Well guys, here we are with another chapter. Not much for me to say this time around, so lets get right to it. I eagerly look forward to hearing your thoughts on it!

Thanks once again to Greatkingrat88 (for writing) and jcampbellohten (for being our Beta)

Bleach is owned by Tite Kubo and Shounen jump. Fairy tail is owned by Hiro Mashima and weekly shounen magazine. I own NOTHING. This is all just for fun.

Ichigo had, after being briefly introduced to the visored- whose names he had most of them already forgotten- before Shinji had demanded he get into shinigami form. Ichigo had done so, and then the visored had grabbed him and marched him to the middle of the warehouse. The floor was worn, but surprisingly clean, and it bore some obvious marks of spars: cuts, scratches, and pieces of floor torn up.

"Um, Shinji?" he said, as the blond man stopped, the blond man stopped, letting go of Ichigo's arm.

"Sit," the visored commanded flatly.

Hesitantly, Ichigo sat down cross-legged, his hands resting on the ground. Shinji did the same, opposite of Ichigo, staring into his eyes. He was a relatively creepy sight, but compared to the visage of a hollow's eyes, his face was downright pleasant to look at.

"So, what now?" Ichigo asked. "Do we-"

"Do you always talk this much?" Shinji said. His tone was a mite harsh, but the way his lips curled into a slight grin showed his tone did not match his mood.

"I… yes?"

Shinji shook his head. Around them, Ichigo noticed, the other visored had formed a circle, standing some ten yards back each.

"Well, I can't say I can't be a chatterbox, myself," said Shinji with a shrug, "but what's next ain't going to need too much talking."

"What's next?"

"Oh…" Shinji said, tapping his chin, "you ever been to a gym, kid?"

"Sure," Ichigo said, "but that was a while ago."

"Imagine bench-pressing twice what you can handle, and if you can't do it, you'll get your head cut off. It'll be sorta like that."

"…Way to give a student confidence," Ichigo muttered.

"Sarcasm," Shinji noted with a grin. "A good sign. Let's see if we can't beat it out of you."

"Beat me? Is that what's coming?"

"Well, you'll beat yourself, I guess."

Ichigo grunted. "Can you just tell me what we're going to do?"

"You're gonna bring out the hollow, dumbass," said Hiyori, whose name had remained in Ichigo's memory mostly for how foul of a look she had given him.

Shinji nodded. "That's right. You relax yourself, and let it come out to play."

"That- that's crazy!" Ichigo said, revulsion rising in his chest. The idea of giving that loathsome beast any control of his body, voluntarily no less, made him want to crawl into a hiding space and never come out.

"We need to get an idea of what we're dealing with," said Shinji.

"Aren't you some kinda experts?" Ichigo demanded. "Can't you just-"

"You don't hand your car to a mechanic without him having a look under the hood, kid," said Shinji. "We will help, but we gotta know what the thing is like. You'll be safe enough."

Safe enough didn't feel safe enough to Ichigo, and he hesitated.

"Look, if you need our help, then you gotta work with us. Otherwise, you can see yourself out the door. We got this under control," Shinji said flatly. He was not a very charismatic person, quite unlike the slick charm of Urahara Kisuke- but then again, thought Ichigo, a bit of blunt honesty was better than charm.

"I mean… it'll take over."

"If it takes over the moment it gets a bit of wiggle room, you're lost already," Shinji said with a shrug, "and if that's the case, we'll just save ourselves the time and cut your head off here and now. So, what's it gonna be, kid? You wanna live, or you wanna become a monster?"

Ichigo swallowed. "You… got this under control, right?"

"Sure," Shinji said. He gave a nod to his companions, and as one, they each pulled out a blade. He'd noticed they had swords- were they zanpakutou?- and if he'd felt uneasy before, seven swords at the ready didn't really make him de-stress.

"How…" Ichigo started, staring nervously at the swords. Hiyori grinned at him maliciously, and somehow Ichigo suspected she would be the first to strike him if things went wrong.

"It's like reaching into your zanpakutou," Shinji said. "Well, except in a radically different way. Just think of how it happened last time, and… let it happen."

Ichigo took a couple of deep breaths, forcing himself to calm. He felt a sense of panic approaching as he thought of the times the hollow had tried to seize control of his consciousness. To lose oneself, to lose control… it was like throwing oneself off a cliff. Now it seemed, ironically enough, that saving himself meant doing something that would normally be suicidal.

Forcing himself every step of the way, Ichigo relaxed, reaching into the darkest part of his mind, where he knew the wretched thing lay. He let his reiatsu rise, and as it grew, he forced himself not to focus, not to fight against it. A great darkness rose up into his mind, and a chill passed his spine. Ichigo wasn't sure what part of these sensations were in his head and what parts were actually real; his vision blurred and…

"At the ready, Shinji!"
The voice, loud, firm and masculine, snapped Ichigo out of what had been a kind of trance. It was the short-haired, muscular man, hand on his weapon.

"I got it, Kensei," Shinji said. "What, you think I'm sitting here, falling asleep?"

Ichigo looked up, and realized he couldn't move his right arm. Just moving his head felt like moving it through tar; he had to strain just to do anything. His right arm, he saw, had gone white. He raised his left arm to touch his face, and across the right side, he felt thick bone materialize, slowly creeping across his cheek, toward the bridge of his nose. He was losing control of his body, and he breathed rapidly, trying not to panic. His power was fluctuating, going up and down out of control, but steadily growing greater and greater. He closed his left eye, and the world looked… different.

"Shinji, I-" he burst out, fearing he might lose control of his tongue any moment.

Shinji immediately brought a clawing hand down over his own face, his hollow's mask materializing in the same instant. Shinji's yellow eyes stared into Ichigo's, and Ichigo breathed even more quickly, feeling panic mount. Seeing them up close, the eyes of a beast, as another beast was trying to eat his mind, it was nearly enough that he broke. Fear threatened to overwhelm his senses.

"Focus!" Shinji demanded, but his reverberating, unnatural voice did nothing to ease Ichigo's state of mind. "Focus, you little bastard!" he insisted. "Focus, or we'll cut your head off right here and now!"

Ichigo breathed, almost shutting down, almost hyperventilating. But, as the seconds went on, he realized that his hollow, which had until now been triumphantly creeping its influence across his entire body, had… stopped. It wasn't giving any of its control up; his body was not any easier to move around, but it wasn't gaining ground either.

"It's working, isn't it?" said Shinji through the mask. "It's seeing a bigger, badder monster, and it's gotten cautious. That's basic hollow nature, Ichigo. They don't like a fight they're not sure they can win."

"That- that's not helping much!" He spat the words out, struggling to talk. The earlier comparison hadn't been off; the strain really wasn't unlike an unbelievably heavy weight on his shoulders. "What now, huh?"

"Shut your mouth and let me see," Shinji said. Ichigo stared into the yellow, menacing orbs of his mask, the eyes filling up his entire vision. It was a frightening thing to look into, and knowing they kept his own hollow in check for the time being did not make it any easier.

"Hachi," said Shinji thoughtfully, "what do you make of it?"

"You are the one looking into it," said Hachigen gently, "but as far as I can tell, it is an exceptionally powerful beast. Left to its own devices, I would at the very least expect it to be on the path toward becoming a Vasto Lorde."

"That's if it ain't already at that level," Shinji muttered. "It's younger than ours, but real strong."

"I concur," said Rose. "It's a wonder this young man has lasted as long as he has."

"Urahara s-said… it has been… dormant," Ichigo said, breathing short, quick breaths as he forced the words out, "but when- when I got my powers, it, it- awakened."

"You're a real curious case, you know that?" Shinji said. "Well, I think I've seen enough. Take the mask off."

"You gotta be kidding, right?" Ichigo said sharply, outrage letting him momentarily control his voice fully. "The thing, it's in- in my head, I can't even move my arm-"

"You got one thing right," Shinji said, an edge to his voice, "it's in your head. All in your head. The only thing stopping you from taking charge is you. It's your body. Make it move."

"How the hell am I su-supposed to do that?" Ichigo said, feeling the hollow's malignant presence trying to creep through every part of his body, to take over…

"Raise your damned arm and rip the mask off," Shinji said flatly. "Do it now, and don't take too long, or I'll get your head cut off."

"That's it?" Ichigo said incredulously. "I don't even know-"

In one swift motion, Shinji pulled his own sword from out its sheath, and quickly he brought it down, stabbing its tip right through Ichigo's hand, through the hand that had gone white with hollow corruption. Ichigo screamed, pain radiating from his hand, yet he remained paralyzed, unable to move it.

"Feel that?" said Shinji. "That hurts, real bad, 'cause it's your hand. It don't belong to him. It's yours. If it wasn't, would you feel this?"

Lightly, he twisted the blade, and Ichigo cried out again with agony.

"You crazy asshole!" he screamed. "You son of a bitch, what the hell kinda teacher are you supposed to be, huh? Shit!"

"Just a moment ago, you were stuttering," Shinji said, "couldn't move your tongue properly. Now you can. What's that tell you?"

Ichigo stared into Shinji's hollow eyes, hatred bubbling up in his chest. That bastard! That complete and utter bastard!"

"You're mad," Shinji said simply, "so use it. Get the mask off."

Ichigo took a deep breath, and focusing on the burning pain in his hand, he slowly raised his free arm toward his mask. He felt the hollow snarl and thrash inside his mind, flexing its mental muscles to try to stop him, but Ichigo pushed against it. His arm trembled with the effort, but it slowly moved toward the rim of the partially formed mask.

"It doesn't like that, does it?" Shinji said. "Now, what the hell are you waiting for? Get it off, or you'll be headless."

Ichigo's face twisted into a mask of anger and determination, and he grabbed hold of the mask's edge, and began to pull. It felt impossible at first, like lifting a boulder, like it wouldn't budge no matter what. But as he looked Shinji in the eye, as he saw the menacing eyes of a predator, as he felt the pain radiating from his hand, his mind became a narrow thing. Single-mindedly focused on this one effort, he began to pull, and slowly the mask began to give, prying off his face by just a centimetre.

"Tick, tock," Shinji said, and twisted his blade again. Ichigo grit his teeth and let out a loud, pained groan, but focused his mind further, pushing and pulling. Slowly, the mask began to give. Then, suddenly it ripped off cleanly, as if it had lost all of its weight in an instant. It clattered to the ground, and there it lay for a moment, before it began to disintegrate. Ichigo felt the hollow retreat back into his mind, back into the unconscious part of his head. Slowly, he felt himself regain control of his limbs.

"'Atta boy," said Shinji, and pulled his blade free. Ichigo winced, groaning with pain again.

"You asshole…" he said, breathing heavily.

"Relax, ya big baby. Take a look, why don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

He looked down on the wound through his hand. The cut hurt badly, but before his eyes, it began to seal up, rapidly healing. As his hand grew into full, human colour again, so did the wound begin to heal, and within a minute it looked as if he had never been hurt at all, save for a light red mark on his hand.

"All hollows can heal well," Shinji explained. "Looks like yours is pretty good at it."

"Y-you knew that?" Ichigo stuttered.

"Wasn't sure," Shinji admitted, "but it worked out, so you can't complain, can you?"

"Listen here, you-" Ichigo began indignantly.

"Tomorrow at six," Shinji said, "and every day until you got this under control. Same place, same time, same training. No ifs or buts, no exceptions. Those are the conditions."

"You think I'm just going to… let that go?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Shinji said with a shrug. As infuriating as it was to admit it, he was right. "Tomorrow," he repeated. "Got that?"

"S-sure…" Ichigo muttered, standing up and rubbing his hand. It still ached, but not nearly as much as he thought it should. "What's next, anyway?"

"Hard part's over," Shinji said, standing up as well, dismissing his mask. "Trust me, from here on, it's going to be easy."

Ichigo saw the grin on his new tutor's face, and very much doubted that he was being truthful. Damn it all…

"My king!"

The voice rang out across the dark halls of Las Noches, and it did not do much to please Grimmjow. He was in as bad a mood as he had ever been, hatred festering in his mind. He had been treated for his injury by Szayel, if only to the point where the wound had been sealed; he did not trust the scientist any further than that. The stump ached, but not nearly as much as the humiliation he had to live with.

Stripped of his station. Humiliated in front of his peers. An arm lost, and… with it, power; he couldn't seem to regulate his reiatsu properly at all. He was at a shadow of his former strength, and the powers of his blade were beyond him now, the metal making for little more than a toy or a trinket.

"The fuck you want, Edrad?" he snarled at his one surviving minion.

Edrad fell to one knee, head bowed.

"My king, it gladdens me to see you alive," he said sincerely. "I had been told so many things by the others- that you were slain, or worse-"

"Shut the fuck up," Grimmjow said flatly. He felt fury rise in his chest, hotter and deeper than the resentment he'd carried with him since that disgraceful meeting. Edrad dared to stand before him, a complete failure?

"My king-"

"I said shut the fuck up!" Grimmjow snarled, grabbing the giant by the hair. "You have the fucking nerve to come to me after getting your ass beat by some third-rate shinigami? At least the others had the decency to die trying, you maggot!"

"My king-" Edrad tried, wincing as Grimmjow tugged at his hair.

"You say 'king' this and 'king' that," Grimmjow spat. "I don't feel like one. Looks like you picked the wrong master, dipshit."

"No, lord!" insisted Edrad. "I only ever wanted to serve you-"

Letting go of his hair, Grimmjow punched him across the face, sending the giant tumbling back. It felt good.

"You have the gall to come to me after failing like you did?" Grimmjow snarled. "I see you got yourself patched up- you like the comforts of Las Noches, don't you? Safe, secure places where you can get yourself healed, no sweat!"

"I'm sorry, lord-"

"You call yourself a hollow?" Grimmjow roared, and surged forward kicking Edrad in the ribs, again and again. The giant groaned and moaned under the assault, but made no effort to fight back- even in this state, Grimmjow would have outclassed him completely.

"You think you're worth being my subordinate?" Grimmjow shouted, swatting one of Edrad's arms aside, punching him in the face again. "You think you get to call me 'king', you sonofabitch? You're trash! You're a worthless piece of shit! You should have died back there, you useless good-for-nothing piece of-"

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez!"

The voice rang out across the hall, loud and clear, and Grimmjow paused, but not before giving Edrad another punch for good measure.

"Lanza," he snarled, turning to face the new arrival, "butt the fuck out. This is personal business."

"I'm making it mine," Lanza said firmly.

"Fuck off!"

Lanza shook his head. "First your disgrace, and now you're taking your failure out on your subordinate. You really are the lowest of the low, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow let out a joyless, wheezing cackle of a laugh.

"I bet you're loving this," he spat. "I bet you're kissin' Aizen's feet to get my spot, ain't you?"

Lanza shook his head. "This is disgraceful. I won't pass judgment on your failures, Grimmjow, but you will stop this at once."

"My fraccion, my business," Grimmjow insisted stubbornly.

"You have neither the power nor the rank to oppose me," Lanza said firmly. "I will not make this violent unless you insist, but if you choose to do so, realize that there isn't a single espada you could have a chance of defeating the way you are now."

Demonstratively, he put a hand on the hilt of his blade.

"You fuckin' upstart gnat!" Grimmjow snarled.

"I repeat," said Lanza firmly, "I will not let you continue, and you will not oppose me."

Grimmjow, frustrated and furious well beyond reason, reached for his blade and drew it, his face twisting into a mask of hate and aggression.

"If you think I'll let a little shit like you tell me what to do, you're sorely mistaken," he snarled, and took a couple of steps forward. Lanza drew his blade in response, but before Grimmjow had charged, a subtly authoritative voice cut through the air.

"Stand down immediately, the both of you!"

It was Neliel Tu Oderschvank, hand on her own blade, staring down the both of them. Grimmjow's sense of self-preservation fought with his urge to let his anger ride out and wreak havoc, and slowly, common sense won out. He lowered his blade, and shot her a hateful glare.

"You!" he spat.

"Lord Aizen has prohibited violence in the halls of Las Noches," she said firmly.

"Our 'lord' can go fuck himself!" Grimmjow snarled.

"I apologize, Lady Neliel," said Lanza, sheathing his blade. "I was only defending myself."

Neliel nodded. "I am aware. Nothing happened, so there will be nothing to report."

"Come to gloat, have you?" Grimmjow said angrily, determined to not be ignored. "It was you, you bitch- you did this!"

Neliel gave him a stern look.

"You did this to yourself, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez," she said, and shook her head.

"You know what I can't stand?" Grimmjow continued, almost shouting now, his temper all but completely lost. "It's the hypocrisy! I get bein' stabbed in the back, whatever. That's hollow life. But there the two of you are, kowtowing to that piece-of-shit shinigami, as if you're better than me, as if you ain't hollows! As if you ain't monsters all the same as me, as if you ain't slaughtered, cheated, deceived and killed over and over! As if you ain't climbed the same ladder as me! There you are, kissing the feet of some fuckwit who happens to have some bullshit magic we can't beat, and there you are acting like it's right! Like there's anything right in this world at all!"

He took a step forward toward Neliel, and Lanza put a hand on his blade, ready to draw.

"This world is rotten. We're all rotten. We're monsters, that's who we are, and you're denying it all. It's pathetic!"

Neliel shook her head again, slowly, a rueful look on her face. "You won't believe me," she said quietly, "but I really do feel sorry for you."

"BULLSHIT!" Grimmjow roared.

"I hope you'll do better," Neliel said. "I hope you'll understand. But we aren't monsters. Not anymore. I've done cruel and horrible things just like you, and I won't deny it. None of us had a choice. But we do have a choice now, and you've chosen to be a monster."

"It's how you are as a hollow," Grimmjow fumed. "It's how we gain our strength!"

"Tier Halibel, Ulquiorra Cifer and Coyote Starrk would beg to differ," she said firmly, staring him down fearlessly, "and you couldn't hold a candle to them even before."

Grimmjow gripped the hilt of his blade so tightly his knuckles grew white. He desired nothing more than to shove his blade through her damnable throat, to watch her eyes widen as the life drained from her, but he knew he couldn't. It would be suicide. As much as violence was in the nature of a hollow, survival was a prime directive none could ignore.

What was worse, he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Pfah," he snarled, slowly sheathing his blade with some effort- having only the one hand made it difficult. "Whatever, you stupid cow. You're all blinded by this Aizen, but it ain't gonna last."

"Good bye, Grimmjow," Neliel said, and there was no disagreeing with her tone.

"If you wanna tell me to fuck off, then fuckin' say it!" he spat.

"Alright," she said with a nod. "Leave. Now."

Demonstratively, he slowly turned around and shrugged, and walked away into the halls of Las Noches, muttering curses under his breath. He'd get them all for this, every single damned one of them!

Uryu left school the following day with a lump in his chest. At midnight, he had fired an arrow from the roof of his building, strong as he could make it. He had barely paid attention to any of his classes all day; he'd even gotten scolded for his distractedness, which was all but unheard of. Ishida Uryu was a model student; everyone knew that. But, today had been different. He had thought of nothing but the quincies, about his father's bitter confession, about his grandfather and the legacy of his clan, and about that brash, ridiculously powerful girl in full armour…

What would they be like? Would they be fanatical, zealous? Would they all be easygoing and non-serious like Bambi? Would they be a rowdy crowd of individuals, or a model group of cult-like adherents? Would they all wear armour, or was it just her?

A thousand questions big and small had plagued him from the moment he had fired the arrow, and he had barely even slept. As he left the school grounds, he felt like he was being eaten away at from the inside, like he had to know to sate some deep, primal desire.

It was no small relief, then, when he heard a familiar voice call out to him from a side-street.

"Hey, damsel in distress!"

It was the girl from before, wearing the same shit-eating grin, although not the same attire. She had foregone the plate mail for a jacket, blouse and skirt, which, despite its femininity, made her look no less assertive. Although, that might have something to do with the way he had seen her butcher four arrancar as if they were nothing.

"Miss Bambi," he said, trying to conceal his eagerness. Whether he was successful or not, he could not be sure.

"Don't you 'miss' me, kid," she said, rolling her eyes. "That's Prince F. Charming to you."

"Um…"

"The F stands for 'Fucking'," she added helpfully.

"…Right."

Well, she was much the same; he could be sure of that now.

"Well, what're you waiting for?" she said impatiently. "Follow me, already."

"S-sure…" Uryu said, taking a deep breath.

She took off like a whirlwind, leaving a surprised Uryu behind. In the second of hesitation before he followed, she'd gained nearly a hundred yards of edge over him, and he had to strain himself to catch up as he raced across rooftops and power lines well above the city's surface level. He soon found himself short of breath, and as he caught up with her, she shot him a grin.

As abruptly as she had started, they stopped, landing by the outskirts of Karakura, near a demolished building awaiting reconstruction. The ruins were deserted, not a soul in place- except for two distinct spiritual signatures, unmistakably quincy in nature.

"Was- was that- really necessary?" he huffed, as they landed by a set of wrecked concrete blocks, which had surely formed some kind of wall at some point but were now spread about in a chaotic mess.

"It was not," said a calm voice. Sitting on a block of concrete, as casually and smoothly as if it were a quality office chair, was a handsome blond man dressed in an elegant, stainless three-piece suit of pristine white. He looked to be in his late twenties, but Uryu felt as if he was much older than that.

"Bambi was just messing with you, really," said another voice, and Uryu turned to look. It was another woman, with long, flowing, pink hair and an elegant face. She wore a stylish brown coat, and unlike Bambi, she made a skirt look quite feminine, accentuated further by her considerable bust.

"Exercise is good for you, don't you know?" Bambi said irreverently. "A kid his age, still growing- he should be thanking me."

"Yes, your concern for the well-being of others is such a well-documented character trait of yours," said the blond man dryly.

"Bite me."

"Let's not be rude," said the pink-haired woman. "We haven't even introduced ourselves."

"Quite right," said the blond man. His accent was almost flawless; he spoke Japanese almost like a native, but Uryu thought he detected an accent- definitely European. German?

The man stood and approached Uryu, giving him a courteous bow.

"I am Sir Jugram Haschwalth, grand master of the Knights of Vanden," he said. He smiled, and continued, "Do not let my rank intimidate you. As Bambi may have shown, we can be quite informal."

"I am Paladin Meninas McAllon," said the pink-haired woman, and her voice was bright and soft, another strong contrast to the roughness of Bambi's general demeanour.

"Paladin Bambietta Basterbine," Bambi said with a shrug.

"I suppose you already know," said Uryu, "but I am Ishida Uryu, last of the Japanese quincies."

"Aside from your dad and aunt, right?" Bambietta said cheekily. "But then again, the last of the Mohicans wasn't literally the last, only the last in line… so I guess that's valid."

"…Just how much do you know about my family?" Uryu said tensely.

"Please disregard my subordinate," said Jugram. His tone was warm and welcoming, the kind that would put anyone at ease- which was why Uryu was certainly not at ease. "To answer your question, we know them well enough. We used to have dealings with them in the past."

"I want clearer answers than that," Uryu said firmly.

"You gonna let that punk shit-talk the grand master like that?" Bambi said with a grin. "I mean, I like his guts and all, but you'd never let me get away with that."

"Except that he does, all the time," Meninas said gently.

"He is right to ask. I am not here to lord over him, after all," Jugram said neutrally.

"Then why don't you answer me?" Uryu said, his eyebrows narrowing.

"You would know the truth?" said Jugram. "The truth is that the one who killed the last pitiful remainder of the Japanese quincies was me."

"And yours truly, too," Bambietta said, seeming to brighten at the memory. "Man, that was a good trip…"

Uryu balled his fists. "Then, what is this? Here to finish the job?"

"As I am sure you will have noticed," Jugram said dryly, "your father and aunt are both alive. Your clan was rotten. They kidnapped children- your cousins, specifically- in the delusional belief that giving these 'half-breeds' to us as a sacrifice would impress us."

"It didn't," Bambietta said, raking a thumb across her neck.

"We executed them because they had crossed a line, from vile and radical to truly dishonourable," Jugram explained. "I tell you this now, because I'd rather not keep secrets. They were slain because they earned it. Your father, your aunt, and you never did."

"Is it true, then?" Uryu demanded. "My father told me they were hateful, bigoted supremacists who despised normal humans as inferiors. He told me… so many things."

"All of them true," Jugram said, a look of slight distaste passing his statuesque features. "They were decimated after the last quincy wars, and even more so by the ravages of shinigami researches, and as a result they became isolationist and increasingly radical. I know not what your father told you, but I doubt it was a lie."

Uryu grit his teeth. "So, what makes you any different, then? And what do you want with me? Why did you bring me here, just to rub it in?"

"One thing at a time," Jugram said patiently. "What makes us different is our principles. We represent the Wandenritter, the holy order of Vanden. We were one of the great quincy clans once- the only one remaining, in fact. Our commitment is to honour; we would never willingly endanger civilians, nor would we use underhanded means in combat, nor have we forgotten that quincies exist to protect the world from hollows, not to rule over others.

"What we want with you is not the question. The question is what you want with us.

"We brought you here to give you the opportunity to learn of your heritage as a quincy. You are not our prisoner, nor are you indebted to us. We simply saw a fellow young quincy in need and deemed you of interest."

Uryu blinked, digesting it all for a little while. Jugram sounded sincere, and no threats had been made, explicit or implicit. Still, the man had just confessed to butchering a whole clan for being dishonourable…

"You know…" he muttered, trying to think of the right thing to say, the right place to start, "for a bunch of knights, you sure look pretty ordinary. What happened to your armour, eh?"

Jugram sighed. "I must confess that I feel rather naked without a suit of plate."

"Yeah, 'cause-" Bambietta cut in, but Jugram quickly cut her off.

"You will hold your tongue if your intention is to make some sort of rude remark, paladin."

"Aww, come on!" Bambietta exclaimed, although she did not sound too disappointed, and Uryu got a sense that this was part of their normal rapport. "You can't expect me to hear you say a word like 'naked' and not at least make a dick joke!"

"To answer your question," Jugram said, ignoring her, "we traditionally don our battle-plate only when on active duty. Right now, we need to blend in… so regular clothes, it is."

He sounded rather wistful; it seemed he really had quite an attachment to his armour.

"What's a grand master doing here?" Uryu said. "Surely I cannot be that important."

"It is true that a lower-ranked member could have come to perform the same mission without trouble," said Jugram, "but I find that it's beneficial to stretch one's legs every so often, to keep one's body and mind from growing dull."

Bambietta snorted. "He means being cooped up at the keep is boring as fuck," she said. "I mean, castles look super cool from the outside, but have you ever been inside one? They're drafty, damp, and half of it doesn't even have Wi-Fi!"

"It does, actually," Meninas corrected her. "You just keep forgetting the passwords."

"Screw passwords!" Bambietta huffed. "Why should I have to memorize it? Technology shouldn't be this hard, damn it!"

"…I'm not sure what to make of any of this," Uryu mumbled. "Only a month ago, I thought quincies were noble, and that I was the last one. Now I've learned they were terrible people, and that there are quincies left in the world… and I've learned just how weak I am. I don't even know where to start."

"You must have some question," Jugram said, "at least one question more pressing than any other."

Uryu thought for a second, then nodded. "I do. My grandfather. What was your relation to him?"

"He was a good man," Jugram said, and there was a sadness to his voice. "We were quite sad to hear of his passing."

"How would you know?"

"Your grandfather was once an honourary member of our order."

Uryu's eyes widened. "He was? He never told me- what happened?"

"We will speak of your grandfather at length later," Jugram said. Seeing Uryu's frustrated expression, he added, "Patience, young quincy. I would first like to know just what you know of the noble history of the quincies. What were you taught?"

"I…" Uryu said. He wanted to shout, to demand this strange grand master tell him immediately the full truth of his grandfather's past- but he was not in a position to make demands. Self-restraint won out, and he took a deep breath. "I know only very little, Grand Master Haschwalth."

"Jugram, please."

"Jugram. I… my grandfather taught me some of our history when father wasn't looking, but it was rather… mythical. I was taught we've existed for thousands of years, since ancient times. I know there were two wars between shinigami and quincy, apocalyptic conflicts that cost both sides dearly, but that we lost both times. I know the Knights of Vanden were part of the first, at least."

"The great Quincy Star Hosts," Haschwalth said wistfully. "I should not view such terrible wars with nostalgia, but their like will never be seen again."

"Star Hosts?" Uryu wondered.

"The basics, grand master?" Meninas suggested.

"Oh? Yes, quite right," Jugram agreed. "This is not something easily or quickly told. You are correct about our origins, although it is incomplete. Nobody knows exactly when or how it started, for our history in ancient times is as muddled as that of any other human. We know with certainty that humans capable of manipulating spiritual energy have always existed. We know with certainty that groups with abilities similar to ours have existed for at least five thousand years, as far back as ancient Greece, Egypt and Anatolia. Were they quincy? Not as we know the word today. Proto-quincy, perhaps. This, I cannot know for sure, as I am not a professional scholar, nor have I lived through more than a fraction of it."

"How old are you?" Uryu wondered.

"I was born Anno Domini eleven sixty-five, in what is now known as Poland," Jugram said sincerely, "twenty-five years after His Majesty, our king, was born."

Uryu's eyes widened. "You do not look eight hundred years old."

"None of us look our age," Jugram said, a look of slight amusement on his face. "It is one of the many benefits of our training."

To reverse age itself… the thought was staggering. To think that a living relic, a man right out of history, was sitting right in front of him, speaking as if it were nothing... It was baffling.

If it was true, that is.

"What happened?" Uryu asked.

"War," Jugram said simply. "We were challenged by the Gotei. You know the outcome. But, I'm getting ahead of myself."

"So… this is a history lesson, then?" Uryu said.

"So it seems. Is that a problem?" said Jugram.

"I don't know. I… I suppose I came here seeking strength."

Jugram nodded. "As I said, we will grant you what you want. If you seek strength, you will have it."

Uryu nodded. "Then, you can help me?"

"We can," Jugram said, "but are you sure you don't want to know more?"

"I… no," Uryu admitted, "I do want to know more."

It was true. It was a fascinating topic, one that had been a mystery to him his whole life. As pressing as the issue of power was, there was something irresistible about knowing where he had come from.

"From the start," he said determinedly.

"It is not a story told in one evening," said Jugram.

"As many as it takes, then."

The grand master nodded. "Well said, young quincy. From the start, then…"

"I told you, captain, you must return to bed this instant!"

Rukia had only just returned from her duties of the day, which had consisted of little more than patrols or guard duty- a stark contrast to the previous night's heavy action- only to hear the irritable voice of Kotetsu Isane chastising her brother in a way that would have made the noble dignitaries of house Kuchiki pale with bafflement.

"I am quite fit for duty," she heard her brother's calm voice insist. Rukia sighed, and entered her gigai, which had been stored in the hotel room's closet while she was out. Orihime had healed Momo and Erza both, and had only had enough left in her to restore Isane, who had been prioritized on account of being the team's medic. This had left Rukia's revered older brother with several severe stab injuries, which by the sound of it he wasn't taking seriously enough. Quietly, she walked toward the master bedroom where he slept. The door was open.

"You are not fit for duty, Captain Kuchiki," Isane insisted with a determination nobody would have guessed belonged to the meek vice-captain of Fourth, "and that is not your decision to make, either!"

"A little bit of pain is but weakness exiting the body," Byakuya said dismissively. He stood up, wobbly on his feet, shirtless aside from the multitude of bandages wrapping across his chest. He reached for the undershirt to his shihakushou, but Isane snatched it from him.

"Pain is your nervous system telling you to take it easy!" she snapped. "Captain, you were run through in four places, and you decided to go gallivanting across the city as if you weren't losing pints of blood and exacerbating multiple internal injuries! You're lucky you can even stand!"

"I can stand and more," Byakuya insisted.

He had been treated the night before, Rukia knew, but it had apparently not been enough.

"Captain Kuchiki," Isane said fiercely, "return to your bed this instant!"

"I will not be commanded by a vice-captain," he protested.

"You will be commanded by your ranking medical officer! Or do I need to report to Captain Unohana that you're being difficult?"

Rukia had to admire the composure and self-control of her brother. Most people shivered at the thought of angering Unohana Retsu; Kuchiki Byakuya simply gave Isane a calm look, and said, as if it were the most natural, logical thing in the world, "There is no need for such action."

"Then, go back to bed."

"But I-"

"Back to bed, or else!"

"…On second thought, I will bow to the expertise your profession has offered you," Byakuya said diplomatically, and walked over to his bed with some effort. Slowly, he lay down and pulled a blanket over himself, lying back with dignity, grace, and quite a bit of reluctance.

"You're damn right, you will," Isane said. "I mean, er, I'm glad you chose to cooperate."

"And there will be no need to report anything to Captain Unohana."

"Not at all. Since you're being compliant, and everything," Isane assured him. She sighed. "Honestly, I spend over an hour bandaging you and applying medical kido, and you almost ruin my work… these spells are effective, but the damage was extensive and they need time to work."

"Surely I will not be kept in bed for too long?" said Byakuya, and although his voice was as dispassionate as ever, Rukia sensed he was keen to be on his feet.

"You leave when I say you can," Isane asserted. "I have to get going. I have more people than you to look after. Stay in bed, and stay put!"

She turned around and walked out in a huff, shooting Rukia a smile as she walked past.

"Ah, Rukia. Please keep an eye on your brother. He is indisposed at the moment." It was odd, but in the blink of an eye, the fierce doctor had once again turned quite meek.

"S-sure…" Rukia said.

"Rukia," said Byakuya as Isane left, "you were by the door for how long?"

"Not long at all, brother," Rukia lied quickly. "I just got here, in fact. I only heard something about 'medical expertise', which of course isn't anything I know too much about."

"…I see," said Byakuya. Whether he believed her or not, Rukia couldn't tell, but it seemed he had decided to treat her statement as true, to save himself the indignity of his judgment being overruled having been witnessed.

"Enter, then," he said, and Rukia walked into the room proper, kneeling by the bed. The problem was that, unlike the Gotei's style of bedding with futons, the hotel room had a bed with legs, leaving her brother quite elevated by comparison.

"Stand," he said, and Rukia quickly obeyed.

"What of the day?" he asked. "Any further threats?"

"None, brother," Rukia said, shaking her head. "All was quiet, without any further sign of disorder. Not even a hollow sighting."

He nodded. "Very good, then. No lives lost?"

"Everyone seems to be on the path to recovery, brother. It seems unbelievable, but… we are all alive."

"I see."

"…And you, brother?" Rukia dared to ask.

"Nothing but inconsequential pains," he said dismissively, the tiniest hint of irritability in his voice, "but Fourth Division insists on being thorough. Which is, of course, to her credit as a medical officer."

"She is quite dutiful."

"To think I would ever have cause to resent that in an officer…" Byakuya muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Byakuya said, and he had a way of saying it so that Rukia almost believed it.

"You'll be on your feet soon," Rukia said encouragingly.

"So I will. My constitution is not frail. This… injury irks me more than it pains me."

"Irks you, brother?"

"It is a nuisance," he said, and Rukia knew that to mean it was more than a little bothersome, "but I had this much trouble with an opponent beneath me not because of his strength, but because of my own flaws."

"Flaws, brother?" Rukia said incredulously. It was unlike him to admit to such a thing, even in private.

"…Yes," he said slowly, as if just realizing what he had said, "flaws."

"Surely you did not err, brother."

"We all of us err, every day, in smaller or greater ways," Byakuya said. "My error was a lack of focus and underestimating my opponent. I… sensed your distress from afar, and I became… momentarily distracted."

"I- I apologize, brother," Rukia said quickly.

"Did you lose focus in your battle?"

"I- I did not, brother. I focused myself every moment. A single mistake would have meant my death."

"Then you carried yourself as a soldier should. You have no cause to apologize. I, on the other hand, did not."

"Revered brother, you give yourself too little credit!" Rukia insisted. "You are a captain, after all."

"So I am. Yet it seems even now, I am… imperfect."

"Nobody is perfect, brother."

"That is no excuse for basic mistakes," he said sternly. "I… foolishly allowed myself to be put in danger in ways I should not have."

"You must not speak of yourself like that, brother," Rukia said firmly, looking him in the eye.

"Mustn't I? It seems as of late, there has been good reason to."

"We must never allow ourselves to be plagued by self-doubt," she said firmly, "for a lack of confidence can kill a man as surely as a blade through his heart."

He nodded. "You have read our clan's history well. Kuchiki Takata, fourth head of house Kuchiki."

Rukia nodded. "There is much wisdom to draw on there."

"Yet, too much self-confidence breeds a pride that leads to arrogance."

"Captain Kuchiki Tougai, nineteenth head of the Kuchiki," Rukia retorted.

Byakuya took a deep breath and stared up at the roof.

"Thank you, Rukia. To draw upon the knowledge of our ancestors… it has ever been a comfort to me in times of doubt."

"N-no problem…" Rukia said quietly. She was not used to seeing her brother like this, so openly sharing his thoughts. He's changed, she thought. Her brother before the events of Soukyoku Hill had been distant, wouldn't have deigned to share with her such private thoughts. It made her feel… conflicted. On the one hand, it was a great privilege to have the head of the clan share his thoughts with her. On the other, she had ever known him as a distant, powerful figure above reproach. Here, wounded and doubtful, he was quite far from the ideal she had once known him to embody.

"One day I will join them," Byakuya thought aloud. "I wonder if they will ever quote Kuchiki Byakuya?"

"You mustn't-" Rukia started, then quieted herself. Of course he would one day die, and she doubted he would appreciate being told he wouldn't. "I know they will," she corrected herself. "You have led our house to an unprecedented time of prosperity and glory."

He did not answer for a long time.

"If we live," he said at last.

"We will," Rukia said determinedly.

"Of course we will," Byakuya said, and he furrowed his brows, "but not all will live to see it."

"I am certain you will live, brother," said Rukia. "I cannot imagine a world without you."

"One day, you may well have to."

"That is enough foolish talk, brother," Rukia scoffed. "Let me go get you some water, yes?"

He nodded. "Just as well."

As he watched her leave briefly, Byakuya wondered to himself what the coming world would look like- and if he'd even be part of it.

"One-two-three-hit! Again, one-two-three-hit!"

Tatsuki had been running through the same exact set of motions for nearly twenty minutes, Yoruichi helping her perfect a good punch. She had come straight to Urahara's after school, eager to learn more; war was coming and she had no intention of being unprepared.

Tatsuki, who had been skilled at martial arts since a young age, had by now gotten used to the idea of feeling like a child, a toddler facing an adult. It really was the most apt of comparisons; Shihoin Yoruichi was a master of a kind most people never saw. As far as Tatsuki knew, Yoruichi had no equal.

Tatsuki had forced herself to swallow any pride she had, to humble herself and accept that she was a child, ignorant and lacking, because it was the only way to approach it. Because it was true. Sweat trailing down her forehead, she repeated the set of punches over and over, Yoruichi catching Tatsuki's fist easily each time.

As they repeated their training regimen over and over, Tatsuki became aware that they were being watched. Off by the sidelines stood Soifon, observing with a neutral expression. Yoruichi paid her no mind until Tatsuki began to show signs of exhaustion, and as her student was breathing heavily, she held up her hand as a sign to stop. As Tatsuki leaned forward, supporting herself with her hands on her knees, Yoruichi grinned and waved at Soifon. The little captain gave no reaction at first, but as Yoruichi motioned for her to come closer, she complied.

"Hey, Soifon," said Yoruichi, with her usual casual cheer. "I take it the town is safe."

"Nothing is safe while Aizen lives."

"Aren't you gloomy?" Yoruichi said, and shrugged. "Well, what do you think?"

"Of what?" Soifon said. It was impossible to read her, Tatsuki thought, even as she straightened her back and looked at her more carefully.

"My new student, of course," Yoruichi said, gesturing at Tatsuki with her thumb. "It's been a while and I'm a little rusty, but…"

"It really isn't my place to comment on milady's training style or students," Soifon said reservedly.

"Come now, come now," Yoruichi coaxed her. "You've trained by yourself for over a hundred years. I don't think anyone in the Gotei knows better than you. Surely you have something to offer."

"…It would be impolite," Soifon said, her eyebrows narrowing a little.

"Nonsense!" Yoruichi insisted. "Really, I'd like some feedback."

"I think you misunderstand," Soifon said. "It would be impolite, because I rarely criticise mildly. It has never been my way. I could not possibly speak to you in that way, Lady Yoruichi."

"Well, now you have to tell me," Yoruichi said, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest, pouting hyperbolically. "Come on, you can't tell me you'd be harsh and then keep your mouth shut about it. For the good of Tatsuki, please share."

Soifon gave her former sensei a look, then took a deep breath.

"Your skill is second to none, Lady Yoruichi, but you are not a good teacher. Your student has potential- that is, by the standards of a mere human who happens to have more power than she should, whilst lacking the discipline of a proper shinigami- but you aren't pushing her nearly hard enough."

"What, like you do in the stealth corps?" Yoruichi said. "That's not healthy, Soifon."

"What do you mean?" Tatsuki said, eager to know.

Soifon looked her in the eye, and Tatsuki felt a chill run down her back; the captain might have been pint-sized, shorter than her by a noticeable margin, but her stare was that of a seven-foot drill instructor.

"In the Stealth Force," she said with an iron tint in her voice, "each aspirant, drawn from the very best of other divisions or the cream of academy fighters, rises two hours before dawn. For two hours until breakfast, they warm up with light spars. After a bowl of rice and a cup of water, the first sparring sessions begin, until lunch, followed by four hours of workouts- obstacle courses, weight lifting, agility training, anything to force their bodies into being the pinnacle of what they are capable of. The evenings are spent learning how to process the tactical information an intelligence operative will need. Each night, every aspirant falls into bed thoroughly exhausted, driven to their very limit by ruthless trainers who will beat, bully, and shame them until they have given all they can give, and then some."

"Slave drivers," Yoruichi scoffed. "That entire process does more harm than good."

"It toughens them up," Soifon said simply. "The aspirant might not appreciate it in the moment, but when they can dodge a blow that would have killed a normal shinigami, they appreciate it all the more." She looked over to Yoruichi. "You let her rest simply because she was growing tired."

"It's only reasonable."

Soifon looked over to Tatsuki. "Tell me, girl, could you have kept going further?"

"I mean… I guess a little bit, yeah," Tatsuki muttered. The thought of the bleak kind of training regimen Soifon had to have gone through was both impressive and a little frightening.

"Then you aren't trying hard enough."

"Oh, give her a break," Yoruichi said. "She'll be no good to anyone if she's all worn out."

"The arrancar will not care if she is tired or weak. They will sense weakness and pounce on it. She will not thank you for your leniency when she is dying on the ground, the lifeblood draining from her body."

"Sheesh…" Yoruichi muttered.

Soifon lowered her head. "I… apologize. This is why I did not wish to speak."

"N-no, wait," Tatsuki said. The captain's stern words had hit hard, and the thought of dying in battle was frightening- but it was true, too. "I mean, she's right, isn't she?"

"Well… maybe," Yoruichi muttered. "I know that's how she was trained, and I know that's how agents are trained traditionally. But that doesn't mean it's the only way to do it, right?"

"It has served us well for over a thousand years," Soifon offered.

"Well, I didn't need it," Yoruichi huffed.

"Begging your pardon, Lady Yoruichi, but you are one of a kind."

"Aww, you flatterer, you," Yoruichi said with a grin. "Trying to get on my good side again, are you?"

"N-not at all," Soifon said, sounding a little less like the stern, steely captain.

"Well, it's working," Yoruichi said, slinging an arm around Soifon. The little captain stiffened, but didn't seem to object.

"Well, what'll it be, Tatsuki?" Yoruichi continued. "I could push you harder if I wanted, I guess. With Soifon here to critique me, I'm sure I'd make a great teacher."

"You know…" said Tatsuki, "I'm not sure about this stuff with tradition, being too hard or too soft, but… she's right about one thing: the arrancar won't care. So, yeah… push me harder."

Soifon nodded approvingly, and unusually- perhaps because of the way Yoruichi's arm clung to her- a small smile passed her face.

"I approve. You've got a good attitude."

Tatsuki grinned.

"For a human," Soifon added.

"I'll take it," Tatsuki added, figuring it was as good a compliment as she was likely to get.

"Which means break time is over," Yoruichi said, letting go of Soifon and stepping forward to face Tatsuki. The little captain, Tatsuki noted, looked disappointed. "Alright, you ready to take it up a notch?"

"You got it," Tatsuki said. It wasn't going to be easy, but… if she was ever going to catch up to Ichigo, it would have to be difficult.

Neliel slid back across the floor, having sunk to one knee. Halibel smoothly spun her short blade around, regaining her balance after the strike that had nearly sent Neliel tumbling. With some effort, Neliel got to her feet, wincing a little. Her shoulder ached; she was strong, but not nearly as strong as Halibel, and her friend and colleague took these spars seriously.

"Are you sure you wish to continue?" Halibel said, a hint of concern in her stoic voice. "You've already put several hours into this. Your duty to improve has been upheld for the time being."

Neliel shook her head. "No, Tier. Just a little more. I can handle it."

"As you please," said Halibel, assuming a stance, spinning her blade around, keeping her wrist smooth. Neliel got to her feet and readied her blade, keeping it low.

These training sessions were a new and welcome luxury. With Lord Aizen's ban on infighting- his will enforced absolutely, simply through the fear he inspired- none of them had to worry about a surprise attack. Consequently, the two of them could push themselves to the point of exhaustion without having to worry about being too weak to defend themselves. As a result, the two of them had taken to training. Neliel wasn't as strong as Halibel by far; in fact, Ulquiorra would have made for a better opponent, but the Quatro was a reclusive fellow, disinclined to companionship. Neither minded. They had been something akin to friends even before either of them had transformed, and they had only grown closer since. They had both received some instruction with a blade from Tousen, and Halibel, who was already used to swordplay, had quickly learned the right form. Now, she was passing it on to Neliel.

Neliel, of course, hadn't won a single bout. The difference in strength aside, Halibel was simply older, stronger, more experienced, and with sharper senses. But, just winning wasn't the point anymore; that was part of the old ways they had shed when Lord Aizen had ascended. Now, it was about self-improvement for a goal, to become the best they could be in service to Aizen Sousuke and his path to absolute dominance. There would be peace when he had won, and for that, either of them would be glad to risk their lives.

The way he had illuminated them had been both strange and undeniable. They had both yearned for more than the lonely, harsh existence of a hollow for decades before they had met him. Ascending to the rank of Menos Grande had meant they no longer had anything to fear from other hollows, except those of their own rank- and few Menos Grande liked to challenge each other, for the same reason wild animals rarely clash directly: to fight would be to risk everything they had fought to gain, and even if they won, they would be weak and vulnerable to whomever watched from the sidelines.

But with security had also come time spent alone, time spent thinking. The life of a hollow was horrible, violent, brutal, and ruthless, but it left one too busy thinking about how to survive to think of why one wanted to survive. The irony of attaining security was that now, one had time to think about one's existence- and what to do with it. This was what a hollow like Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez had never understood, could never understand.

Halibel had, in her time as a hollow, come to desire a better life for herself and for her servants. Neliel had simply wanted peace. When they had met Aizen Sousuke, he had promised them not only that, but more- a reason to keep living, a reason to be. Now, it was finally theirs, and it had granted a sense of fulfilment neither had ever felt before.

This new purpose might well cost them their lives, but after a long, harsh, and lonely life in the deserts of Hueco Mundo, both of them would rather have something to die for than nothing to live for.

"Something troubles you," said Halibel, after having dodged away from a series of strikes, each one short of their mark. "Your form was better yesterday."

"It's nothing," Nel said, wanting to continue.

"It's not nothing if it keeps you from improving," Halibel said, spinning her blade around and smoothly sheathing it behind her back, a sure enough sign that there was no escaping the conversation.

Nel sighed. "I suppose it's Grimmjow."

"That animal?" Halibel said, scorn seeping into her stoic voice.

"I saw him earlier, after being deposed. It was a miserable sight, and he's become a miserable person."

"As if he wasn't in the first place," Halibel scoffed. "A savage like him, living only for more cruelty- this is the fate that surely awaited him, if death didn't find him first."

"Do you really think he's irredeemable?"

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez? I see no reason why I shouldn't think so. I've seen many a ruthless animal in my time, climbing the ladder up. I was one at a certain point. Some never grow past it."

"Do you think that goes for everyone except Vasto Lorde like us, then? Because if that's the case, Lord Aizen would be wrong."

Halibel shook her head. "As things are now, yes, only a few are more than beasts. Our lord seeks to change that, and it is admirable. Perhaps he will make people out of many more beasts. But to change the nature of a hollow… to change the conditions that makes Hueco Mundo the way it is, only a god could do that."

"You're pessimistic."

"I'm a realist," Halibel said sharply. "A monster is a monster. Can a tiger change its stripes? Could a selfish, ungrateful brute like him be better? Possibly in theory."

"But change is possible."

Halibel nodded. "It is. It's not that we shouldn't try; it's that we should set realistic standards. I would not waste my case with those dead set on brutality and violence. Do not let his misery and spite affect you, and do not mourn for him when he inevitably dies, because none of them are worth it. Instead, rejoice in those who find a better way."

"That sounds… more optimistic. In a way."

"What's the matter, Neliel?" said Halibel, furrowing her brows. "Are you not used to the cruelty of this place? Has Aizen's transformation made you forget?"

"No," Neliel said, shaking her head. "I wish I could, but I haven't. It's just that… maybe I'm strange, but I care. I feel sorry for those who can't see reason. I wish that they could. It's a waste of potential and a waste of life."

"You really are quite like a human," Halibel scoffed. "Then again, I suppose I'm not unlike one, either…"

She ran a hand across her new, dark-skinned body, still a little unfamiliar to her. It brought back memories almost forgotten, of a time when somebody else had been human, somebody's memories who weren't quite Halibel's, but still felt like they belonged to her.

"Do you think I'm weak?" said Neliel frankly. "Do you think I shouldn't care?"

"None of us can help how we feel," Halibel said, shaking her head. "We can only help how we act. You are only weak if your actions reflect weakness. If your insides are trembling but your sword hand is firm, then it's all the same to me."

"Thank you, Halibel," Neliel whispered.

"…You're welcome," Halibel muttered, not having expected the simple gesture. Something about the politeness of it, of small appreciation for a little nothing, a little honesty, felt both alien and pleasant.

"More?" Neliel said, holding her blade up with a smile.

"Enough, for now," said Halibel, and although it couldn't be seen under her collar and mask, she smiled back.

It was strange how quickly Urahara Kisuke's cluttered mess of a work room had started to feel like home. It had appeared disorderly at first, but as Nozomi had kept up her duties as a temporary assistant, she had quickly realized that the apparent mess was extremely organized- every now and then, the shopkeeper would reach for a file, or an instrument, or some meticulously drawn plans for something or other, and everything was always within easy access of his worn swivel chair. It had taken her some time to catch up, but eventually Nozomi had gotten the hang of it.

It was nothing like the pristine halls of Twelfth's science division, but Nozomi found that she didn't mind it too much. It was impressive to watch him work, in a way she was sure everyone else on her expedition- except Nemu, and perhaps Isane- could never appreciate. Their day had been nothing but raw data analysis from the last skirmish, beginning at breakfast and pausing only briefly for a lunch that was wolfed down in the laboratory after having been delivered by the muscular man with glasses, Tessai. After that, they had been right back at it, Urahara rifling through one sheet of data after another, furiously scribbling notes, filing and rearranging the data in pile after pile.

Analyzing all of it would take years, of course; even with a full research team it'd occupy them for the better half of a decade. Some basic conclusions, however, were quite achievable with a few days of hard work.

Finally, toward the evening, Urahara leaned back in his chair, almost unbalancing himself in the process, looking worn and exhausted, but happy. Nozomi felt much the same, but hadn't been willing to show it until he was finished. In her mind, she had mentally prepared herself to work throughout the entire night.

"I'm beat," Urahara said with a yawn, rubbing his eyes. "Let's wind down a bit, then get some sleep. We'll be right back at it in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Nozomi said courteously.

"No need for that formality," Urahara said amusedly. "I'm not your captain."

"Old habit, sir. Urahara. Mr. Urahara. Er…"

He chuckled. "I have to say, a pair of helping hands has been useful. I must have gotten at least twice the normal workload done today."

"Happy to help," Nozomi said with a smile.

"I was wondering about one thing, actually…" he said slowly.

"Sir? I mean, Mr. Urahara?"

"Your battle with that arrancar."

"Yes…" Nozomi said, a shiver travelling down her back as she recalled the event.

"I noticed some highly irregular output from vice-captain Isane toward the end," he said. "I've been meaning to ask."

"I, well…" Nozomi said, "it was kind of a last resort."

"I looked at the data briefly before. Such extraordinary readings are either a one-in-a-lifetime anomaly, or deliberately triggered by some external factor. Like, say, some kind of drug ingested or injected into the blood stream. My best guess… a performance-enhancing substance engineered to increase reiatsu output as well as having some more specific primary purpose?"

"Y-yes," Nozomi said, marveling at the accuracy of his guess. "It's a little thing that I put together. As personal research. I found a way to, uh, in theory increase the link between user and zanpakutou as well as boosting their spiritual output. It's just… very imperfect. Not even ready for trials. I didn't want it seen back when I was working for Kurotsuchi… I think you can imagine why. I brought it hoping to see if you could look at it. I didn't think I'd actually ever use it. It's…"

"Highly dangerous," Urahara said soberly.

She nodded. "I'd guess as much. I'm not even close to testing it. We were about to die, so… I gave it to Isane. It worked, but…"

"But," Urahara interjected, "it had a very powerful effect. Development issues aside, I think it'd need distilling at least a hundred parts down."

Nozomi swallowed. "What do you think will happen to her?"

"Well, her values normalized only hours later. I believe it's lucky Miss Inoue has such extraordinary abilities. Otherwise, poor vice-captain Kotetsu might have been severed from her zanpakutou altogether, or drained of her power. Or both. Maybe even rendered to dust, who knows?"

"Oh, god…" Nozomi muttered to herself.

"Don't look so glum," said Urahara. "It was do or die, wasn't it?"

"Y-yeah…"

"It turned out fine," he said reassuringly. "Just don't use it again. It's an idea with potential, but it needs years of research first."

Nozomi nodded, relieved to hear his words.

"There was one other thing," she said, after a brief pause.

"What, more drugs?"

Nozomi shook her head at his quip. "No. It's correct that you designed the armour Captain Erza wears, right?"

"Designed, yes. Made, no- I had a blacksmith I know do it. Once finished, I added a few personal touches. Kido runes to strengthen it against spiritual attacks, systems to boost energy efficiency, limited protection against kido attacks… and a system measuring all output from the wearer, of course."

"I'm not surprised, I guess," said Nozomi, "but do you think it could be modified further?"

"There's always room for improvement," said Urahara. "That's a guiding principle of science, after all."

"I was thinking," said Nozomi thoughtfully, "do you think we could integrate hollow energies into its structure?"

Urahara sat up straight, and looked her in the eye. "Now, that," he said, "is a bold suggestion. But what for?"

"Theoretically, it might help create a resistance to their energy-based attacks. Right now, the steel couldn't stand up to a cero, could it?"

"No, it couldn't…" Urahara muttered, "not beyond the protection it normally offers, which would be insufficient."

"Right," Nozomi said, "and the current modifications to the plate itself are designed how?"

"Standard kido enhancement, modified according to my own theory."

"Now," said Nozomi eagerly, getting caught up with the excitement of potential, "imagine that you found a way to integrate energy similar to a hollow's energy into the mould of the armour. It would…"

"…It would mean the armour would act like a conductor, able to absorb a portion of the energy!" Urahara burst out excitably, finishing her sentence.

"Yes, exactly!"

He grinned. "See, this- this is not a bad idea at all. If I find the time- and god knows when- I'd actually like to try it out. Normally I wouldn't have thought of it, since shinigami power structures are usually incompatible with hollow power structures, but kido isn't technically inherent to being a shinigami, so…"

"…so in theory, you could weave hollow energy into a standard kido mould and increase its ability to resist them. Like a vaccine."

Urahara nodded excitably. "As it happens, I have been preparing a little extra something for the good captain."

"What's that?"

"Well," said Urahara, "armour is all well and good, but what's the use in covering your chest, waist and legs but leaving your head unprotected?"

"You made a helmet."

"Commissioned one," Urahara corrected her, "but it just might make a viable test subject. If it goes poorly, the captain is no worse off, and if it works then she's in greater shape than before."

"Where do you keep it?"

"In the other room, storage," Urahara said. "You want to take a look right now?"
By his tone, she could tell he was ready to go- and so was she.

"Sure!" she said, all thoughts of weariness dispelled for the time being. It looked like it might be an all-nighter after all. Somehow, she didn't mind the idea.

Tatsuki had left some time ago, and after some further sparring with Yoruichi, Soifon had left to fill in a report, diligent as ever. This had left Yoruichi alone, but not for long. As she sat there on a rock, splayed out at rest, she sensed the familiar presence of Erza creeping closer.

"Been a while, hasn't it?" Yoruichi said, as her old friend came into view.

"You look well," said Erza. "The time you spent in Soul Society seems to have agreed with you. More than I expected, actually."

Yoruichi shrugged. "I don't care for the place, really. Good company, though."

"I can imagine," Erza said.

"Well, don't be coy."

"Excuse me?" said Erza.

"You're like an open book," Yoruichi said with a laugh. "You didn't come here for small talk. There's something you wanted, right?"

"Can't hide anything from you, can I?" Erza said, sighing and smiling slightly. "Actually, I wanted some advice. Expert advice, even." She sat down next to Yoruichi.

"Oh? That's not like you."

"I got my teeth kicked in by an espada just recently," Erza said bluntly. "You might have heard."

Yoruichi rolled her eyes. "Oh, I have. Soifon won't shut up about it. The girl literally just lives for her work."

"I had an… issue with my zanpakutou," said Erza, determined to stay on the subject, "but even with it malfunctioning, he was outfighting me. I've trained with you, I know my way around hand-to-hand and I'm strong, but he was harder, dirtier, and fought in a way I didn't know how to counter. That's what I'm talking about."

This piqued Yoruichi's interest, and she stood up. "Go on."

"Well," said Erza, "he was completely unrefined. No form at all, other than what I assume he picked up on his own. But, he was fast, Yoruichi, and he hit like a landslide."

"Show me," Yoruichi said, standing in front of Erza.

"It's hard to demonstrate," Erza said reluctantly, standing up to face her, "but it was a very brutal fighting style. Headbutts, low blows, anything to do damage and keep me on the defensive."

"Surely that should benefit you."

"Not when my blade can't get through his thick skin, it didn't," Erza grumbled. "The fact that every one of these espada is built like a tank doesn't make it easier. He got the momentum a few times, and nearly got me. At one point, I had to knee him in the groin."

Yoruichi laughed out loud. "I'm sorry," she said, still grinning, "but that's kind of a funny image. Did it at least work?"

"It did," Erza said grimly.

"Well, your first problem might be that you're wearing a suit made out of thick metal," Yoruichi said jokingly.

"I was grateful for it many times, believe me. Now, please take this seriously."

"Alright," Yoruichi said, dropping the grin. "What do you need from me, then?"

"I need to go over it all," said Erza. "I need to figure out what to do if I meet him- or a fighter like him- again."

Yoruichi nodded.
"Let's get started, then."

They kept at it for over two hours, going over everything Erza could remember from the fight, how the espada had fought. Everything she could recall, they analyzed, went over and discussed, mixed with Yoruichi making simple demonstrations. Eventually it became clear they wouldn't get this out of the way in an evening, and it was getting late. Finally, they sat down again to rest. It had been mostly theoretical, but Yoruichi's demonstrations had been enough to work up a sweat.

"Well, I guess you have a reason to come see me again," Yoruichi said, breathing out.

"I'd come see you anyway," said Erza, not liking the suggestion that she'd ignore a friend.

"Well, you're a captain now. I'd understand if you were busy. God knows it worked me hard back in the day."

"You ran two organizations at once, though."

"True," Yoruichi conceded. She smiled. "Still, look at you now. You've got the haori, even if you insist on wearing armour under it. You're a captain of the Gotei… and still right back here in Karakura."

"Temporarily," Erza said with a sigh, realizing that she would miss this place when she had to return home.

"Just pretend," Yoruichi said whimsically. "Just pretend it's all normal for a while. You're Erza, living in this town, with a daughter to look after, a job, and not much else to do with your life. What would you do with that?

"I… don't know," Erza said, realizing it was the truth. "From the moment I died and passed on, I always had some kind of goal. Some kind of purpose to always work toward, whether it was finding food and shelter, or getting through the academy, or becoming an officer, or…" She trailed off, and after a pause, she continued. "I can't imagine not having somewhere to go. I wouldn't be me. My goals have changed over the years, but I've always had them."

"You really can't imagine?" Yoruichi said, lazily lying down stretched out. "You can't imagine being like a leaf floating downstream, going where the world takes you?"

"That sounds terrifying," Erza said with a chuckle. "Not having any reason to be?"

"Who says you need a reason to be? You can just be."

"It's a skill I never picked up," Erza said, somewhere between amused and thoughtful. "Is that how you think?"

"It… was for a long time," Yoruichi said. "Right now, I don't know. Maybe."

Erza looked at her friend. Yoruichi was, she realized, radically different from her on a very basic level. The very thought of being without purpose felt unimaginable to Erza, and she wondered if Yoruichi had changed- or if perhaps she was the same, if she'd continue floating the rest of her life.

"Anyway," said Yoruichi, "we're getting off track. What would you do if you could just… start over? If there was no Aizen to worry about, or some great blob of oppressed, suffering people in need of a red knight."

"I really don't know," said Erza. "I'm sorry, but I don't."

"Maybe a boyfriend?" said Yoruichi with a cheeky smile.

Erza snorted. "I've never… it hasn't really interested me, really."

"Girlfriend, then," Yoruichi said smoothly, "maybe like that cute vice-captain of yours?"

Erza chortled. "As if. Be serious, Yoruichi."

"Oh, you wound me," said Yoruichi, with a mocking imitation of Urahara.

"Fine," said Erza. "I could just as well turn that around to you. Would you get a boyfriend or girlfriend, then? I mean, you have lots more free time than I do. What's stopping you?"

"You can't turn that around on me," Yoruichi scoffed.

"Why not?"

"Because I've had plenty of lovers, affairs, flings, even a few relationships. I know my way around that. It's not nearly as interesting."

"As my nonexistent love life?"

"Exactly."

"Well," Erza said, feeling Yoruichi's cheek rub off, "who's to say you won't find somebody? Like, oh, I don't know, a certain girl who looks at you with wonder in her eyes, and is the kind of serious, stable person that could really help a wild spirit settle down?"

"Who, Soifon?" Yoruichi said dismissively. "That's totally innocent."

"Really? Because she hangs on your every word…"

Yoruichi sat up, a little less cheery. "Now who needs to get serious?" Then, she saw the grin on Erza's face and returned an even wider smile. "…You were actually teasing me just now, weren't you?" she said, chuckling. Erza nodded. "Well I'll be damned- you've really improved," Yoruichi said with a laugh. "Usually that's me."

"I have to retaliate somehow," Erza said jokingly. "I guess all the sarcasm and general lack of seriousness from you and Urahara has rubbed off on me."

"We'll make a trickster out of you yet," Yoruichi said cheerily. "Before you know it, you'll be a perfectly normal, well-adjusted person."

"As if," Erza scoffed.

They laughed together, and sat quiet for a while. As they eventually parted ways, Erza wondered how many more times like this they would have. If they lived through what came, she'd still be busy most days. She knew that she had to treasure moments like these, because one never knew how many of them one would get.

CANONICAL OMAKE TIME!

Bambi was typing furiously behind her computer screen, having overcome the nigh-impossible barrier of the wi-fi password, and immersed in her shitposting, it took a while before she realised a familiar presence was hanging over her shoulder.

"What are you doing this time?" said Haschwalth, bending over to get a closer look at her screen. Bambi sighed exasperatedly, as the Paladin inspected her post.

"What the f-word did you just say about me, you f-wording little b-word," he muttered. As he kept reading, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Bambietta Basterbine, you are definitely not the #1 marksman in the Unites States armed forces. Are you telling lies on the internet again?"

Bambietta leaned back, almost tilting her chair over, and rolled her eyes. For emphasis, she rolled them again.

"You don't get it, old man! It's like, a copypasta!"

"Pasta? But I thought you didn't like Italian cuisine-"

"Not that kind of pasta!" Bambi groaned, "Honestly, you're just so out of touch!"

"Well, that may be," Haschwalth said stiffly, "but that's no reason to post rude things on the internet. I know you like to debate people-" Bambi chortled; 'debate' had to be the most politically correct description of her activities imaginable- "but there's no reason to do it while calling people an f-word or a c-word. Or an n-word. And especially not the n-f-word."

"But n**********t is the best insult there is!" Bambi complained.

"Calling people the f-word is homophobic," Haschwalth said strictly, "and you know that here in the Knights of Vanden-"

"We're totally inclusive and non-discriminatory, whatever," Bambi said, rolling her eyes again, "I'm like, totally bisexual, so it's okay when I say it. It's like our own n-word."

Looking further down the screen, Haschwalth said, "And I'm not sure what a 'cuck' is, but I feel like that should be a c-word."

"It's like, jargon!"

"It's most uncivil," Haschwalth reprimanded her, "who names a web domain four-chan, anyway?"

Bambi rolled her eyes again. She knew he was over eight hundred, but sometimes she wondered how a man could adjust to cell phones, cars and digital banking but still be this out of touch…

I sure hope you guys enjoyed the omake, as well as the chapter in general. I don't really have much to say this time around after the chapter. I'm a bit tired from work, and its very late as I'm about to post this. I really do hope that you all enjoyed it though. I cant wait to see what you all think in the reviews though.