return. The sight of his injuries had been more than she could bear. And for that reason, he was alive.

Goddess of love, indeed. With that, he turned and walked away.

Ichimaru continued to glare poisonous daggers at him. But robbed of spirit energy, he posed no further threat. Matsumoto wouldn't let him do more anyway. That much Hitsugaya felt certain of now. It stood to reason that the emergency measures for the pocket dimension were added in case he looked likely to hurt her during their match. Gin was obviously standing ready to intervene if things looked dangerous. Perhaps he didn't know Matsumoto had a key of her own she was saving for just the same reason? Whatever the case, it seemed he owed her his life. Again.

Half-expecting a snide comment from Hyōrinmaru at this, he was mildly disappointed to hear nothing back. It would take a little while for their strength to return sufficiently for communication. Well, that suited him just fine. He had a lot to think about.

The trials were over. So Hitsugaya took the path that led out of here. Forever.

Behind him Gin watched the victorious youth leave. He made no attempt to follow. There was only hatred in every particle of his body, even when the woman he loved walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. A sudden twitch might have been him actually attempting to dislodge her touch. But in the end, he could not bring himself to do so. Not to her.

He looked at her before slowly shaking his head in disgust. Rangiku then took his arm and guided him back about towards their living quarters.

As she did, his lip twisted in a snarl, and Gin abruptly vanished.

Hitsugaya took a step…

A shadow skittered across the floor, faster than anything.

… for some reason, his body felt a little heavier than before…

Even as he thought this, a dagger pierced his heart.

"NO!"

He heard Matsumoto scream, and then Hitsugaya Tōshirō's life flashed before his eyes.

Growing up, with Granny and Momo. Watching the other children play without him. Bidding Hinamori goodbye. Taking his farewells of Granny as he left to join the Academy. In less than a year, he was commanding a division. Then came Gin, and Matsumoto. Aizen. All his subordinates. The name of Rukia Kuchiki on everyone's lips. Her judgment. The ryoka. Ichigo Kurosaki. Aizen's betrayal. Grimmjow's pack. The Autumn War. Losing Momo. Victory. Renewal. New life…

The gigai crumpled to the floor, but its owner remained standing, now in spirit form. He looked behind him carelessly, as though not even aware what had been done to him.

Pale blue eyes stared furiously back. They reminded him of a Hollow for some reason.

The tanto dagger jerked free, and Tōshirō collapsed to the ground.

"YOU LUNATIC!"

A vicious slap saw Gin pitching down to join him a second later. The knife clattered away, and he covered his face with both hands, teeth gritted against the pain as Matsumoto swooped down.

"BASTARD!" she screamed, slapping him over and over. "YOU FILTHY BASTARD! YOU KILLED HIM! HE WAS MINE! HE HAD A LIFE! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"Rangiku," he gurgled through a broken jaw, "You're killing me."

She froze, hand raised to strike him again. Without shinigami power, the only strength Gin could lay claim to came from his Hollow heritage, which was nowhere near what Rangiku could produce. But even that had been sufficient to…

This reminded her of what lay behind them. With a furious sob she let him drop and turned to crawl desperately over to where Tōshirō's body lay. He was dressed like a shinigami, with the white coat of a captain bearing the emblem of Leopard Company. Hyōrinmaru remained strapped to his back. Even the hand and ear he had lost were reattached, though only superficially.

Only the blood leaking from nose, mouth and chest served to tell her Tōshirō was dead.

Uttering a horrible moan, Rangiku Matsumoto pulled the body of her former captain into her lap. She cradled his head in the crook of one arm like a mother holding her child. Tender fingers brushed over spiky white hair, touched his face, his lips.

Half-lidded green eyes gazed vacantly back.

Eventually there was no point holding on. She had to let him go. Carefully, reverently, Rangiku shut the boy's eyelids and laid him down upon the floor. She took the handkerchief from her arm and used it to clean the blood off his face. She might have stayed there longer, just watching him, fooling herself into thinking this wasn't real. But that was a lie.

Upon standing up, all Matsumoto said was, "I'm sorry."

After this she turned and strode off. There were things that needed to be done.

From his place on the floor, Ichimaru watched her go. At last the former Hollow rose to pursue his one true love. He spared not even a glance at Hitsugaya's body in passing.

---

He lay on the ground, staring up at leaden skies.

It was gray here. And peaceful. The dragon was with him. Just like the first time. Its name was Hyōrinmaru. He knew that now. They were in the same place as before. With the dragon watching over him.

I am here.

He didn't know how to respond. So he said nothing.

All is well.

The winged spirit lifted its fanged snout up to the sky. Now they were both staring at the sun. A cold, white sun.

He watched it.

The sun is a circle. But there's more to it. If it only came a little closer, I could tell.

Without warning, the great orb loomed over them both. Huge. All-encompassing. Incredible.

It's big. Like I thought. And round. But it's empty too. Not a circle. A ring. I see now.

The sun was indeed a ring. And when he looked closer, he could tell what formed it. Dragons. Two dragons, growing and twisting into each other's mouths, like they were swallowing one another.

Their eyes turned to look at him.

We've been waiting, little one.

As have I.

Our last master still lives. He might be in for a shock.

I know only one master. But he need not have only a single weapon serving him.

It ended badly before. So much we almost thought about giving up.

I am grateful you did not. With your strength, he might stand a chance.

It doesn't usually work like that, you know. We aren't passed down this way. But you asked us to stay. And, well, the three of us together… seems rather fitting, wouldn't you agree?

Yes. It is.

We might not survive. With what we're up against, well…

That is precisely why we must destroy them.

Then we're agreed. Only one thing left to do. May we…?

Please do.

The pair of dragons then let go and turned their open maws to him. In response, his dragon flew out to hover before them with a graceful bow. One approached his head, the other his tail.

He knew what they were going to do. Before they could, Hyōrinmaru looked back down at his master.

Say my name.

He did.

Good. And now…

The dragons swallowed him.

They began to glow anew. Brighter than before. Something was being created. A new sun. But in its heart, there was a shadow. No, not a shadow… a person.

A woman.

The lady was dressed like a queen. She sat with hands clasped over her stomach. Sadness. That's what he felt when looking at her. She seemed so very sad.

Her eyes opened, and she looked at him. A fond smile made that tragic face glow.

'I know.'

Her hands stretched out.

'With eyes that never saw. With ears that never heard. With a mouth that never spoke. With hands that never touched. Only a heart, beating. All this I give to you. With a mother's love.'

She touched him then.

'A mother's love…'

And he took a breath.

---

It came out as a scream.

This sound rocked the mountain in which they stood. Ichimaru spun around, as did Matsumoto. It went on and on, building, shaking the walls and floors. With it came a force that sent both of them stumbling back and saw Gin go to his knees. He scrambled up, haggard and shaken. His eyes were wide open, and he could not believe what he saw.

Icy gales swept forth in waves of awesome power. They reminded him of monstrous souls like Yamamoto or even Aizen, the ones who could crush you without even meaning to. It all emanated from Tōshirō Hitsugaya, who had risen to his feet. As Gin watched, he saw one hand draw the nodachi longsword from its scabbard. But now there was something engraved along the blade; a drawing of a dragon, undulating all along its length. Hitsugaya held the weapon before his face and turned it, revealing an identical etching on the other side.

As he did, his lips twisted in a snarl, and Tōshirō abruptly vanished.

Gin took a breath…

A god flew across the room, faster than anything.

… for some reason, his body felt a little lighter than before…

Even as he thought this, a sword pierced his heart.

It felt that way. Because nothing could make him so terrified as the realization that Rangiku had leaped to interpose herself between them.

She stood before Gin with arms outstretched, breathing fast and hard while the point of Hitsugaya's blade hovered unwavering a hair's-breadth from her throat.

"Don't!" the golden-haired beauty gasped, tears leaking down her cheeks. "Don't kill him!"

The boy standing before her looked like Tōshirō Hitsugaya. But he did not feel the same, whether in terms of strength or familiarity. There was much more, frighteningly so. And his eyes were darker, almost…

Then Hitsugaya blinked, and his face went back to normal.

His sword dropped to the ground, knees buckling as it did. Rangiku caught him before he could fall. They held on to each other, arms clinging for warmth and verification that the worst had not truly happened.

Behind them, Gin could only watch. And wonder.

---

Once Hiruko was securely tucked in bed, Rukia stole down the hall to stand at the doorframe where father and son were having a little talk.

"I wasn't trying to scare her," Kujaku said as he sat in his father's lap.

"I know. But you shouldn't talk about ghosts so easily with people," Ichigo replied, patting that smooth black head. Ever since being shown a painting of Nii-sama when he was that age, their firstborn had insisted on wearing his hair in a bobcut. It made him look like a little noble child from out of Japan's history. This and other peculiarities had left their son a target of youthful teasing from his fellows.

Until now, Ichigo had convinced her not to take the matters too seriously. But had Hiruko not already done what she did, Rukia might have been tempted to even worse measures against those vile mortal children.

"I knew her brother was mad at me. Him and his friends tried to fight me at recess."

"They did?" Ichigo glanced at Rukia, silently asking if she'd heard about this. She shook her head no. "So what happened? Did they hit you?"

The boy looked down, black eyes narrowing in a frown. "They didn't know karate. I could tell. So I just blocked them without fighting back. I thought if I just didn't let them hurt me, it would be okay." He twisted uncomfortably. "But then they…"

"It's not your fault," Ichigo assured him quickly. "Hiruko's okay."

Jaku raised pleading eyes to his father. "But you got mad at her! If I hadn't… maybe I ought to have hit them! To scare them!"

"You did not receive the training you have to abuse others, Shotoku," Rukia interjected with a measure of reproach, using her son's real name as she did only when making a point.

"And if everything goes to plan, you're never going to have to fight."

Ichigo said this half-jokingly, but apparently it was not what the boy wanted to hear. He sat up wearing an insistent expression that was rather like his Uncle. "I can fight! I can protect Hiruko like you did Aunt Karin and Yuzu!"

"Nope." Ichigo wore a merry grin as he deposited the boy back on his bed. "Never gonna happen."

Jaku scrambled over to tug insistently at his father's elbow. "Yes!"

"Nu-uh."

"YES!" Pulling with all his strength, Kujaku still couldn't make him budge an inch.

"Okay," Ichigo suddenly relented.

The boy paused, his face brightening. "Really?"

"No." And with that he began to tickle his son, drawing glad squeals and struggling.

With a smile, Rukia left them to it. She was tired, but there were still the books to go over. Running a business in the mortal world could be quite taxing, no pun intended. There were bills to pay, her staff required renumeration, and the necessary expenses involved were nothing to sneer at. Fortunately their little shop ran a brisk trade, and Ichigo had finally begun looking for work outside the kendō dojo. His boss made him agree to stay on part-time, partly because she recognized he had no more desire to quit than she did. This much he agreed to.

Hopefully it would not take long for something to turn up. She had grown concerned at seeing how quick Ichigo was to lambast himself of late. His recent admission that it felt as though he was failing to provide for his family proved deeply troubling. When they were out on patrol together, cleansing the odd Hollow and seeing restless spirits laid to rest… that was when any concerns seemed to lift, and he behaved like the outrageous rogue she had first fallen in love with.

But for all his phenomenal abilities, Ichigo Kurosaki was still a mortal man. He had a life beyond the world of the living, true, but there should not be any impression that it held greater appeal than the one he was born to. Even a shinigami could appreciate that.

Some time spent in the kitchen going over their finances assured the young businesswoman that they had nothing to fear, at least for the immediate future. The recent conversation with Nii-sama also served to offer a measure of reassurance. Her family in both worlds was doing well. Soul Society remained at peace. The Halos would soon be empty, allowing all former residents of the Seireitei to enjoy their new afterlife accommodations.

Considering her current thoughts, it was rather ironic when a hell butterfly took this moment to come flapping through the ceiling and head straight towards her. Surprised, Rukia lifted a hand for it to alight upon. Now who could be contacting me at this hour?

'I'm upstairs.'

Her body gave a painful start.

'The hallway storage closet. We need to talk.'

The insect courier flapped away, but Rukia did not move a muscle. She sat in her seat, cold sweat dripping down her ribs and eyes wide with horror at the implications. Of all the nightmares her life held, this was surely one of the most awful. And now it had become real.

Swiftly she came back to her situation. Drawing a gikongan dispenser from her bathrobe, she popped a pill, rejoining the world moments later as a full-fledged shinigami.

Rukia then turned to the artificial soul inhabiting her body. "Guard the children," she ordered. "If anything happens, get them outside fast. Go to the Kurosaki clinic."

"Pyon!" Chappy saluted and wasted no time climbing the stairs.

Ready for whatever may come next, Rukia Kuchiki floated upwards to enter the second floor, eyes and senses raking the house for signs of further intruders. Nothing could be found. This in no way lessened her distress. Could she ever feel comfortable in this place again, now that it had been invaded like this?

No. I won't let him chase me out of my own home. That part of our lives is over.

The shinigami drifted over to the storage closet, past her own room where she could detect Ichigo abed sleeping peacefully. If necessary, she would wake him to deal with this threat together. Until then, Rukia resolved to face the enemy alone.

She came before the room in question, located right next to Kujaku's. Before entering, a quick examination confirmed the mirrors in her uniform were ready. Rukia never went anywhere without several on her person. One could never be too careful…

Once this safety measure was concerned, she stepped through the closed door.

It was a small space, maybe ten feet wide by fifteen long. Boxes of supplies were piled up atop each other. The lightbulb had burned out, but a spirit did not need illumination to see.

Other than this, the closet seemed empty.

Hand on her sword, Rukia took a step into the room, casting about warily. "I'm here. Come out."

"I am."

Rukia spun with blade drawn, and there stood Gin Ichimaru.

The silver-haired demon's lips twisted in a sneer at finding the blade leveled at his throat. With slow grace, he stepped past even as she turned to keep him in sight, never letting the sword waver from its target. Gracefully the former captain took a seat upon a stack of crates. As had sometimes been the case before, he gave off no spiritual signature whatsoever. Even the Stealth Forces would be hard-pressed to hide their presence to this extent. Were she not looking at him, Rukia might never have known he existed.

His eyes remained closed, but the smile had turned into a grim frown. "Glad to see you haven't lost your edge, Rukia-chan."

It had been nearly a decade since they last spoke. Not long enough… "Why are you here?"

There was no fear in her words; only cold contempt. It actually proved reassuring to Gin. Showed that he was not wrong in relying on these people, if only partially. They deserved his respect. Or at least, she did. And he had the scars to prove it.

To this end, he raised both hands palms up before her, letting his sleeves slide down to show he was unarmed. Ichimaru wiggled the fingers he had left, two of which were lost to the very same weapon being pointed at him now.

"I mean you no harm," he said.

The idea was preposterous on its face. Still, while she felt dread at the thought of this beast being so close to her children, it was with utmost assurance that she spoke next, "I told you before. We are done with each other. I want no more part of you."

"That's easier said than done, as I've had cause to learn," he pointed out.

Rukia frowned. Something felt very wrong here.

His accent.

What?

It's gone.

The sudden realization that this was true proved almost as shocking as anything else. Now regarding him with a new sense of mistrust, she suddenly wondered if this really was Gin in front of her. Looking at him sitting there, slumped with arms resting on his knees… he didn't give off quite the same level of menace she had come to attribute to this undeniably dangerous man.

In a move that would surprise many, including herself, Rukia let the point of her sword dip down towards the floor. She made no attempt to sheathe it. But even this level of vulnerability would have been unthinkable only a few seconds ago.

Will you hear him out?

In response the Kuchiki princess lifted her chin, in doing so gaining only a slight measure of height upon her seated nemesis. "Explain yourself."

Gin did not reply right away. His head turned, fingers twitching restlessly. At last, still seemingly absorbed in studying the logo on a box of candied snacks, the kitsune finally said, "I fought Tōshirō Hitsugaya."

Her eyes narrowed with fresh vehemence. "Is he alive?"

"Yeah."

One less thing to worry about. But the question remained: what was this all about?

"You didn't tell them about my bankai."

Rukia blinked at this statement. Reflexively one hand came up to touch the mirror held in her breast pocket. Seeing this, Ichimaru gave a short nod, as though confirming something. Then he simply said…

"Why?"

The truth dawned. Gin and Tōshirō fought, and at some point they must have gone bankai on each other. Whatever else happened, Tōshirō did not use a mirror to counteract Shinso's second release. Doing so would have left Gin without any defense, just as he had been the last time they clashed. Yet here he stood, alive and well. And he wanted to know why.

It was a question only she knew the answer to.

"I told no one how I defeated you," Rukia finally stated, keeping her deep purple eyes locked on his closed ones, "because as I said, I wanted nothing more to do with you."

He still wasn't smiling. If anything, Gin looked completely confused for the first time she could recall. Like he couldn't fathom what she was trying to tell him. His mouth opened slightly, but any words failed to come out. That silver head dipped. A shiver passed over him as he stared at the floor. Neither of them moved for a while.

There seemed little left to do here. Coming to a decision, Rukia cautiously placed Sode no Shirayuki back in its scabbard. Gin gave no sign of noticing this. She turned to leave, hesitated for a moment, but when the man made no attempt to stop her, she turned her back on him altogether.

"Why didn't you kill me?"

Rukia stopped. Memories arose: a lone shinigami sent to recover the means by which their world might be saved, only to find herself trapped with an all-powerful madman bent on causing as much pain as he possibly could. Swords clashed, spells were cast. Despite her best efforts, all hope seemed lost when the killer activated his bankai. Only the unexpected advantage offered by a gift from a dear friend served to save her. In the end, the shinigami stood poised to deliver the final blow to this loathsome creature whose very existence seemed like a cruel cut into her life.

Her blade was stilled by a voice from beyond the grave, and the revelation that even monsters had things they cherished above all else.

Rukia's eyes drifted closed at the memory, and her breath came out in a sigh of frozen mist.

"Sode no Shirayuki… stopped me."

Gin stared at her uncomprehendingly until a sharp suspicion pricked him.

Did she…?

Yes.

At receiving confirmation from Shinso, that crouching fox seemed to cringe.

Feeling a vague apprehension at confessing even this much, Rukia turned to make one thing abundantly clear, only to come up short in surprise.

Ichimaru was looking at her. His eyes were open. And they were bright blue.

She stared in disbelief. Once before had Rukia indeed observed this sight, but over time she convinced herself it was a mistake in memory, or some effect caused by him being trapped in his own bankai.

No smile. No accent. No red eyes. The person before her was not the one she knew.

While the Kuchiki noblewoman gaped rudely, Gin rose to his feet.

"You and I might not be quit of each other so easily," he told her. His eyes narrowed in annoyance at this admission, but he continued on. "And your son is trespassing in the minds of some very dangerous people. But what he learns there could ultimately prove to our benefit. There are secrets only he can unearth."

Gin turned away. "If you want to win, don't discount our aid."

With that he slipped through a wall and was gone.

Several minutes later, Rukia finally got ahold of herself sufficiently to head out too. She resumed her mortal shell, assured Chappy that all was well, and soon after joined Ichigo in bed after confirming the children were asleep.

Curling up beside him in her nightgown, she slipped an arm around his warm body for comfort. As awhirl as her head proved to be after that experience, one might have thought sleep was a long way off. But in just under a minute, she was slumbering peacefully alongside him.

---

When Kujaku Kuchiki dreamed that night, he did so with purpose.

There were many dreams to visit, a selection he never previously made any effort to control. One was as much fun as another usually. But now he had a different goal in mind. Not to run from the ugliness, the scary things that left him trembling in the dark upon awakening. Don't run! Be brave! Seek out fear, and face it down!

What do I fear?

Almost immediately there rose a weird ululating cry that sent panic surging through him. For as long as he could remember, this was the source of all his dread. But now he also exulted at the possibility.

There! That's it!

The boy moved in pursuit. He jumped from one set of dreams to another, like playing leapfrog. Father punching out an endless line of ugly bullies who all had the same face. Mother and a woman so alike they must be sisters dancing through the snow. Cousin Noboru balancing on one leg atop a high pole in the middle of raging waterfalls, right across from a short fierce lady with long black braids doing the same, only she was naked.

It's louder that way! Gotta follow it!

Kujaku ran in pursuit. Saijin Komamura looked up in surprise from tending his garden of Hollow heads as the boy went tearing by. "Wait!" the Dog-Man shouted, but he couldn't stop. Up ahead loomed a wall, a low black wall topped by raging stormclouds stretching all the way to the horizon. If he could just climb over the top…!

The determined dreamer jumped. However when he touched the black wall, it was to find nothing there, and he simply fell through it, plummeting down into the endless void.

At first he feared falling forever. But gradually the darkness closed around him until he realized it was a tunnel. Images flashed by, far too many to make anything out, along with a rushing noise like churning rapids. Kujaku focused on the howling, but it had grown faint. All he could hear now was…

Laughter.

The light at the end of the tunnel appeared. He shot out to find himself hanging in thin air over a white, lifeless plain of dust, rocks and holes. Above stretched the black sky studded with tiny stars. And there was the Earth, looming vast and menacing overhead.

There was no sound but the laughter, weird and warbling. Kujaku looked to the source, only to spy a parade of people. Hundreds of them, they marched along chanting and beating drums without making any noise. All carried staves and had strange helmets that curved forward over their heads, but beneath their cloaks wore the black robes of shinigami. One man sported a large white shield with symbols on it connected by a rope to a rod.

In the midst of this procession, on a large cart pulled by chained Hollows, stood a gigantic spear bedecked with ropes.

Kujaku followed the crowd until they crested a rise, and saw the source of the laughter. Chained to the ground by string, giggling and straining fit to burst, there sat a gigantic evil wolf. It was so big he couldn't believe it could really be alive. But its head was a white mask just like the Hollows, and it thrashed about while tearing its own flesh only to heal instantly.

At last the procession reached their destination, encircling the imprisoned creature at a safe distance. The mighty spear came to rest right in front of it, and the Hollows were purified before their executioners rushed back out of range. The wolf smacked its teeth at them, presenting the hole in its mouth as though daring anyone to walk in. Drummers increased their pounding to a fevered pace. Those chanting did so even harder until spittle and blood flew from their mouths.

As they did, the ropes on the spear snapped. They lit up in trailers of fire. Suddenly where the weapon had been there now hovered a tremendous bird made entirely of flame, flapping its wings slowly. The demon wolf laughed even harder upon seeing this and began pounding its head against the ground like a call to battle.

The phoenix dove forth. Its beak pierced the wolf's mask right between the eyes. Instantly they were both enveloped in a column of white-hot fire that rose up into the sky so high it became lost in the glare of the sun.

When it died, the spear lay flat on the ground, and the wolf remained unharmed. Only the cracks in its mask were new, a spiderweb of faint crisscrossing lines. It sniffed, glanced around, then uttered a mournful howl before flopping down and going to sleep.

If Kujaku was disappointed to not see the firebird win, its followers were devastated. They wept and threw themselves on the ground. A few even drew knives and slit their own throats. Those who seemed in charge conversed, and at their command, the hundreds of remaining shinigami joined together and picked up the fallen spear, which they then carried back the way they came along with the shield.

Nothing could be heard but the ragged breathing of the wolf. It giggled sometimes but did not awake. The only remaining observer was just wondering if he should follow the departing shinigami, when movement caught his eye.

All around the wolf, dust shifted. When Kujaku looked closer he realized something was sprouting. As they grew larger it became more apparent what they were. Tiny clumps of hair. Jagged splinters of bone. They twisted and wound together, forming dozens of little shivering refuse that seized upon one another to become even bigger. A few of them got enough bone fused to form what looked like tiny masks which became more distinct as they ate, mewling and crying out in voices as jagged and broken as themselves.

Then in between one snore and the next, the wolf screamed, "I S-S-SEEEE YOU-U-U!"

At first Kujaku thought it meant him such that he nearly turned tail and ran. But doing so reminded him of why he was here in the first place, and he resolved not to.

This proved wise, because he was not the wolf's target at all. Instead it craned its head around and began sucking up the hairy clumps into its hole of a mouth. They shrieked and tried to run, but could not get far before their cannibal sire consumed them, stretching up to his full height and twisting around in gross body contortions that enabled him a full range of motion all the same.

Kujaku stared in horror. He could hear them all shrieking now while the wolf just laughed. Oddly enough, though all the clumps looked alike, he found himself focusing on one in particular. It was small, one of the littlest he could see. And as it hobbled and lurched clumsily away he could almost hear its faint voice, whispering…

… not… me…

He followed its flight, flopping towards one of the largest surviving conglomerations which looked almost human. This disgusting form stretched out his hands, and a dark swirl began to open before him. Desperately the hairy masked figure looked behind where the wolf howled and barked in delight. It was so close, just a few more seconds…!

Uttering a snarl, the hairy man drove his claws into the void and wrenched it open. There was barely enough room for him to squeeze in. But just as he began to do so…

With a shout of joy, the wolf spun about and took notice of them.

… not ME!

As the hairy man was about to leap to safety, the smaller one dove forward and slammed into him, knocking its larger brother off balance. It then looked back in terror as its mad parent dove forward laughing.

NOT ME!

Uttering an ugly cry of terror, that small mass of bone and hair flung itself into the dimensional hole. Behind it the hairy man was sucked up with a despairing curse. None of the others made it through before the entrance closed behind it.

TAKE THEM AND NOT ME! TAKE THEM AND NOT ME-E-E-E-E!

They fell together down the hole, Kujaku and the creature. Its bone parts started to pull together into something that looked like horns or maybe antlers. To his disbelief the boy thought he recognized this thing, but just before he could speak a name…

Its terror proved too much, and it woke up, ending the dream.

Komamura was the closest to them, and so he went back there. Kujaku saw his old guardian waiting with brawny arms outstretched which he floated down into. Saijin caught him to settle on the ground. "Where did you go?" he demanded.

Panting, Kujaku lifted his head and beamed. "The beginning."

Together they went to a large dog-water-amusement park to speak about what he learned.

---

A knock came at the door to her hut, and when Granny went to answer it she was immensely pleased to find Tōshirō there. "My dear!" she exclaimed, and gave him a glad embrace. "I'm so happy to see you!"

"Hi, Granny," he said tiredly while returning the hug.

"Come, come, you're just in time for dinner." She turned and went happily bustling about the cottage. Her young charge seemed about to speak, thought better of it, and went to take his seat at the table. In no time there was a simple yet savory meal prepared for both of them. Granny might have gone on fussing and offering to get him something more to eat, but at his insistence they both sat down to enjoy themselves.

"Are you alright, dear?" Granny asked at one point when he didn't seem to be eating much.

Tōshirō looked up from his plate with a distracted expression. "How do you mean?"

The old woman settled her bowl of rice on the table. "I just think you look a bit drawn. Did something happen recently?"

Tōshirō stared at her.

Eventually he shook his head. "No. Not really."

This quiet declaration did nothing to soothe her protective urges. "Are you sure you've been eating well enough? They've not been asking too much of you, have they? You're still a growing boy. You need your rest!"

At this a smile quirked his lips. "I've been sleeping, don't worry. I take a nap whenever possible."

"Well… that's good."

Still troubled, she turned back to her fare. They sat in silence for a while, the flickering of a paper lantern adding warmth to the hut as outside the sky darkened into evening.

"Granny?"

"Yes, dear?" She reached over to help herself to some pickles.

"Who are you?"

The chopsticks froze over the bowl of vegetables.

When Granny finally looked at him, it was with so much fear he wanted to just drop the topic and claim again it was nothing special.

But the time for such things was in another life. A past life…

"You always told us to call you Granny," he said, favoring her with a gentle smile he could only hope would assure her he meant no harm. "Me and Momo both. And I believe you when you tell me that you don't know where she came from."

Tōshirō then took a deep breath and cut to the heart of the matter. "But I never asked if you knew where I came from, or even where you came from." There were tears in his eyes at seeing how frightened she remained. It was hideous, putting someone he loved through this. Still, at last he asked, "Granny, what's your real name?"

Her toothless mouth opened and closed, skinny frame shaking so hard he doubted any words could come out.

It was with an effort his Granny finally said, "I am… Shirabe…"

---

Most of the manor's servants knew the Head Matron only by her title. She oversaw all the admittedly small staff and the large house's upkeep with an attention to detail matched only by her courtesy. A stout, middle-aged woman, none could ever call her a beauty, though some of the functionaries remembered her as a timid, polite young thing brought into service at the express wish of their master. Despite certain suspicions as to the reason behind his allowing this girl into one of his many homes, it soon became clear she was no mere bedwarmer, but a tireless and productive worker determined to do good by all. For this reason none were shocked at her eventual rise to head of the household maids. But that was several centuries in the making.

For her part, Shirabe knew herself to be blessed. Others in her past could not count themselves so fortunate. And though she lived in fear every single day, the protection of her master served to allay whatever demons still troubled her, at least in the daylight hours.

So when the lord of the house paid an unexpected visit on them one day, and called her into his study, the Head Matron was horrified to hear his proposal.

"But Master…!" she gasped, twisting the apron between her hands, black hair coming undone from its bun in her distress. "That poor girl! Think of what he might do to her once they are…!"

"I know how you feel, Shirabe," he spoke gently, calming her with his words and soft brown eyes. "But I assure you, the son is nothing like the father. It's the whole reason this will actually work! I've made certain of it." He rose from behind his desk to approach her. "And you are the only one I can trust with this. No one else could be depended upon to understand why it must be done, and why it's so important."

That wonderful, beautiful man laid his hands upon her quaking shoulders, his usual good cheer dimmed by a sad frown. "We do this for the sake of the dead. If I'm proven wrong, I will see to the girl's safety myself. Of that you can rest assured. They will not harm her. But if you truly feel that you can't do this thing, then I will not insist–"

"No."

Her body still trembled, but a new fire crept into her voice when she said, "No, Master. I agree with you that this must be done. I only hope…" Tears nearly choked her next words. "… that I am strong enough not to disappoint you, or the honored dead!"

They laid their plans together then.

A few nights later, a party was held on the manor grounds.

This was rather unusual. Never before had the master held such festivities under this roof. He had other dwellings more suitable for ribald affairs. As such the normally sedate and precise staff were somewhat harried seeing to the needs of their guests. But they were all seasoned professionals, servants of the nobility, and they understood what was expected of them. So the party went off to great acclaim, thanks in no small part to the tireless actions of the Head Maid, who made sure to coordinate all aspects of the affair with a vigor that belied her age.

Wine flowed. Laughter and good cheer abounded, while unbeknownst to the partygoers, a determined woman waited in the wings, her heart hard with hatred.

At last a sign from her master confirmed it was time. Shirabe then went to an expensive cabinet and unlocked it with a key she held. She withdrew a platter of several stoppered flasks containing expensive liquor from the Plum Creek Mountain brewery.

Taking a deep breath, the determined maid slipped back into the press.

She moved with grace born from lifelong attendance to the elite, slipping unnoticed through the merriment and weaving past drunken bodies. They took no notice of her presence, as was proper. And soon enough Shirabe spotted the target. She drew closer, surreptitiously edging around some swaggering partygoers, and as they neared one another…

Shirabe pretended to stagger, and bumped violently into the man, sending the drink he held crashing to the ground.

"My apologies, good sir!" she exclaimed and bent to begin hastily cleaning up the mess, setting her tray beside her. "Please forgive…!"

"You miserable pig! How dare you!"

She cringed as the angry man turned the full force of his wrath upon her. At the same time, his wife strove desperately to draw that vicious abuse her way. "Husband, please," she begged, "It was only a small misstep. Pray, let me get you another drink and…"

"Watch your mouth, woman!"

Cringing, Shirabe retrieved her platter and stood trembling as the brute began to viciously vituperate his wife before the whole embarrassed party. She knew nothing would be allowed to come of it; the master would step in should things not go according to plan.

But, as he so unerringly predicted, that did not prove to be necessary.

"What seems to be the problem, Sakezuki-san?"

"This is not your concern, Shiba!"

Their target had taken the bait. The trap was sprung.

After a few moments of posturing, the bully and his long-suffering spouse made their departure. He snagged a flask from her tray on the way out, but Shirabe had anticipated this and deftly maneuvered it to ensure he did not take one of the special bottles by mistake. No telling what a cad like that would do under the influence of such stuff.

Moments later her master made his appearance, draped in finery and loudly acclaiming his praise of their young hero. Before leading the other man off, he plucked a bottle from Shirabe's tray. She made certain it was correct this time. Their eyes did not so much as meet for an instant as that lovely soul went swaggering away.

And now it was her turn to depart.

Shirabe headed back towards the kitchens, pausing to give orders to her fellow servitors. She caught a maid with empty hands and passed off the platter, instructing her to go back and begin serving their guests, but not before palming two of them inside her sleeves. After that she headed off to quickly see to their disposal.

These cursed drinks had to be destroyed before anyone else could partake of them. No evidence must be left behind. The master himself would make sure to handle the third, but these were left to her. Sweating and chilled but victorious all the same, Shirabe bent all her thoughts upon this task.

It was for this reason she turned a corner and nearly ran into another man, though not on purpose this time. One of the bottles fell from its hiding place in her sleeve, and she felt her heart lurch.

"Careful, there!"

Before she knew it he had caught the ceramic flask as it was about to hit the ground. Relief settled on her as she realized this. "Oh, begging your pardon, milord!" she gasped, furious with her own clumsiness. What if he tries to drink it?! I have to–

"No worries." The man rose smoothly upright. He then held the flask out to her with an untroubled smile. "Here you are."

Behind square glasses, chocolate brown eyes twinkled merrily.

Shirabe accepted his kindness without saying a word. The man didn't feel the need to wait for further apologies, though, and instead strode past her down the hall.

Behind him, the Head Maid stood very still.

It can't be…

Tears flowed down her plump cheeks.

It can't be!

Still clutching the wine, she turned and stumbled like a drunkard back towards the party. Eventually reaching the hall, Shirabe peered around the corner of one sliding door, ignoring any queer looks afforded her by passing staff at seeing their superior behaving in such an odd manner. A few took note of the liquor she held, and chalked it up to the Head Maid taking the chance to sneak a few sips on this bright and festive occasion. Such a thing was not unheard of in their line of work.

Shirabe cared nothing for idle gossip. Her attention was reserved entirely for a tall, handsome man with curly brown hair wearing the robes of a shinigami. A wooden badge emblazoned with the symbol of the Fifth Division adorned his arm. All this combined would have been more than enough to attract the fancy of any woman, no matter their age.

But the only thing she cared about was his eyes.

"Aizen!" a man with long yellow hair in a captain's haori hailed the person in question. "Come over here and settle something for us, will ya?"

"Be right there, Taichou," the one called Aizen responded in much more polite fashion. The spectacles he wore flashed, momentarily hiding the gaze behind them.

His eyes sparkled. They shone. They gazed out laughingly at the world. They were the eyes of a child. She had last gazed into them before handing him off tearfully to his mother. Afterwards Shirabe turned tail and fled, which prevented her from witnessing the gruesome murders that followed.

Not Aizen. His name is not Aizen, you fools.

He is Sosuke Takuiyoku, the rightful Lord of that house. And I am his servant.

She had been entrusted with the infant nobleman's care from birth. Seeing that bright happy soul, how could she not love him as though he were her own? When the House of Takuiyoku fell, the final victims of the Manor Wars, many of the servants died as well. But no one bothered to count mere footmen and housemaids. Far more important to confirm the tally of noble dead, whether by their own hand or another's.

So when Shirabe fell into the care of Shunsui Kyōraku, it was a simple enough matter to hush up her past history and see the young maid ensconced at one of his estates where she could fade from view and no one need remark. After all, many lives were lost in the past few decades, and transition of staff between houses was commonplace. Such a thing raised no eyebrows.

For four hundred years after the fall of the Takuiyoku, the dutiful maid played her part. Master Kyōraku had delivered the terrible news of her mistress' death and the brutal execution of young Sosuke along with his father and the rest of the clan. All done at the behest of the King of Soul Society, who sought to cover up his own involvement in fomenting the terrible Manor Wars that claimed so many lives. In the land of the dead, death hung over every step she took.

At first, Shirabe hardly cared whether or not she was discovered. Just a servant, after all. She had played no part in that tragedy. And at times, she found herself thinking it would have been better had she died with the rest. The thought that all these people were going about their daily lives in a world built on the corpse of a wonderful child and his gracious mother seemed far too sick a joke to bear.

But the joke was on them. Because he survived. Right there stood Takuiyoku Sosuke, the boy she had doted upon and adored from his very first breath. He was alive!

And she… had betrayed him.

Serving the very system that cast him into obscurity, butchering his whole household and seizing their prized possessions to gloat over as if they had a right! He lived, yes, but for how long?! If anyone found out, if they learned the truth… they would kill him for real! Murder him as assuredly as they did his father, mother and siblings! She knew, she knew! And they must never find out!

Half-mad with grief and shame, the Head Maid slunk away from the party, all the light in her world left back in the form of that solitary shining man.

---

He had arrived late to the party. And thanks to this, while crossing the courtyard of Shunsui's estate, Captain Jūshirō Ukitake heard someone weeping.

Even over the raucous festivities going on nearby, his ear detected that sound without fail. A part of him wanted to ignore it. Just go on ahead, join the gay debacle, try desperately to hide the burning shame he felt down to his bones. For it had happened again. Once more, Unohana had borne the wrath of their leader, Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryusai-Shigekuni. And for this he made her pay.

As was the Old Man's will, Jūshirō was also in attendance to observe the resulting beating and attend the battered woman afterwards. But per the norm, she had no need of his help. A worthless gesture, like so much else in his life. Unohana saw to her own recovery. She might even show up at the party herself with absolutely no marks of the terrible injuries that had been inflicted on her not even an hour past. This secret they shared, with no gratitude toward one another whatsoever.

It was this driving sense of guilt and self-loathing that encouraged Jūshirō not to ignore further evidence of pain on the part of another. And worse yet, it sounded like a woman. So resolved to not pile even more disgrace upon himself this night, he stepped off the path and went peering about the bushes in search of that sound.

At last he came upon a woman seated by herself heaving deep, wrenching sobs. It took a moment for him to place her. This was Shirabe, a fixture at the estate for many centuries. She ran the place on Shunsui's behalf. He had greeted her a few times when paying call, but that was as far as their relationship went.

Nonetheless every scrap of comfort and compassion went into his voice when he said, "Shirabe?"

She didn't seem to hear him. After a brief debate on how best to proceed, the captain chose to sit gingerly beside her. His fine-boned hand settled on her knee. There were two bottles of rice wine lying on the grass beside her. Had she been drinking? That was very odd. This must be bad indeed.

He tried again. "Shirabe, it's me. Whatever is the matter, dear?"

His voice finally reached her. The woman came about, flushed with red-rimmed eyes blinking miserably. The first sight of her let him know this was no mere case of alcohol. There was abject misery in every line of her face, such that his heart went out to her even further.

Seeing another woman in pain served to wring his heart with pity. "Come," he offered gently. "Tell me what's wrong."

He had hoped to be of some help to her. But once again, his efforts were futile. Shirabe only paled and shrank in on herself, despair transforming to fear in an instant. "No!" she whispered.

His chest constricted with pain. "I…"

And Ukitake spat up blood.

Moments later he was doubled over on the ground coughing wretchedly. Seeing him in pain, Shirabe momentarily forgot her own troubles. She bent by the sickly warrior's side, holding his shoulders for support as he coughed and hacked up an alarming amount of gore. Any thought of going inside for help was swiftly discounted for fear of somehow alerting the partygoers to the risen saint in their midst.

So instead she held onto the possibly dying man. When his spasms became worse, Shirabe knew even greater distress. What could she do? At this her frantic eye alighted on the bottle of brandy. With only the thought that drink might serve to ease his pain somewhat, she snatched it up. Helping him once more to a sitting position, she popped the lid and placed it into his hands.

Ukitake recognized her intent. Though in truth, alcohol could offer little comfort to his affliction, it sometimes served to lessen the symptoms. No reason to turn down such kindness. And so, wiping blood away with one sleeve, he steeled himself and took a great swig. It nearly choked him, but resolutely he forced it down even as the quality liquor burned his throat like fire.

The shuddering ceased. Feeling a bit more in control of himself, Jūshirō turned tired brown eyes to the woman hovering at his side. Not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded in gratitude, to which she smiled back in relief.

There was still sorrow in that face, though. It was this that encouraged him to hold the open flask out, inviting her to take a drink. Blinking away tears, she sniffled but accepted the offer. Halfway to her lips she paused, as though trying to remember something. But then another sob shook her, and without thought she threw back the bottle, swallowing half its contents in one gulp.

Shirabe coughed violently and covered her mouth. Mercy, but this was strong!

Wait… oh, no…

Even as she thought this, the flask suddenly grew warm in her hand, as within the manor, Captain Shunsui Kyōraku whispered a spell that activated the subtle curse laden on every drop of wine in those bottles.

Looking at this previously unremarkable woman beside him, Jūshirō Ukitake suddenly experienced the strangest sensation. There was a haunted beauty to those plain features that stirred something within him, letting him know that he might serve to dispel the burden she so heroically labored under should he only have enough courage to make the attempt. Uncertain as a schoolboy with his first love, he reached out and brushed the back of his hand gently over her cheek, caressing the tear-streaked skin in hopes of finding her open to the comfort he offered.

At his touch, Shirabe looked over and felt she had never really appreciated this man until now. He was not just a god, a noble or even a legend. He was beautiful, and in need. She could see the pain he sought to mask from the world, manifesting in the horrific illness that laid him low before her eyes. Her heart went out to him for all the suffering he must have endured over the centuries. No man should be made to bear such tragedy alone!

The wine fell from her hands. She reached forth to bring that moonlit god's face closer to hers. With smiles of such warmth it melted the heart, man and woman kissed before drawing one another gently down to earth.

---

Shirabe awoke first, and realized what must have happened. After disposing of the wine as originally intended, she knew there was no other choice but to flee.

No note was left behind. When Kyōraku was informed of her disappearance the next day, her longtime master sadly attributed it to the guilt she must have felt at participating in this admittedly sordid affair. For this he blamed himself, and so made no effort to seek her out for fear of tearing open those wounds any further. For better or ill, the plan had succeeded.

The disappearance of the Head Maid proved a topic of far less interest to the household staff than that of finding the lovely Jūshirō Ukitake asleep in a tree without a stich of clothing on. All agreed to keep this matter private, though not without a few blushing giggles from the maids.

As for the Head Maid, she collected what savings she had on hand and fled into the wilds. Or rather, the First Ring, which was the safest of all outside the Court of Pure Souls. Shirabe doubted her ability to survive anywhere less civilized than that. Her only desire was to bring as little harm to the people she loved as possible. And short of death, this was the only way.

Being a lifelong resident of the afterlife, Shirabe at first could not understand the strange weakness that began to settle over her a few weeks later. At first she thought it must be an illness of some sort. But upon seeking out medical advice, the physician informed her that what she experienced was called 'hunger,' a plight most often attributed to mortals. For the regular souls of the afterlife, such a thing was unheard of. Only shinigami and those possessing spiritual abilities were supposed to know want. All others could count themselves fortunate that there was one less toil they were required to suffer in the heavenly confines of the Seireitei.

So Shirabe purchased food for herself. This proved helpful. Until the hunger came again, and she was forced to eat more. And more. And more and more.

When she began to gain weight, there seemed no cause for concern. This was reasonable. But after a time, it became clear to Shirabe that the consumption of food was not the cause of her expanding form, but in response to it.

For she was pregnant.

Months of isolation and fear followed. Her savings were stretched thin, and then exhausted. She took to foraging in the woods for food and learned to grow what fruits and vegetables she could. Odd jobs allowed her to afford the luxury of meat on occasion. But it never felt like enough. Whatever was growing in her demanded so much, it sometimes felt as though it was going to swallow her whole.

In spite of this, Shirabe felt no resentment for that hungry life. It was a child, much like little Sosuke had been. And she would see to its wellbeing in a way that had not been possible for her young lord. Perhaps he would be pleased to learn of it, though she could not see that ever happening.

One day out of nowhere, she was approached by a stranger who nonetheless sought her aid. He had a child with him which he begged Shirabe to take into her care. At first reluctant, he promised payment in return for her continued services. And for the sake of both her unborn child and this one, she agreed to accept the babe. The name she decided to give her was Momo, much like the orphan child of legend who sprang from a peach and had high adventures.

The monthly infusions of gold proved invaluable, for as her delivery date drew near, Shirabe found herself possessed of a near limitless hunger. While seeing to little Momo, she could not help but gobble down as much food as she could spare. This was made all the more troubling when it became apparent that her tiny charge also demanded sustenance. Could she be a shinigami as well? There was no way to tell, and so the devoted woman endured hunger like she had never known for the sake of that little girl.

When her time came, Shirabe called upon a local midwife to help with the delivery. Despite this, she nearly died in the attempt. It was like the baby sought to draw as much strength from her as it possibly could before they were parted. She prayed this meant he would be a healthy child, even should it cost her own life. Even this much the former maid was willing to do for the ones in her care.

The mother survived, and so did the baby. She named him Tōshirō, in honor of his father. Tōshirō Hitsugaya.

Thus began the twilight of her life. They were good years. The children grew and played together. Momo was a treasure, and her 'little brother' became the light of his mother's life. Early on, she decided to let no knowledge of his ancestry be known to him. And so she had them call her 'Granny.' The strenuous pregnancy and birth had aged Shirabe greatly. In under a year, she went from the appearance of advanced middle-age to doddering decrepitude. Her hair turned white, and she had gained so much 'baby fat' as to render her unrecognizable. Over the first century of her children's lives, much of that weight disappeared. The result of caring for two such extraordinary spirits, no doubt. This, too, Shirabe accepted without complaint. Her own needs came second to theirs. Always.

Despite being nearly the same age, Momo appeared to grow noticeably faster than Tōshirō. Why did not prove readily apparent. But many people misjudged their relationship as a result, assuming that the girl was much older. 'Granny' let them go on thinking as much. She raised her children with all the love they so dearly deserved.

Momo could have a terrible temper sometimes, especially when the neighboring villagers treated Tōshirō differently over his white hair. It distressed Shirabe to see her beloved boy so ostracized for something that he could not control. Yet he survived. A long life was the best thing she could hope for both of them, safe from harm.

But as time went on, Momo began to argue for joining the ranks of the shinigami. Initially Shirabe would hear nothing of this. They argued to the point where Momo turned that legendary temper on her at times. She could not reveal her real reasons for opposing such an idea. Where Momo went, Tōshirō would follow. And once in the deadly confines that lurked behind those high walls, who's to say if the secret of his parentage might not come to light? What if they turned on him? What if questions asked led back to her, and she was forced to divulge the terrible secret she alone knew? That Sosuke Takuiyoku lived, and no doubt sought to reclaim his due.

But over time, another thought occurred to her. Rather than posing a threat, what if the children's entrance into the Academy served as divine providence? Perhaps they were meant to find Sosuke and join him as his defenders! Was it madness to think they might be of aid to him? Perhaps her beloved children could protect the hidden Lord Takuiyoku, ensure his own happiness, and more importantly survival. There could be no greater blessing imaginable, that her son might redeem his mother's disgrace and serve as a defender of the true order!

So she let them go, with her blessings.

The three of them met. How could they not? Shirabe was thrilled to hear Momo wax extravagantly about the magnificent Captain Sosuke during her visits. How wonderful it would be to finally reveal the truth! She prayed fervently for the hour to finally come.

One day, without warning, she came upon Lord Takuiyoku himself in her home. At first she was overjoyed, thinking he had come to inform her he knew of her service and wished to thank her. But soon it became apparent he had no idea who she was. So with nothing left to offer, Shirabe sang the lullaby that once served to rock him to sleep. This he took and left.

The experience was humbling. Worse was yet to come.

Lieutenant Momo Hinamori and Captain Tōshirō Hitsugaya were both nearly killed by a renegade shinigami called Aizen Sosuke.

When she learned of this, Shirabe could do nothing but weep. For once again, the heavens had proven themselves false. A joke. A cruel, spiteful, malicious jest. Her son, vowing to kill the lord to whom she owed her allegiance. What sick god could find such a thing funny? Shirabe wished dearly that she had died before ever living to see such disgrace.

But she lived. On and on, she lived.

Because Shirabe had hope. So long as they were alive, she hoped for some sort of miracle that would save both the son she loved and the boy she raised. There had to be a way. There had to…

---

"Please…"

Granny was weeping in his arms as Tōshirō stroked her hair.

"Please," his mother gasped. "Please find a way, Tōshirō! Please save him!"

"I'll try, Granny," he murmured back sadly. "I'll try."

He did his best to make her believe, and Granny appeared convinced. If only it didn't sound like such a lie, he might even have fooled himself.

Arc 7: FIN