The Death and Life of Erza Scarlet

by Goshinzilla

Death is only the beginning. Erza learns that much at the tower of heaven. But the afterlife, it turns out, isn't much better than life, with all its flaws. As she becomes a shinigami, Erza seeks to make a better world- but Aizen has the same idea... (ErzaXMomo)

79. Principio de lucha 3

Hello faithful readers, welcome back to another chapter of The Death and Life of Erza Scarlet!

Now before we dive into the chapter itself, I want to take a moment and thank each and every single one of you who bothered to leave a review in the last chapter.

Templarsith, Siggimondo, Evan Deviant, Bob of the A, Voldelol, WolfDude16, Thegardner, gamma 2015, Death Lantern, G3r1k, NotXeno, darkmachines, Black Magic, 99, ijpowers92, and Imperial Warlord, you guys are awesome! Thank you so much!

It really means a lot to me, and than words can express. Doing an more original idea like this instead of the typical "main character goes to insert universe here and is super OP and gets a harem" usually means that the story isn't going to get as many reviews as it could seeing as how that's the most prominent and popular kind of crossover these days. But their all kind of the same when one really looks at them. Some can be entertaining but many are just generic and formulaic.

I want to show people that there is more to crossover fanfiction, fanfiction in general actually, than what is usually done. So thank you all so much for letting me show and prove that something new and original can really work.

As for what's been going on with Erza in the sequel/spinoff...Ya, im not happy about it. Like at all. However, this is not the time nor place for an angry rant from either you or me. I'm sure it'll be fixed in due time...but man does it hurt to see her go through that, as I'm sure you'll all agree. Don't you worry though...I plan to give you all something that'll make up for those recent events. If you need Erza being a badass as a way to counter her current situation in the sequel spin off...Oh I think this chapter will be just the thing you need.

Anyways, you're all probably want to just read the story so I wont keep you any longer! Have fun, and let me know what you think in the reviews!

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!

In loving memory of Stan Lee. I can not thank you enough for all that you've done with your work at Marvel. You were a source of inspiration to me and many others for so long. Your creations such as Spiderman, Ironman, Hulk and the X men have entertained millions and in many ways helped fellow writers like us through hard and difficult times. You proved one person really can make a difference in the world, because you yourself certainly did.

Rest in peace. Excelsior!

---

Haschwalth sat still, staring out into the night, his eyes fixed on the distance. They rested upon nothing in particular; some vague part of the city skyline. It was irrelevant, for he was not seeing with his eyes. He was drinking in the sensations of battle from afar, sensing the struggles as only the grand master of the Wandenritter could, centuries of fine-tuned experience complemented by unparalleled talent. He sensed each battle as it happened, paying particular attention to them as they went, sometimes quietly cursing the distance he was ordered to keep. He could have learned so much more about the captains, but especially the espada, if he had been closer.

But, orders were orders, and Haschwalth had sworn an oath to obey his king in all things. So it was that the finer details were lost on him, even if he had a good idea of how each battle would go.

His reveries were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, a jolly tune he found almost obscene when contrasted to the artistry of the battles he was observing from afar. Quickly taking the device from his pocket, he pressed the little green button, and put the phone against his ear.

"Report," he said, knowing exactly who would call him at this hour. The brief look he had gotten at the time on the screen had told him he'd sat here for hours, something he hadn't even noticed until now. The spectacle had been fascinating, and it had made him ache to grab his own blade, take to the battlefield, and wreak graceful havoc.

"Paladin Meninas McAllon reporting in," said the voice on the other end, professionally calm and to-the-point, as if it weren't in the middle of a warzone. It was something Haschwalth appreciated about her, and a contrast to Paladin Basterbine that, in all honesty, was much needed.

"I engaged an espada, tenth in rank, saving candidate Ishida's life in the process. He was injured, and so I rushed him to a hospital, which I am now calling from. Injuries non-critical. I have no doubt he'll recover soon, if nothing else then for the aid of his shinigami allies."

Haschwalth nodded, only to realize Meninas could not see him. He felt a little silly; in some ways, the technological advancements he had seen in his long lifetime had still not caught up with him.

"The test, Paladin?" he said neutrally.

"Passed, grand master." A hint of triumph had found its way into Meninas' voice. "He defied my orders readily in favour of defending his city from the invaders."

"Good," said Haschwalth appreciatively. "It would seem your judgment has been astute, paladin. As I expected, of course."

"My thanks, grand master."

"His combat abilities?"

"Markedly improved, grand master. He defeated a privaron espada using superior technique and wits, despite a considerable difference in power. I daresay he is developing ahead of expectation."

Haschwalth nodded again, now mildly irritated with himself.

"A considerable difference in power, you say?"

"Considerable, indeed."

"And so the knight stands up to evil and slays the dragon," Haschwalth said approvingly. "No potential aspirant can go without an exceptional deed. Yet, you had to intervene?"

"The espada proper was far beyond his ability," Meninas said, and Haschwalth was sure she sounded a little defensive. Inwardly, he sighed. How typical of her, to form an affectionate bond with her charge…

"He was at death's door. There was no choice. He had given all he had, and then some."

"Tell me about the espada," Haschwalth said, determined to change the subject; there was nothing here to argue about.

"Power easily surpassing that of most chevaliers," Meninas said, her voice now as professional as ever. "Completely lacking in technique, however. Given its low rank, I cannot expect it to be typical of its brethren, though."

"You were the closest to the battles. What do you make of the espada you sensed?"

"Stronger than expected, lord. The strongest surpassed the vast majority of our own, and I do not say this lightly. Whatever blasphemous method Aizen Sousuke has devised, it has been considerably effective. Consider, too, that its full power has not yet been revealed."

Haschwalth paused. This was interesting information. The Gotei, it seemed, were in for quite a challenge.

"And there are others, stronger still."

"I believe so, grand master. So our intelligence from the shinigami tells us."

Haschwalth nodded to himself, this time feeling no annoyance; it was a confirmation only for himself.

"Well done, paladin," he said. "Your duty is fulfilled. Were you seen?"

"I am confident I was not. The only issue remains as to whether they will be suspicious of who defeated that espada…"

"They have bigger concerns," Haschwalth said dismissively. "Return to base."

"I…" Meninas hesitated. "If the grand master would permit…"

Haschwalth would have, if he had been more like Bambietta, rolled his eyes.

"You said his condition was not critical, yes? That he would make a full recovery?"

"…Yes," Meninas admitted ruefully.

"Then return. No candidate benefits from coddling, paladin."

"Yes, grand master."

There was a faint click, and she was gone. Haschwalth sighed, folded the cell phone up, and put it back in his pocket. He had nothing but respect for the paladin, but she sometimes treaded a line less than helpful to her charges.

At any rate, everything had gone as planned so far. Ishida Uryu surpassed expectations, which was good enough- but then again, the newfound strength of these new arrancar merited concern. He would have to contact His Majesty. Haschwalth returned his gaze to the city skyline. The battles would all soon be done, and he wished to drink in every sensation he could while it lasted. A privilege such as this was too rare an opportunity to miss.

---

Exhaustion in battle had felt like an alien concept to Ichigo; thirty minutes ago, he had been brimming with power, feeling as if he could go on for hours. Yet, the intensity of the battle he was fighting, the sheer power of resistance from his opponent, had worn on him in a way that totally surprised him. His arms felt heavy and his sword heavier, and his breathing was starting to get ragged. Byakuya was no better off, although he did his best to hide it, albeit with limited success. His senkei was starting to run low on blades, and his movements were getting slower.

Their opponent, the ludicrously powerful espada before them, was not unaffected, himself. Despite Byakuya's stubbornness and pride, they had both found the time to attack the espada, to keep him back and on his guard at all times. He had been pushed and pressured as only the two of them could have done, Ichigo with overwhelming speed and force, Byakuya with precision and razor-sharp accuracy. He was slower now, too, but despite that, it was obvious to Ichigo that they were not winning. The espada seemed to possess some sort of rapid regeneration ability; mid-combat he had slowly regrown the hand he had lost, and every wound he had taken had quickly stopped bleeding. At this point, only the stains of blood on his clothes spoke of him ever having taken an injury. He was simply too strong; neither Ichigo nor Byakuya having the strength or ability to break through his monstrous hierro and do enough damage before the espada could recover.

He had become passive, and it perplexed Ichigo. He seemed to show little interest in attacking, preferring to let the two of them take the initiative. Was it a deliberate strategy? Playing the long game, until they had both worn themselves out, relying on his superior stamina to deal the killing blow when they had fully been exhausted? Or, was it something else?

Whatever the case, it was working, and Ichigo, frustrated, felt forced to concede if only to himself that if this went on, they would die. They needed help. If only that stubborn bastard of a nobleman had played along, if only they had worked together instead of against each other…

"What is the matter?" said the espada, the complete lack of passion in his voice itself feeling like an insult. "Are you not the chosen defenders of this city? Are you truly spent already?"

As if on cue, Byakuya surged forward, too proud not to answer such a direct challenge. Ichigo cursed and slipped into a shunpo of his own, knowing what would happen next. Byakuya came at the espada, striking rapidly with a set of slicing motions, aimed to raise his guard so that he could feint and strike at his legs. They were slow now, so slow that Ichigo could follow them with ease; the captain had expended most of his reiatsu reserves at this point, and Ichigo suspected his bankai would fail any time now.

Ulquiorra saw through the attack, naturally, and parried each strike with ease, dodged the thrust toward his legs, and it was only Ichigo's timely strike from behind that prevented the espada from taking off the prideful Kuchiki's head. Ulquiorra shoved the captain back with one hand, then spun around with preternatural speed to meet Ichigo's strike, holding it back with ease. Holding back the strike with one hand, he grabbed Ichigo by the neck with the other, and squeezed.

Ichigo barely had the time to curse inwardly. Weary as he was, himself, he hadn't expected the attack. Ulquiorra's steel grip closed around his neck, squeezing tightly, and he flailed about, desperately looking to see where Byakuya was. The captain, in the background, was down to one knee, panting. Damn it! He tried to move his blade, tried to angle it away, but this close, the length of his sword was too great to manoeuvre properly, grinding helplessly against the espada's own weapon. He tried kicking at the espada, but he might as well have tried to kick a steel girder. Ulquiorra didn't even flinch. Ichigo started to feel desperate. His oxygen supply was cut off now, for nearly a minute, and what was worse, he felt the steel grip strain the bones of his neck. He might not live long enough to choke. His frustration turning to fear, he tried to draw on his hollow, but lost concentration. His vision grew blurry, then darkness started to take hold of him, his vision failing…

Suddenly, the pressure on his neck let up, and Ichigo took in a deep breath, inhaling like his life depended on it- which, of course, it did. He was just barely still holding on to his blade. And, he realized, he wasn't even supporting himself. A strong arm had wrapped around his waist as he had begun to fall. A strong arm, wearing the black of a shihakushou, the shinigami uniform. Wearily, he looked to his right, still breathing heavily. He blinked, just to make sure what he saw wasn't some hallucination brought about by exhaustion and trauma.

"Hi, son!" Isshin said cheerily, holding in his other hand the unmistakable form of a zanpakutou.

"Is he okay?"

The voice was all too familiar, coming from above. Ichigo looked up to see first Ulquiorra, his chest impaled with three glowing arrows, then further up still, his mother, a glowing bow in her right hand.

"Just got the wind knocked out of him!" Isshin reassured her. "Can you stand, Ichigo?" he said as he turned back.

"S-sure…" Ichigo said, more surprised than weary now.

"You see, this is what happens when you keep hanging around a bad crowd of people," his mother chided him. "You make your parents worry so much, we actually have to come and get you."

"We wanted to leave it to you all," said Isshin, gently letting go of Ichigo, "but you know how it is…"

"Kurosaki Isshin, that's a lie and you know it," Masaki chided him. "You couldn't wait to break out your sword again."

"True," Isshin admitted sheepishly.

He rose to Ulquiorra's level, and Ichigo followed him cautiously. He'd known about his father's past, sure, but he had no idea about… this.

"I thought you had no powers?" Ichigo said.

"Not until just the other day." Isshin beamed.

"Enough."

It was Ulquiorra. He shattered the arrows in his chest with a swift swipe of the arm. His flesh was already beginning to close the wounds they had made.

"You're one of Aizen's top lads, aren't you?" said Isshin, practically glowing with a barely restrained martial keenness. He's like a big kid, thought Ichigo, horrified, only he's going up against a complete monster.

"Dad, no!" he shouted. "You don't get it, he's too strong-"

"You keep quiet, young man," Masaki said sharply, "or I'll give you hell for being out too late at night when we get back home!"

Ichigo gaped.

"THIS IS NOT THE TIME-" he began, only to be interrupted by his father, confidently placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Leave it to us, son," he said with a nod and a grin. "Trust me. I may be a bit rusty, but… well, what are you going to do in that shape? You're out of options. We're it. It's not like that knobby prick over there will help you."

"Shiba Isshin," said Byakuya coldly, having managed to stand up on both feet with some effort, a look of complete contempt written on his face, "you are as discourteous and crude as ever. Like father, like son, it seems."

"Oh, lighten up," said Isshin. "I'd love to get into a debate with you on the merits of refinement and all that crap, but…" He grinned wider than before. "Sorry, but I've got some ass to kick. Honey, you with me?" He shouted the last, looking to Masaki.

"I've got him in my sights," Masaki confirmed.

"Right, then," said Isshin, and Ichigo felt surprised. There was a massive surge of power from his father, greater than ever before, greater than anything he'd ever have expected. Was this what he had been once?

"Let's go," said Isshin, holding his blade up. "Burn, Engetsu!"

There was not much of a change to the blade, not visibly, but Ichigo could feel the hot haze emanating from it. It was like standing too close to a bonfire, the heat pushing oppressively against his skin wherever it was exposed. His father seemed unaffected by it, his grin wider than ever.

"Trust me," he said, his usually childish cheer replaced with the joyous countenance of a warrior, "we've got this."

Finally, Ichigo started to believe him.

His mother darted up and around, peppering the espada with arrows, and Ichigo was surprised to see he bothered to block them- with such strong defences, Ichigo would have expected them to fail to penetrate when fired at such a rate. But, block he did, and expertly, at that, with not a single arrow finding its way past his guard. It was all a ruse, of course, and Ulquiorra was quite ready when Isshin charged in, refusing to be taken by surprise.

Or, so he had thought, at least.

As Isshin charged, locking blades with the espada, Ulquiorra's monstrous strength made itself reminded. Isshin stubbornly held his ground, though, matching the espada's force.

"Ya know," said Isshin, his voice a bit strained, "I see you got blood on your clothes, but you ain't bleeding. You're a healing sort, ain't you?"

Ulquiorra did not respond, shoving Isshin back in time to evade a deadly hail of arrows, sending a quick barrage of bala to distract Masaki.

"'Cause the thing is," Isshin said, as he closed the distance once more, "if there's one thing regeneration can't stand, it's the burning touch of some real hellfire. That, or acid, I think. The rules are weird that way."

Ulquiorra lashed out with his blade, and Isshin jumped back, evading the strike. His power surged, and he raised his blade. Ichigo gaped a little as he watched from a distance, realizing what was coming. He recognized the posture. The flow of energy. It was a perfect mirror of his own-

"GETSUGA TENSHOU!" Isshin bellowed, his voice like that of a volcano bursting, an immeasurable satisfaction and joy reverberating in his voice. Ichigo recognized the crescent moon as it extended, seeing it perfectly in the instant it took to fire and connect. It was so much like his own, yet so much better- sharp, focused, strong like a firestorm.

Indeed, 'firestorm' was as good a description of it as anyone could have asked for. Ulquiorra raised his blade to block the attack, and although he managed to sever the attack itself, the destructive energies burst out as he did so, a massive cloud of fire engulfing the espada, burning with the intensity of a star. The whole affair took but a second, and another few seconds later, the fire had burned itself out.

"Damn it," Isshin muttered. "That thing used to evaporate enemies. I must really be out of shape…"

"You're doing great, honey," Masaki called out from above, firing a hail of arrows into the espada for good measure. "Remember, you've been out of it for a long time, and he's really strong."

"Thanks, love," he said, the grin returning to his face.

The fire, now died down, revealed Ulquiorra all but naked, his clothes burned away to reveal a lean, muscular, toned body, as chalk-white as his face- except that it was sooty and darkened from the flames. It made him look dirty and worn, undignified.

Ulquiorra scrutinized his opponent carefully. The arrival of a new captain-class fighter was not inconsiderable, and the quincy was no slouch, either. They had hurt him, infuriating as it was to acknowledge. He was worn from his battle with that dog of the Gotei and that strange hybrid of a shinigami, and with the kind of strength these two exercised…

Quickly, he measured his options. Resurrección would end them all handily, and with little trouble, but Lord Aizen had commanded him not to use it, and his command was absolute. This was not an option now any more than it had been before. Weakened as he was, there was a chance he might actually be defeated- even die- if he kept on fighting one strong warrior after another. Even if he killed all four, the Gotei's reinforcements would not be long away now- they might hit a minute from now, and certainly no more than ten, even with Lord Aizen's stratagem. Eventually they would come, and confined to this form alone, he might be overwhelmed. No- he would be overwhelmed.

But, did he have to stay and fight? In the distance, he sensed Neliel, fighting. That being the case, her primary objective was close to being fulfilled, if not fulfilled already- and if it had failed, it had failed already. His objective, to draw attention away, was certainly fulfilled. Part of him desired to remain, to keep on fighting these ignorant little people in Lord Aizen's name, to eradicate them as he would every last straw of resistance to his lord's vision, but he was of the Consejo de la Sombra, his lord's chosen inner circle. He was expected to exercise restraint, caution, and wisdom where his more brutish cousins could not. Impassive, he raised a hand. At his command, reality ruptured and a gateway into darkness took shape.

"Hey!" Isshin cried. "You running away, you coward? Stand your ground and fight!"

"Dad, let it go!" Ichigo cried exasperatedly.

"My work here tonight is finished," Ulquiorra said dispassionately, staring down at them with cold indifference. "The next time we see each other, shinigami, I expect will be the last, for it will be war then."

"Strong… words… for a coward," spat Byakuya weakly, standing weakly on two legs, barely keeping himself upright.

Not sparing him so much as a glance, Ulquiorra turned around and walked through the gate, which rapidly closed behind him.

"Damn it, coward!" Isshin cried, but he sounded much too exuberant for Ichigo to believe he was at all angry. In fact, he seemed happier than Ichigo had seen of him for years now.

"Yeah, you'd better run!" he shouted, shaking his fist. "And don't come back, or we'll really show you what for! Me and my wife both, you hear!"

"Dad, he's gone," Ichigo said irritably. "You're just shouting at the air now."

"You shut up, you ungrateful brat!" Isshin cried. "You weren't giving me any talkback when I bailed you out!"

"I had him," Ichigo said stubbornly, unwilling to admit he owed his huge goofball of a father anything- he'd hold it over his head forever, anyway.

"Oh, sure," Isshin scoffed.

"Calm down, both of you."

The gentle voice of Masaki calmed the both of them instantly, and Isshin's expression changed into one of boyish happiness. If Ichigo hadn't just seen it, he'd never have believed his father had had the look of a soldier a minute ago.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," said Isshin. "Yeah, let's go kick some ass elsewhere-"

"Not you, silly," Masaki said, looking at Ichigo. "I meant him."

"I'm fine," Ichigo lied; he was not. Exhaustion aside, he was sure something had to be broken.

"We're going home, young man," said Masaki. "We'll have to patch you up. We'll go slowly."

"Mom!" Ichigo argued, feeling immeasurably embarrassed and bewildered. Being fussed over like this, in the sight of a captain like Byakuya no less, was infuriating.

"No 'buts', Ichigo," said Masaki firmly. "You did your part, and you had your fun. Now, we're going home. The others can handle themselves."

"…Yes, mom," Ichigo said, too exasperated and worn to argue any further.

"But Masaki-" said Isshin.

"Both of you," she said decidedly. "We came to help our son, not get drawn into a war. You have to sleep for tomorrow, both of you- don't think you get out of school or work for this."

"But-"

"Now. Home."

"…Yes, ma'am," Isshin said with a sigh, and Ichigo shot him a knowing glance. For once, he felt he could relate to his fool of a father.

---

Night had fallen, if only just, but the coming darkness was the least of Rangiku's concerns. Already she could hear the sounds of battle coming from further up the street, where Erza was clashing with the espada, but she paid it no mind. She couldn't. Her blade was already drawn, and tensely, she watched her opponent, trying to anticipate his next move, ready to react to a sudden burst of movement, ready to react to an attack whenever it would come.

Inwardly, she cursed- as she so often did- the fact that she hadn't spent more time practicing with her blade. Rangiku was not lazy, contrary to the opinion of some, but she believed in putting in as much effort as her job required and not much else. It was not a popular mindset amongst those determined enough to reach the vaunted rank of vice-captain, but it had taken her this far.

Staring down her monstrous opponent, she swore to herself- as she had so many times before- that if she got out of this, she would put her back into it and really get to work, really refine her swordplay and become a better version of herself.

Her opponent was of average height, and he would have looked rather unremarkable if not for the hollow fragment on his forehead that marked him as a hollow- that, and the eye patch covering his left eye socket. Yes, save those, he would have looked entirely like an average, nondescript man, one who could perhaps have been called handsome, but in no way exceptional. Yet she knew, feeling the force of the reiatsu pulsating from him, that he was anything but ordinary. He was one of Aizen's elite, one of the chosen few. And his orders, Rangiku knew all too well, were to kill her.

"Are you ready?" he said.

"No, actually," said Rangiku. "In fact, I'd prefer if you waited."

He cocked his head. "For how long?"

"About eighty years. Yes, I think I'll be ready to die at that time. Sound good?"

"Using humour to mask insecurity, I see," he said dismissively. "I see your fear, shinigami. I walked this far without drawing a blade out of respect to my master's space, but the time for peace has passed. If you lay down your arms now, I suppose, I'll grant you the courtesy of a quick death. That is as good a deal as I am willing to offer you. Sound good?"

"You know, it does," Rangiku said, knowing full well she was stalling, knowing it couldn't last much longer, yet all the same hesitant, "except I'm under strict orders not to die, and once my commander is finished, she'll give me absolute hell if I went and died on her. And believe you me, she's an absolute slave-driver."

"Enough," said Tesla, and reached for his sheath. From behind his back, he pulled out his blade, a zanpakutou with a strange, circular shape built into it near its base. It was rather large, the circle, much too large to be practical. Rangiku quickly evaluated the weapon. It was shorter than hers by a couple of inches, which would mean an advantage in reach for her in direct combat. The arrancar, as far as she could tell, were reliant more on raw strength and savagery than on technique, which meant she might have an edge if she worked a bit of kidou into her strategy. His power was considerable, but not overwhelming-

And then he struck. Rangiku responded by pure muscle memory before she even registered it consciously. An overhead strike, followed by a set of quick slashes, were each parried only with great effort.

He was fast. His face was a mask of determination, his brows furrowed. His movements were fluent and fast, and although his form was not quite as good as hers, he made up for it with strength and speed, keeping her on the defensive. He seemed to take the battle very seriously, much in contrast to his master, who had seemed a lot more lackadaisical and confident. Overconfidence would not be her ally, and Rangiku cursed to herself again as she dodged under a high swing. She thrust forward in a retaliatory stab, which Tesla avoided with a quick leap back before surging forward again. Rangiku and Tesla clashed over and over, doing a deadly dance where nothing else seemed to matter, where time seemed to stand still. Neither struck the other, both too skilled and too cautious to commit to an attack that would leave them vulnerable.

Suddenly, he skipped back, and Rangiku made no move to pursue, grateful for the reprieve. He looked her in the eye, his appearance inscrutable.

"Interesting," he said.

"What is?"

"You were rather an unimpressive figure when I first saw you. Your commander has the bearing of a soldier, but you seemed… out of place in your uniform."

"Yeah, well," said Rangiku with a shrug, "people see great hair and a great couple of jugs, and all they think of is… well, not 'soldier'. Doesn't bother me. People let their guard down when they underestimate you."

"I did not."

"No," Rangiku admitted, "but a girl can hope, can't she?"

"Hope has left you," declared Tesla, and the next second, he was upon her. One, two strikes, and they locked blades for an instant. Rangiku saw at the last second the glimmer of red in his eye, the sudden surge of power, and twisted herself to the side, heedless of the danger of his blade. She felt a searing heat miss her just barely, and a section of wall on the other side of the street collapsed messily, showering the asphalt with shredded concrete.

"Cero córnea," said Tesla. "My own idea, you see."

"And here I thought I was the one who'd be pulling dirty tricks!" Rangiku snapped, taking the initiative for the first time with a charge of her own. Her blood was starting to heat up now, and a bit of anger made its way into her strikes. He'd nearly killed her! With an underhanded thing like that! That, by all rights, should have been her move!

She pushed him back, the arrancar nevertheless parrying her strikes with calculated precision, and Rangiku evaded a counter-thrust, then delivered one of her own. Jumping over a low strike, she skipped back a few paces, staring him down.

She held out her blade, placing her free hand over her wrist, and in a low voice, she called out, "Growl, Haineko."

Her blade disintegrated into a mass of grey ash, travelling through the air like wisps of smoke. Tesla, seeming surprised at first, jumped back. But the ash was close enough, and as it enveloped his arm, Rangiku could feel her zanpakutou like it were an extra limb. With some measure of viciousness, she let out the mental command, and a million blades too small to see with the naked eye ground and cut against Tesla's skin. It shredded the sleeve of his uniform with ease, but did little more than irritate his skin. She focused, and the blades intensified their efforts, and Tesla's skin grew red.

Then he'd pulled away with a quick sonido, out of her ash's reach, staring her down from some ten yards away.

"I was wondering when you would bring that sword of yours to bear," he said, "and to think it's such a cruel weapon."

"War is cruel," said Rangiku with a shrug, already looking for a new angle of attack.

"Cero córnea!"

The cero struck, lightning-fast, and Rangiku skipped sideways. It went wide, but it had of course only been a distraction. Closing quickly, Tesla brought down his blade.

"That's a pretty weak offense," he cried haughtily, "so let's test what it can do up close!"

"You'll not find it wanting!" Rangiku cried, and as his blade came down, a mass of ash concentrated on his blade, slowing its descent and turning it sideways. At the same time, still more ash surged up, clawing at Tesla's face. The arrancar disappeared once more, a skilful step having taken him out of the zanpakutou's immediate range. Rangiku took a few tentative steps forward, the hilt of her sword still in her hand and the cloud of ash floating around her, growing, expanding. Haineko was a lazy blade, and pulling her fully into the fight took a bit of effort- but when she did, she was a spiteful and vicious creature, one Rangiku was glad to have on her side.

Tesla charged again, but Rangiku anticipated the attack and spun around, using the hilt to direct the ashen cloud. He came in from the side, immediately finding his blade enveloped in ash, more still snaking its way up toward his torso, toward his head. He wrenched the weapon free before Rangiku could get a firm hold of it, but as he stopped again, weapon raised, Rangiku could see his shirt was a bit ragged, torn, and the skin on his neck reddened like it had a bad rash. Her blades had cut well, even if his skin was furiously difficult to get through.

"We seem to be at an impasse," said Tesla, eyeing her cautiously, his guard up.

"Impasse?" scoffed Rangiku, taking a few steps forward. "I'm seeing you attack without making anything happen and then running away. That's not an impasse to me. That's you on the back foot. Why don't you try harder? Wouldn't want to disappoint the master, would we?"

Tesla furrowed his brows, looking irritated. She'd hit a sore spot, Rangiku was sure; the question was whether it was a mistake or not.

He raised his blade, then charged in. Rangiku readied her ashen cloud, but as he came in closer, his eye lit up again, the cero charging almost instantly. It struck, not at her but at the ground, showering her with rubble. But throwing a spray of pebbles her way, distracting as it was, was not the point. The point, she realized as she saw him close the distance as if in slow motion, was that the shockwave had thrown her ashes out and away from her, leaving her defenceless. Fear washed over her. A second was all she needed to bring it back- but that second would be all he needed to run her through.

Instinctively, with no other ideas, she raised her hilt, its guard the only defence she had left. Forcing herself to keep cool, knowing her life was on the line, knowing she had only this one chance, she surged forward, thrusting the hilt toward him. Her heart thumped, adrenaline rushed, and when she heard the clang of her hilt striking his blade, momentarily stopping his attack, she did not pause. Instead she thrust a palm forward, at the same time feeling her ash crawling back to her, fast as they managed- yet not fast enough.

"Hadou one: Shou!" she cried out loud, the spell impacting just in time. Tesla did not lose his bearing, but the sudden spell threw off his next strike, and Rangiku knew that the burning shock of metal slicing into her shoulder was a mercy- it could have taken her head off. Her heart racing, with the focus only near death can give a body, she jumped back, desperately urging her ash back. Finally it gathered in around her, forming a barrier, holding back his next strike. A look of frustration passed Tesla's features, and for a second he pushed against the ash, trying to break through. He had been so close, yet he had been denied at the last second.

That was his mistake. As he pushed down, the ash rapidly crept up, enveloping his head. He moved back, and Rangiku knew he was about to skip back and away again.

"Oh, no, you don't!" she cried. "Bakudou four: Hainawa!"

The glowing, yellow rope extended, catching Tesla's wrist just as he began to move away. The burst of speed combined with the sudden anchorage of the spell led the arrancar to an inglorious faceplant in the pavement. Desperately he cut at the spell, severing it, but it had bought Rangiku the time it needed. As Tesla sped away, blood flowed freely from his face, and he let out the whine of a wounded animal, clutching his eyes with his free hands.

His sonido took him slamming into a wall some twenty yards away, cracking through brick and concrete. He stood uneasily, and Rangiku was sure he would have collapsed if the near-broken wall segment hadn't supported his weight.

"My eyes!" he cried, pointing his blade uneasily in Rangiku's general direction, adjusting it weakly from left to right. He didn't know, Rangiku realized. Because he couldn't see.

As she slowly walked closer, she felt a semblance of pity. Blood was staining his face, and as he removed his hand, she could see a meaty, shredded mess where his relatively handsome face had been, his eyes punctured and ripped to pieces. His skin was hard to crack, but his eyes? Not as much.

In her mind, Rangiku felt Haineko chuckle spitefully, and she resented the viciousness of it a little. It was not a move she would have preferred to make if it weren't her only option, if this weren't a life-or-death battle. Rangiku had grown up in the rukongai, where one either learned to play dirty or got eaten, but it was not a past she relished. It had its uses, but even now, looking at the handicapped, brutalized arrancar, she only felt distaste.

"Curse you, woman!" he snarled and spat, uneasily pointing his sword back and forth as she walked closer, her ashes readying for another strike. "I am the fracción of lord Nnoitra! I will not be beaten by these cheap tricks!"

Pain punctured his voice, which was cracking, almost desperate. Although blinded, he surely sensed her coming, and he stumbled onto the street, racing forward some thirty yards before slamming into a lamp-post. The post bent and broke under the impact, and Tesla fell over, bleeding and in pain. It was a pathetic sight, and Rangiku hesitated. Killing him, grinding through his skin to cut his throat, would be crueller still… yet the other way she could think of was even crueller.

"You think I'm finished?" snarled Tesla, determination shining through the pain. "You have seen nothing yet, woman!"

He raised his blade, uneasily, and Rangiku's eyes widened. Resurrección! She had forgotten; supposedly it could restore wounds, even grievous ones. Gathering the ashes around her, she burst forward, but it was too late.

"Crush, Verruga!" he snapped. There was a burst of raw power and a flash of light, and Rangiku found her ashes momentarily blown back. Knowing she had come in too late, she retreated, skipping back. She was not a second too soon; a huge fist came down where she had just stood, dark brown in hue. As the dust settled, she could see it: a gargantuan shape, well over ten feet tall, only vaguely humanoid. Tesla's legs were covered in light brown fur. His feet had the shape of cloven hooves. His torso, arms, and head were dark brown. Well-distinguished muscles lined his body. Tufts of fur decorated his arms, thick as tree trunks, terrifying to look at. His face was obscured entirely by a white hollow's mask, taking the shape of a boar's face, tusks and all. Rangiku stared up at the apparition and trembled a little. He radiated power, tremendous and immense raw power, terrifying to look at. His eyes were restored, and glowed a menacing yellow.

"Damn…" she said breathlessly. "You know, when I say men are pigs sometimes, I usually don't mean it literally."

"Joke all you want," rumbled Tesla, balling his fists. "It will not help you now."

Rangiku commanded Haineko to her side, summoning the ashes to do her bidding, but Tesla closed the distance in a heartbeat. He slammed his palms together, the shockwave blowing the ashes to the side, and Rangiku just barely avoided a fist striking at her. A crater formed in the street where she had stood a moment ago. What had been a fight turned into a desperate series of dodges and evasions, Rangiku forced to rely on speed just to avoid one crushing blow after another. There was no point in even trying to summon Haineko now; the ashen clouds could never block attacks like these, and to attack was out of the question when she was barely keeping herself alive as it was.

Rangiku somersaulted away from another blow and launched herself into the air, aiming down with her hands.

"Hadou thirty-one: Shakkahou!" she cried, sending a crimson fireball down. Tesla didn't bother blocking it. The spell impacted with his shoulder to little effect. He reached out with a hand, and Rangiku, knowing she could not under any circumstances let herself be snatched, grabbed him by the wrist as it came in, using a quick shou to thrust herself aside. She avoided being grabbed, but he was quick all the same, and a flick of his wrist left her with a glancing blow that sent her flying. The air knocked out of her lungs, Rangiku went into freefall, impacting painfully with the concrete, rolling until she struck a wall. Not five minutes ago, she reflected, that had been him- the fortunes of war had a bitterly quick way of turning. Coughing, she forced herself up, knowing every second she spent down was one where he'd close the distance. Still not breathing, still struggling to force air into her lungs, she got to her feet, unsteady, just barely avoiding a blow that would have flattened her.

Damn it all! How did Erza do it? How did everyone else just… do this, fight these impossible creatures? When one was as good as dead just trying?

Because there's something we have to do.

Haineko's voice came unbidden as Rangiku stumbled away, barely keeping her balance, and for a second she saw a vision of what the spirit had meant: silver hair, a lean and lanky frame, a smile that was never genuine except for her…

Gin.

Yes. They did it because they had something to fight for, something they had to do before they died. Rangiku had that, too- it's just that she had had to be reminded of it, because it was a memory she'd rather drown out with alcohol. She had done that, for too long, because Rangiku was not strong, not like the others. She'd made a habit of running from her problems, of smiling even when she had nothing to smile about. It had worked, perhaps for too long. And now, in the heat of battle, on the brink of death, she had been given the reminder she needed. She fought, like the others did, because she had something to fight for. She couldn't die, not until it was settled. Not until she had seen him again. That was how they did it, and that was how she would do it.

As she avoided another earth-shaking blow, the practical reality of combat sunk in. Motivation was all well and good, but it wasn't going to change the fact that he was a titan-sized monster who hit like a truck and was taller than most houses. Rangiku's ashes still lingered, following her around even without her commanding them to do so- Haineko was clingy like that- but without her command, it could not attack. And without the time to focus, she could not attack. His skin, which had been hard enough to have to grind through before, was surely impervious now. There was one way, only one way, but… there was no way she could pull it off.

Then again, nobody had ever thought anyone could rampage through the Gotei for days only to receive a pardon and a promotion, and her commander had done just that. Impossible, sometimes, was just a matter of perception. Now, how would she perceive a good enough strategy? She was not an exceptional warrior like Erza, or a skilled kidou user like Momo, or a perfect-at-everything fighter like Captain Kuchiki…

She was just Rangiku. Skilled enough to be a vice-captain, but not much else. With nothing to rely on but her wits, and her back up against the wall.

An idea came to mind.

It was exactly what a brave warrior might do, which was how Rangiku knew it was desperate and very, very stupid. Then again, what options were there?

She dashed away with a sudden burst of speed, getting some distance between her and Tesla, before turning to face him, the ashes converging on her, around her.

"Done running?" the arrancar rumbled, taking one massive step forward.

"Come and get it, why don't you?" Rangiku said defiantly, breathing heavily.

"Such bravado. It will not help you, shinigami."

She raised her hands, muttering a chant. Let's give him something to worry about.

A Soukatsui went off just as Tesla charged in, blue fire washing over his dark-brown hide, searing his fur. If it hurt him, he gave no indication of it. He shot out with one massive hand, grabbing at her. Rangiku skipped back, her ashes shooting out at his arm. They ground against his arm, the struggle of her blades entirely futile. Snorting dismissively, Tesla raised his hands and brought them together for a thunderous clap. There was a shockwave rippling through the air, blowing her ashes clear, scattering them to the wind, and Rangiku stumbled back, nearly losing her balance. Tesla's arms shot out, grabbing at her. Rangiku twisted, trying to get out of his grip, but he got hold of her arm, and a second later, he had wrapped a hand around her waist. With only one arm free, she was lifted up into the air, both his hands wrapped around her waist. She could feel the strength of his hands, a titanic power holding her in place, ready to crush her at any time. She could barely breathe, so tight was his grip on her.

"Let me go, you bastard!" she spat, thumping on his arm with her fist, entirely in vain. She might as well have punched a bar of steel.

"Got you," Tesla said, with satisfaction, and Rangiku could feel the grip tightening.

"You son of a bitch," she croaked, still punching at him desperately.

"Struggle. Yes, struggle," he said, sounding satisfied. "Even when all is lost, you struggle. Shinigami are akin to hollows in this way alone."

"Who says all is lost?" she spat. A squeeze from Tesla's hands silenced her, the air pushed out of her lungs. She let out a pained gasp.

"Go on," said Tesla mockingly. "Tell me how it is not lost."

"F-fine," Rangiku gasped, weakly raising an arm toward his face, as if to grasp at him, a last act of defiance. "Whatever. If you're going to do it, do it."

"A quick death?" Tesla said, snarling. "I offered you that mercy before, woman. You refused it. After what you did to my eyes, you expect to be treated that well?"

He squeezed again, and Rangiku could feel her ribs creak, screaming in protest. She let out a loud yelp, wiggling weakly in his grip.

"God damn you!" she cried, weakly flailing with her arm. "You hollow bastard, let me go! Coward! Monster!"

Tesla laughed. He seemed to take pleasure in her diatribe.

"Cry louder," he mocked her. "Cry until you've got no lungs left to cry with, until I've choked the life out of you!"

He punctuated his statement with another hard squeeze, and Rangiku gasped as the air was pushed out of her lungs. She felt a rib break. He was sure to use only a little of his strength, but it was more than enough to put her in agony.

She struggled to breathe in, the arrancar having relented just enough to let her take in a little air- not as much as she needed, but enough that she would not lose consciousness.

"B-bastard," she gasped faintly, her one free hand trembling, reaching out weakly.

"It is no less than you deserve," he said coldly, squeezing her again, and Rangiku felt a jolt of pain as another rib broke, the air forcefully pushed out of her lungs again, "and I'll play with you until my master is through. Pray that he kills your pathetic commander quickly, woman."

Again he relented, just enough that she could breathe a little, just enough that she did not faint. As far as tortures went, it was simple and unrefined, but brutally effective.

"Just… do it," Rangiku coughed in between his crushing grips. "Finish it already, you… you coward- ack!"

She was silenced by another squeeze.

"You call that begging?" He sneered. "You know nothing of pain, shinigami. What little you will know tonight before you die will not come close to understanding the pain that comes with a hollow's existence."

He paused his speech to sneeze, his grip slackening ever so slightly, although not nearly enough to let her break free. He sneezed again, turning his head, and it was rather bizarre to see a beast his size do something so ordinary.

"Where was I?" He spat. "Damn it…" He cleared his throat. "I'll be damned, is there something in the air?" He cleared his throat again.

Rangiku let out a short, pained chuckle.

"You!" Tesla spat. "What did you do, shinigami?" He grasped at his throat, scratching at it feverishly. "It hurts! What is wrong with me?"

"You didn't think my ash went away, did you?" said Rangiku, staring into his yellow, inhuman eyes. "You sent it flying, but it didn't go away. While you were busy breaking one bone at a time, while I kept you talking, this hand…" she said, slowly raising her free hand, "was guiding it inside you, little by little."

Tesla looked at her, suddenly noticing the dust in the air, and although his face was solid bone, something about his body language conveyed horror; the way he flinched, the way he suddenly looked around like an animal looking to escape.

"I'm really sorry about this," she said sincerely. "It's a very cruel way to go. But, it's you or me, and, well… it's not like you don't deserve it."

She made a fist, and Tesla jerked back, letting go of her and clutching at his throat with both hands. Rangiku just barely landed on her feet, sinking to one knee, still focused. The blades were responding, grinding, cutting a million tiny sores inside the arrancar's throat at once. Tesla tried to scream, but only a choked gurgle came out, spraying droplets of blood on the street. He fell on his back, still clutching his throat, rolling around in panic. Rangiku felt a pang of sympathy, because this was as cruel a death as she could imagine. She wished it could have been clean and quick, but that was not an option. Steeling herself, she willed her zanpakutou to continue, and Haineko gleefully obeyed. Two minutes later, Tesla lay on the street, a large pool of blood forming from his torn-out throat. His corpse was still twitching, and Rangiku stood up cautiously, wincing with the effort.

Pride before the fall. That had been it, really. Not her skill, not her superior planning, but the fact that her opponent had been ignorant and too stupid to kill her right away. Well, at least she was alive...

She swallowed, looked at the fresh corpse, and knew the death throes she had seen, the screams he'd tried and failed to let out, would haunt her. This was not a great week to not drink herself silly, it seemed.

---

Neliel had thought she had met the pinnacle of infuriating when she first met Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, but the agile, nimble, green-clad swordsman in front of her was giving him stiff competition. The man danced around her with cat-like grace, always being where her blade was not, and Neliel knew that if not for her hierro, she'd be bleeding from a dozen cuts already. It was obvious he was no mere shopkeeper- this was a shinigami of considerable power, with skill at least akin to that of a captain.

Urahara Kisuke. She'd heard the name before. Lord Aizen had spoken of him with dismissive contempt, as an intellectual coward, a researcher whose brilliance was cut short by his own lack of a spine, by his ineptitude and unwillingness to go further. This was all she had known; a scientist possessed of an excellent brain but no courage with which to use it. For all Neliel had known, he had not been much of a warrior.

But all the same, he moved like one. He had a smile on his face. Not the false, intimidating kind that Ichimaru Gin wore, but one that looked genuine and inviting, as if he were enjoying a game with a friend. This was what infuriated her. She was the quinta espada, one of Aizen's chosen and a vasto lorde. She had never been one to demand respect, because most people would show it to her regardless, but the man's attitude made her want to be acknowledged. She was one of the very best, so how dared he not take her seriously? How dared someone so apparently lacking in conviction stand in her way so effectively?

With determination she pushed on the attack with a series of rapid thrusts. Her blade had the advantage of reach, at least, and the shopkeeper was pushed back. Neliel knew better by now than to expect this was actually a real advantage. Many times now he had feigned near-defeat, only to twist out of the way of her killing blow without apparent effort.

"Who are you?" she demanded, struggling to keep her voice level. Every second she tarried was one where her comrades fought and risked their lives, and although she had not given up on her mission, she knew this was not the road to success.

"But a humble store keeper, milady," he said, executing a perfect bow that doubled as a dodge under one of her sweeping cuts. She cut down; he parried.

"You lie."

"You wound me, Miss Oderschvank," he said, shaking his head. "Really, I'm hurt."

"How do your own people put up with you?"

"You know, I sometimes ask myself that exact question. It must just be my natural charisma and the drugs I slip into their food."

Determined not to let his quips unsettle her, Neliel pushed the attack, but Urahara flipped over her in a quick feat of acrobatics that even now she had not expected. Mid-air, he slipped his coat off, throwing the black garment over her head. Neliel quickly batted it aside, knowing what would come, but she was too late. His off-hand grasped her wrist, and she felt his blade against her throat as he dashed up, stopping inches from her face.

"Let's talk, you and I," he said, suddenly looking serious.

Neliel stood still, staring back at him. The smile, she noticed, hadn't left his face- it was his eyes, dead serious, that had changed. He had let that cheery exterior slip, at least partially, and it was intense.

It reminded her of Lord Aizen.

He, too, wore a mask, because he had to, but it was one of abject seriousness and dignity. The shopkeeper in front of her, the edge of his blade still pressed against her neck, had worn a mask of cheer, and it had made her underestimate him when she had first seen him.

"Who are you?" she demanded once more.

"Urahara Kisuke is my name," he said, "but you should consider more where I stand in all of this. A concerned and strongly invested actor, above all."

"That doesn't tell me a whole lot."

"Let's just say I'd rather not see Aizen succeed."

"Then there's nothing to talk about."

He sighed. "For the record, I'd like to make you an offer, one I am convinced the Gotei would sign off on. Join us, give up on the psychopath steering you like a marionette, and give us all you know in exchange for your freedom. It doesn't have to end in death or even pain."

"I'd rather die."

"You know, the most irritating part of this is that I believe you," said Urahara with a shrug. "You serious types with your convictions are all just as boorish, shinigami or arrancar. Besides," he said dismissively, "I suppose I could never trust anyone who would change sides so easily. Convictions are a pain like that, aren't they?"

"Why would you even ask, then?" Neliel said with a hint of anger. She could not make heads or tails of this man. He felt dangerous, as dangerous as Lord Aizen himself when he was angry, but all the same he was totally different, completely alien to the concept of a shinigami as she knew it.

"I don't know, actually," he said. "It must be that silly idealism rubbing off on me." He smiled more widely, and chuckled. "At any rate-"

Neliel twisted back, taking the risk; a quick thrust would cut through her neck with ease. She wrenched herself free, and as she had expected, the shopkeeper did not cut her throat.

"Bold," he commented.

"You wanted to talk," she said, "which means you didn't want me dead. As Grimmjow told me before, that's a considerable advantage."

"We can still talk."

She shook her head. "You can call him a master of puppets all you want, but I know where I stand. I am Lord Aizen's loyal blade, his espada. Nothing you say will change that. There's no offer you can make."

"Oh, you thought I was making an offer? Aside from that for-show one I just made, that I expected you to reject?" He shook his head. "Not at all. I have more than that to say."

"I am done listening," Neliel said stubbornly, assuming a stance. She stole a quick glance at Grimmjow, who was watching from the side lines with glee.

"You had to make it difficult, eh?"

"Always."

He cocked his head sideways, then shrugged. Suddenly, a blow struck Neliel at the back of her knee, and another into the side of her neck. She sunk down to one knee, nearly losing consciousness, and found that her wrist had been grabbed, twisted behind her back. She looked up at her attacker, a dark-skinned woman with purple hair and a smile just as obnoxiously confident as that of the shopkeeper.

"You see," said Urahara, slowly walking closer, "the reason I end up on top? The reason I've evaded Aizen and all of the Gotei for over twenty years? The reason I win, Neliel Tu Oderschvank, is that I cheat."

"Damn you!" Neliel snapped, trying to stab at the woman holding her, to no avail; she dodged with cat-like grace without letting go.

"Let's talk, you and I," said Urahara. Neliel stared back defiantly. "And, please don't struggle too much. I don't take pleasure in abusing women, but I'm not so chivalrous I won't use enough force when I need to, regardless of gender."

Neliel grit her teeth. Damn it all!

---

Towering over her, lean and lanky, the creature in front of her had to be near ten feet tall. He radiated power, at least equivalent to Grimmjow's before his fall from grace, and he leered as only a hollow could. A toothy grin was on his face, his strange polearm held at the ready.

"A woman," he said dismissively. "Better than the other trash, but just a little girl all the same, ain't ya?"

"Nnoitra Gilga," Erza said stubbornly, "sexto espada. Ranked under Neliel to Oderschvank and Tier Halibel, if I recall correctly."

His lone eye narrowed, and his face twitched.

"Stuck-up cunts," he spat.

"I doubt you dare say it to their faces."

Nnoitra snarled, and with surprising speed he raked his weapon at her horizontally, swinging in a wide arc. It was tremendously powerful, and deceptively quick for such a large weapon, but Erza dodged under it all the same. Wordlessly she called forth her shikai, starting off with the dual blades. Another hard swing; Erza jumped over it, her feet finding momentary purchase on the great weapon itself as it swung past, and she launched herself forward. His guard was down, her shot was clear- yet the espada did not seem surprised, or even concerned. Her blades connected, slashing in an X-mark across his chest, but they all but bounced. They sheared through his shirt easily enough, but his skin was unharmed. It was like cutting into old leather, if the leather were meshed with steel wire. Snarling, Nnoitra lashed out with a hand, a punch to the face that sent Erza flying. Maintaining her combat awareness, Erza rolled to the side as soon as she stopped sliding across the ground. The spot where she had been a second ago was pulverized by the polearm, sent out flying by its master. As Erza got to her feet, she saw him retract it by its chain, wielding it with a casual ease.

"You think you're the only one who's got the know-how?" he said mockingly. "Sure, that fucking rat Grimmjow gave you something, but Lord Aizen already knows all your shitty weaknesses inside out. You ain't subtle. You're a girl playing at bein' strong. You don't got no spells or special abilities to keep you alive. And in a contest of strength… hell, you can beat yourself tired against my hierro all you want. Nobody's got stronger skin than me. Don't you see? Lord Aizen picked me to kill you, girl!"

Erza stood up straight. Although she doubted Aizen would let her live, she could not imagine him sending this chauvinistic thug to end her. This guy was full of hot air, like so many boastful men- unfortunately, there was no balloon to pop, and the hot air was shielded by a brick wall.

Fair enough, then. If her swords would not do, it was not as if she had no other options. The blades disappeared, and in her hand the war hammer appeared, sleek, deadly, and destructive. Erza tested its weight in her hand, flipping it around to hold the spiked end out. The espada gave her a look, and Erza realized he was waiting for her to make a move. He might be watching her, then, trying to analyse her. There could be no underestimating fighters of this calibre.

Well, let him have it his way, then. She would not disappoint. She dashed forward suddenly, as quickly as she was able, and just as expected, the espada raised his weapon. The polearm came crashing down into the ground, but Erza twisted out of its way, then dodged under a hand grabbing for her as she closed inside his guard, and rolled past him. She got to her feet, and before he could turn, she smashed the head of the hammer into the back of his knee, before launching herself upward, smashing the hammer's head into his skull. Surprised, the espada went down on one knee, his head rocked to the side. Erza immediately skipped back, knowing it would not have been enough, and a second later he had spun around and swung his polearm horizontally, with a blow that might have sheared her in two, had it connected. Erza, refusing to give up the initiative, charged again before he could recover, and began to hammer him- literally- as hard as she could. He tried to grapple her, but she was too quick, too nimble, and she rained down blow after blow, on his head, chest, shoulders, and arms. His skin absorbed the impacts well enough, but the hammer was made in such a way that it was the bane of armour, and ugly bruises began to form where she struck. She landed a solid hit to the side of his chest, and was rewarded with a groan.

Snarling, Nnoitra opened his mouth, charging a cero on the tip of his tongue. Erza skipped back and dashed to the side as it discharged. The beam all but leveled a small building in the distance behind her. Now taking the initiative for himself, Nnoitra came at her hard with strong, sweeping swings, none of them too fast but with the kind of power and reach that made them dangerous to tackle head-on. Forced on the defensive, Erza summoned her shield. She had to find an opening-

A thrust caught her unawares, and she blocked the polearm with her shield, sliding back. The follow-up came swiftly, and Erza marvelled that he could swing such an unwieldy weapon so quickly. Instinctively she raised her shield as the weapon came down, and her whole body shook with the impact. The bone, sinew and muscle in her arm screamed with protest, almost numb with the sheer force of the strike, and it was all she could do to move out of the way of the next strike. Attempting a direct parry, she realized, had been a mistake. The monster hit like a truck, and it was clear he had the physical endurance to withstand a counter-attack. No, to fight like him was to give him an advantage.

Familiar, is it not? Came the voice of her blade. Have you not seen it before?

Erza thought back, as she skipped outside another strike, buying time. Zaraki Kenpachi. Yes, it was not dissimilar- the monster lacked the unrestrained joy or utter lack of caution of the wild captain of Eleventh, but it was the same principle. Wild, powerful, monstrously enduring, lacking much of any formal skill- Nnoitra was a similar beast.

And we beat him by not letting him fight his way. Remember this, oh master.

Erza nodded to herself. Speed and technique would be her ally in this case. She could break him, given enough time, but she could not let herself be worn down doing it, and she could not keep taking hits like the one she'd parried.

"Render," she whispered, and the great black blade manifested in her hand.

"What, changing it up again?" Nnoitra gloated, swinging his polearm around. "If that's the biggest you got, I ain't worried."

"It's not about size, monster."

She dashed forward, and he struck at her just the way she'd known he would, just as she'd expected; he was nothing if not predictable. Erza caught the blow before it could truly land, redirecting its force into the ground. She was shaken by the effort, her joints aching, but it succeeded. As the polearm dug a rift into the asphalt of the street, Erza leaped forward, and let out a loud war-cry as she swung her greatsword horizontally, striking hard and true. The blade hit the espada's side, just under his ribcage, drawing blood as the edge carved through the steel-hard mesh of skin. But the cut was shallow, stopping before even half of the blade's width had cut into the espada's body.

"What, that it?" Nnoitra sneered, and backhanded her before she could react. The blow sent her reeling, stumbling back, and she struggled to maintain her balance.

"Look at me, huh?" said the espada gleefully. "The big commander with the tough, brave words and my superior skill. You get inside my guard, and you can't even cut me properly."

Blood seeped from the wound, but slowly, as if it were a scratch. His endurance was a thing to behold, and Erza was grateful he'd chosen to gloat. An instant counter-attack could have been the end of her. She recovered, holding her blade low. Her skill was superior, of that there was no doubt, but he was just too tough. Her eyes narrowed, and she stopped, briefly, to think.

Her hammer had been her best bet, and following that, the greatsword. What else was there in her armoury? Her dual blades were useless, naturally. Sword and shield? Even worse; parrying strikes she could not afford to take and striking with half the strength? No.

Her train of thought was cut short as the espada launched his polearm at her, sailing through the air like a reaper's scythe. Erza bent over backwards, quite nimbly, and let it pass over her. She twisted around, putting her hand to the ground, letting her greatsword dissipate. She launched herself into the air, sailing over the polearm as it retracted, and landed on her feet. When she recovered, she stood tall with a long spear in hand, a round hoplite's shield clutched in her off-hand. There was a way. Piercing power was the name of the game right now, and she was unwilling to let herself be pushed into bankai too easily.

"Come on, come on," Nnoitra said with malicious cheer. "No wonder you keep losing if you can't even commit to one weapon, dumbass."

"Better than being the master of none, like you."

Nnoitra replied with another long swing, extending the full length of the haft of his weapon. Even with the ten-foot reach of her blade, he still struck further than she did. But, reach was not all. As he struck, she charged forward, deflecting the strike with her shield- deflecting it to the side, taking care to only glance the blow. It still shook her, but in the instant when she deflected it she had an opening, charging forward. She thrust her spear, steeling her arm. His skin was tough, but not unbreakable, and it was only a matter of adjusting. She braced for impact and pushed hard as she drove the point of her spear home, cutting into his chest. She grit her teeth, growling, and the tip of the spear cut through his chest, running him through. She felt his hierro resist at his back, but persevered, the tip cutting through both chest and back.

"Bitch!" Nnoitra snarled, charging a cero. His polearm would not be effective this close up; Erza had taken care to stay outside the range of his hand, yet close enough that his massive weapon could not be wielded easily. Still, the hollow would never be harmless to close up to, and Erza twisted the spear, hoping the pain would distract him. Nnoitra winced, but nevertheless charged up his cero, and Erza pulled her spear back. But before she could retract it, Nnoitra had lashed out, holding to the haft of the spear.

"Not so fast, girlie," he said, and the cero finished charging. Erza weighed her options. In an instant, it would fire. She could dismiss her weapons and make a mad dash to the side, but there would be some time for the espada to adjust the trajectory of the deadly, red beam. She would be grazed at the very least, and to be struck from behind, with no defence but her armour…

Or, she could brace behind her shield, and hope that Nozomi and Kisuke's modifications would hold strong. With the fraction of a second to react, Erza fell to one knee, raising her shield up on high and taking a deep breath.

The cero fired.

Erza's first sensation was one of intense heat, and it felt rather like walking into a furnace after taking a walk in a wintery landscape. Her arm took the worst of it. Smoke trailed from the sleeve of her shihakushou. It burned. Her skin blistered under the cloth. She was pushed back under the intense, raw force of it all and she dug in, desperately trying to hold her balance- it would be over in seconds, but if she took the brunt of this attack without full protection…

She felt her armour heating up, but differently from the shield. A blue glow radiated from her helmet, and she could see glowing runes reflected on the back of the shield, the enchantments doing their part.

Then as quickly as it began, it was over. Erza knew she was burnt, her arm most of all, but she had endured it. What was more, Nnoitra would not expect an attack now. Suddenly switching equipment, she let the shield and spear disappear, replaced by the dual blades. She thrust forward with one arm.

"What the-" said Nnoitra, caught off guard.

"Armour," said Erza triumphantly as her blade caught him in the skull, sliding through his eye patch.

He stood still, and for a moment, Erza was sure she had won. Then he slowly reached out with his off-hand and pulled the eyepatch clear, ripping it off. It tore against the edge of Erza's blade, and Erza breathed in as she saw it. His hollow's hole, rather than going through his chest or gut like those of most hollows, was in his skull.

She acted immediately, pulling back, dodging a vicious swing from the polearm. Damn it all! She had endured a cero, point blank, all for this? The espada seemed to be perfectly aware that his swings left him open to counter-attacks, and she thought it had all come down to the toughness of his skin and constitution. Had he expected this?

Hastily she switched back to her greatsword, feeling her zanpakutou cry with joy, feeling the rage of the black blade rise in her chest. No sooner had she brought forth the blade than the espada struck again, lashing out with a series of wide, heavy blows, forcing her back as he swung his polearm in wide arcs. She parried and deflected, dodged and evaded, painfully aware that she had lost the momentum, that her enemy now had the initiative.

But, Erza was not a master of the blade for nothing, and as she began to read his pattern of attacks, she found it easier and easier to adapt. Although he had skill with the polearm, it was a heavy and unwieldy weapon. One good blow could end her, but he'd have to hit her first. Content on the defensive, Erza let him strike, knowing the opportunity would come before long.

Sneering with irritation, Nnoitra threw the polearm forward, intent on overbalancing her with one hard blow. Erza saw it coming and somersaulted over it. Nnoitra grinned, pulling back hard on the chain, trying to slice her apart on the other half of his strange weapon. Erza reacted instantly, her charge continuing into a slide as she dropped low, the polearm sailing over her helm by a fraction of an inch. Erza slammed her sword's edge into his shin, leaving a nasty, red mark and temporarily shifting his balance. She got to her feet before he'd had the time to turn around and struck at his back, once, twice, then deflected a poorly managed blow from the polearm, landing a hit against her neck. Although her blows lacked the strength to pierce his skin- yet- they left ugly red marks, and more importantly, the espada was becoming frustrated. She skipped away, avoiding a clumsy attempt at a grapple, and side-stepped a half-baked cero.

"Stand still, you little bitch!" Nnoitra snarled.

"Are you used to prey that rolls over, belly up?" Erza shot back. "Perhaps you'd prefer me to cut my own throat for you, since you're not strong enough to do it yourself?"

She was not usually one for taunts, but the espada was annoying her. His overconfidence, his arrogance, his inexplicable contempt for her womanhood- the more she fought him, the more she wanted to cut him down. Perhaps it was having put up with Grimmjow's childishness and arrogance, perhaps it was the stress and uncertainty she'd been under, perhaps it was her self-doubt and the weight of responsibility on her shoulders, or perhaps it was all of it, but as she raised her blade ready once more, Erza realized she wanted this. Right now, she was doing the one thing she was good at, with no reason to hold back or show mercy.

"Fucking…" Nnoitra spat, at a loss for words. He launched another set of sweeping blows, but Erza nimbly evaded each one before stepping onto his blade as it struck the ground, leaping forward. She cried out, greatsword held firmly, and swung right at his neck. Nnoitra pulled back, and to Erza's surprise, he caught her strike with his off-hand. Had he finally begun to doubt the strength of his unnatural armour?

Regardless of the cause, Nnoitra at last pulled back, his off-hand hanging limp. He shook it, and grimaced.

"Good," he said, a grin suddenly manifesting on his face. "Like hell I'd enjoy beating you down if you weren't worth going all out."

"Words are cheap," Erza said stubbornly. "Are you ready to actually do it?"

Nnoitra stared her down. "Yeah."

He held his polearm in one hand, and Erza felt his reiatsu begin to surge. She returned the favour, raising her own energy to match his as she readied her own powers. She thumbed the rune on her armour, letting it drop to the ground. She was about to don something far more powerful.

"Pray, Santa Teresa!"

"Bankai: Tetsuken Yoseitama!"

Erza stood in resplendent armour, heavy plates in gunmetal grey, resting the greatsword on her shoulder. Nnoitra, too, had changed. His jacket was open, revealing a toned, muscular chest, but the first thing Erza saw was the arms. Where he'd previously had two, he now had four, encased in bone with clawed hands, each one clasping a scythe, as black as the polearm he'd wielded a second ago. A crescent moon adorned his head, seeming to run through his skull. Although his resurrección was far subtler in its change than many others Erza had seen, his multitude of limbs, the malevolent glee on his face, and the way the slick black hair framed his one-eyed face all added up in the night to make him look like some malevolent deity, alien and hungry for blood.

Erza had a long career of fighting monstrous things behind her, and the most frightening monster of all was a far way away from this battlefield, so she was undaunted.

"About time," she said, her eyes narrowing.

"Hell yeah," Nnoitra said, sneering.

For a moment they stood still, eyeing one another, savouring the anticipation, knowing the violence to come would erupt at any moment.

Then they both dashed at each other at the same time, Nnoitra raising his four blades to Erza's one. Erza swung her blade with maddening speed, invigorated by the release of her bankai, but as she had expected, no matter her speed, she could not hope to counter four blades at once. She parried once, twice before she had to skip back, evading a double strike to her torso. The scythes raked the midsection of her armour, and Erza rolled to the side, dashing up with a horizontal slash to his flank. The espada snarled, bringing two blades to bear while two more defended, attempting to lock down her blade while the other two struck her. Erza twisted her blade free, somehow managing to avoid being skewered twice over again. Nnoitra took the offensive, pushing back Erza with a whirlwind of razor-sharp death. His four scythes worked in tandem, not one of them getting in the way of the others. If his work with the polearm had been flawed, he was in his element now.

Not all went his way. He could both attack and defend, but he relied on power and speed more than technique still, and the scythe as a weapon was poorly suited to combat compared to a sword. He was pushing her back, pushing her to the brink of what she was able to do, but so far, he had not landed a hit. Truth be told, neither of them was going all out yet, both testing the other's abilities to the fullest. Erza tried to think. She had much yet to offer, but she doubted the espada did. If she could get a sense for how he fought, she could use it to her advantage later. But, if she waited too long, she might be overwhelmed. There was no room for error here; the espada was as powerful as he was furious, and faster than he had been before, his lean arms working non-stop in a bizarre whirlwind of weaponry. It did not deter her. That was a challenge, one without any nonsense, without any illusions or excessive complexities, just another strong opponent in a row of strong opponents. This would be decided by technique, by whomever could find an opening first, not by raw power or trickery. In the field of technique, few people could best Erza hand-to-hand.

The time had come to pick the right kind of weapon. Wordlessly she summoned Breaker, the great bearded axe, designed to cut through the thickest of armour. She had held it back before, wanting to not reveal her hand too early, wanting to test her enemy. Now, with both of them having gone all out, there was no reason to wait any further.

Hefting the axe in both hands, she took a step back. The espada advanced, pursuing her relentlessly. Parrying as she skipped back, she cried, "Heaven's Wheel!"

The robust grey of her plate was exchanged for glittering silver scale mail, great metal wings forming behind her back. It was like a weight lifting off her back, but Erza knew it was not the armour becoming physically lighter. It was the zanpakutou, invigorating her body and granting it a speed she could never normally accomplish.

Suddenly Nnoitra found himself blindsided, Erza having maneuvered behind him with a quick couple of steps in a surprising burst of speed. Before he could react, she had brought the edge of her great axe down onto his right upper arm, severing it cleanly before swinging again, cutting through the second right-side arm. Both limbs fell to the ground, and Erza raised her blade to parry as a snarling Nnoitra brought his two remaining weapons to bear, pushing her back with a frenzy of blows.

Erza parried, and although she was pushed back, she felt her heart swell with confidence. The espada clearly hadn't expected it; there had been but a moment's shock as she'd stepped in behind him, the blink of an eye, and it had been enough. Armed with the scales of Heaven's Wheel, she felt light, quickened, none of his blows seeming fast enough at half capacity.

Suddenly, he stopped, standing over his severed limbs. Erza took a step back, eyeing him cautiously. She had struck at the joints of each arm, where the armour was at its weakest, but even the loss of not one but two limbs had given the monster little pause. Small trickles of blood seeped from the stumps, but he seemed unaffected by the pain, if he felt any at all.

When he held out the stumps and let out a malicious grin as his anger turned into glee, Erza realized it wouldn't be so easy. Before her eyes, two new bony limbs sprouted forth and grew to completion in a matter of seconds, like some sort of macabre blossom. Nnoitra reached down and retrieved the two blades from the ground, and stared her down.

"Ya really thought ya got me there, didn't ya?" he sneered.

"You know, for a second, I thought I did. Then again, I never expected you to go down easily."

He snarled. As he charged again, Erza switched back to her dual blades; she needed a few moments to think, and the two blades would make parrying easier. Brute-forcing his scythes against her, Erza had little trouble keeping up, but she knew neither weapon could really hurt him.

Heaven's Wheel was a solid choice. Speed would lend itself to technique, and hers was already superior. Coupled with her Breaker, or maybe Render, she could land a critical hit.

But, the espada was no fool, and was no spring chicken with his weapons, either. If she was struck by those blades even once, the light scales would offer only limited protection. Perhaps it was the answer, but she had the advantage of a range of skills, and there was no reason not to use them.

With a swipe of her wings, she carried herself up into the sky, Nnoitra's strikes missing their mark. She flapped her wings once more, flinging herself toward the ground with speed, and cried, "Purgatory!"

Her armour switched, and she felt the power of the black plate mail envelop her, its berserker strength surging through her bones. As she surged toward him, Render manifested in her hands, pointed down. The espada raised his blades, ready to strike her like a batter expecting a ball, but Erza had flung herself toward him at speed for a reason. The espada miscalculated her attack, his blades striking just a moment too late, and Erza barrelled into him, the greatsword piercing his chest halfway through. The espada let out a surprised gurgle- his lung was pierced- and overbalanced. Knowing she had only a moment before he'd recover, Erza wrenched free her blade, pushing him down to the ground with her foot as she did so, and somersaulted back in a way that completely defied the heavy metal encasing her. Nnoitra stood up, wiping a stain of blood from his face, and Erza noticed his chest wound was already knitting together. He was wounded, certainly, but his endurance came through once again. Regeneration. What an obnoxious strength for an opponent to have!

But not as obnoxious as illusions, she reminded herself, and raised her blade.

She charged first this time, spinning her blade in a quick, wide arc, down on the espada's head. As she had expected, he blocked the strike with two of his scythes, his other two arms moving to strike her, one from each side. But as soon as her sword hit home, she changed weapons, summoning Justice, her kite shield and blade. She thrust the sword forward, aiming at the wound she'd already inflicted. It left her right side exposed, even if his top arms were momentarily distracted and the third arm was guarded by her shield. Trusting in the strength of her armour, she thrust her blade, knowing the opening would be slight. As it struck home, digging into his chest, she felt the scythe rake against her side. As she had hoped, the angle was too close for the weapon to get a good swing in.

Nnoitra snarled as Erza pulled back her blade, having renewed the wound in his chest. She somersaulted back, avoiding a flurry of blows, and before she'd landed on the ground, she had changed her weapon's form back to Render. Nnoitra took the initiative, but Erza was ready now. Fast and furious though he was with his four weapons, it would not be enough. Losing an arm was replaceable to him, sure, but it took some time. Now that she had gotten an idea for how he fought, now that her senses were sharpened to his ways and her power unleashed, she had an idea.

He came charging in, unleashing another flurry of blows, Erza patiently parrying and pulling back, her armour absorbing a few glancing hits. He was well measured in his movements, like the predator he was, but Erza was starting to map the patterns of his movements. Down-and-up strikes from his lower arms, never higher than horizontal. Up-and-down hacking moves from his upper arms, sometimes horizontal sloping downward. It was a fast and effective algorithm for killing, but it was predictable, and what was predictable, Erza knew, was flawed from the start.

She saw it. There was a thrust from his upper right that was a little too hard, a little too fast, and Erza suddenly twirled to the right, side-stepping his attacks and cutting right into his arm with Render, the blade severing the arm at the root. She felt two painful cuts to her left side as his retaliatory attack with his two left arms managed to pierce her armour. Gritting her teeth, she pushed back, slamming the pommel of her blade into his face. He recovered almost instantly, but an instant was all she needed. She struck again, severing his other right arm at the elbow, and launched into a furious set of strikes. If he was going to regenerate, she was not going to give him time to retrieve his weapons, and two blades to her one? That, she could handle.

It hurt; she'd been cut in the flank and blood spilled down her side in a trickle, but the Purgatory armour fed off the pain, dulling it, turning the sensation into an adrenaline-fuelled rush. Nnoitra was suddenly pushed back as Erza's attacks increased in their fury. His scythes were a poor suit to hard-and-fast close combat at the defense, and Erza was a master of the blade. Desperately, he charged a cero, but the red blossom of energy missed its mark as Erza nimbly side-stepped it and struck, severing a third arm. He hadn't yet grown back his arms, she noticed; it seemed to require mental effort, concentration. Relentless, she kept attacking, batting a clumsy last scythe aside before ramming Render forward in a mighty thrust, reaching inside his guard. His skin was thick and his body tough, but Erza's strike was tougher still, and with considerable effort, she ran him through, almost lifting him off his feet.

"Bitch!" he snarled, trying in vain to bring his scythe to bear. It did little; she was much too close, inside his guard, and the weapon bounced off her plate, unable to get a proper angle. Erza growled, trying to twist the blade to make him hurt, to make him break, but without the force of momentum, his absurdly strong physique made it nigh impossible. He couldn't hurt her, not at this angle, but what would be the next step? How would she finish it-?

Then suddenly, something burst from both of his sides. Two new arms shot out, a third pair, straight like iron bars. Through them, extending out from the wrists, one new blade shot out to each hand, folding out into additional scythes as they exited his arms. Erza jerked back, surprised, but found her blade was jammed- his body was too thick, indeed, too strong. She'd have to switch it out immediately.

But, there was no time. With a victorious snarl, Nnoitra lashed out. The angle had been bad from above, but lower down, there was space enough, and Erza's body rattled with the impacts as the two scythes snaked around her back, both cutting into and through her armour. She gasped, her jaw dropping and her grip slackening as the pain spiked. She looked down to see two scythe ends extending through the front of her armour, the points having pierced through her entirely. She'd run him through; he'd returned the favour twice over.

"Didn't see that coming, huh?" Nnoitra cackled. He wrenched the blades free, and Erza cried out as the pain was renewed. She staggered back, and Nnoitra kicked her in the gut for good measure. Overwhelmed by the shock of it, Erza fell, stumbling three steps away from the espada before collapsing on her back. Her head was spinning, and she was vaguely aware of Nnoitra in the background, extending the stumps of his arms, quickly re-growing all four- now six- limbs. As he took a step back to collect his weapons again, Erza fought to control her breathing, fought not to go into shock. The battle had worn at her more than she had expected; she'd expended quite a bit of reiatsu already, and the sudden set of blows had taken the wind out of her sails. Trembling, she looked at her gloved hands, stained with her own blood. Render was gone, dissipated from her lack of concentration.

Grunting, forcing herself to take some long, deep breaths, she slammed an arm into the ground and propped herself up. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she held her breath and stood up, pains-takingly. Her upper body throbbed, each heartbeat pumping out a fresh stream of blood from her injuries.

Stand, master! The harsh voice of her zanpakutou cut through her thoughts. You've fought worse before, and you've lived through worse. Collect yourself!

Erza nodded, taking another deep breath. Shinigami though she was, that had hurt, and in a competition of who could outlast whom, the espada would never lose. Another hit like that, and it might well be over.

"Well," said Nnoitra, as menacing as ever with six blades in six hands, "are we going to finish it already?"

He was sure he had won. Erza could hear it in his voice. The smugness of his overconfidence infuriated her, and her face became a thing of steel as she stared back at him, her reiatsu rising. If he thought she was done, he would soon know better.

"Yes," she said, Breaker appearing in her hand, "let's. Lightning Empress!"

At her command, the black plate disappeared, replaced by a deep blue set of armour. Raw lightning arced across its surfaces, the barely contained force of electricity brimming inside it. With this armour, she was a thunderstorm in her own right. She'd need it, too- four arms had been hard enough to handle, but six? All at once, coming from every angle? Already his wounds were beginning to mend; if she wanted to keep the initiative, she needed to create an opening. She took the axe in both hands, charging reiatsu into the lightning armour, which reacted violently, thunderous bursts of energy arcing out from around her. She took a step forward and broke into a run. Nnoitra, grinning, waited with his scythes held at the ready. She leaped into the air, raising her axe high.

Coming in directly would mean getting eviscerated. Erza knew better. She landed just outside his striking range, and with a boom of thunder she brought the axe down to the ground, a massive blast of electricity discharging around them both. Erza was safely shielded in her armour, the tempestuous blast of electricity running around her harmlessly, but Nnoitra was struck head on. The lightning was attracted naturally to the metal of his scythes, and millions of volts surged into his body in the blink of an eye. The blast shattered the ground around them, and Nnoitra, literally stunned, was thrown off his feet and onto his back. Erza forced herself forward, feeling exhaustion looming around the corner; she'd charged the blast as much as she could, and it was draining her reiatsu quickly.

She sped forward and Nnoitra, twitching on the ground, had no defense when she cut through three of his arms with a single swing, the second one planting firmly into his chest. Blood sprayed as Breaker cut through his ribcage, and she felt a gratifying crunch as bone after bone snapped under the impact.

The force of it seemed to have awoken Nnoitra from the shock, and he lashed out with his three remaining blades, locking Breaker in place as she brought it down a third time. Gritting her teeth, Erza channelled a burst of lightning through her weapon and into his, and Nnoitra rattled and spasmed as the lightning ravaged his body. Smoke was coming from his wounds, the lightning cauterizing the cuts.

But, the blast could only last so long. Lightning Empress was a devastating armament, but it ate up a tremendous amount of energy in exchange, and although he was hurt, he was not dying, still defiantly bracing against her attack. It couldn't last. Knowing she would drain herself within a minute if she kept it up, Erza ceased her attack, wrenching Breaker free while skipping back. She panted, breathing heavily. Her wounds were making themselves reminded, more than ever, and she was losing what little steam she had left. She had thrown the best she had at him, and he had endured.

Nnoitra, still twitching, stood up. His movements were slow, jerky, and jittery, and remnants of lightning crackled from his scythes and his body. He was a mess, parts of his skin blackened and charred, and the wounds Erza had inflicted on him looked like ugly, burnt craters in his chest. But, he stood all the same, slowly raising his scythes. He had been pushed hard, but she could sense the strength in him. He had more than enough left, and she… she didn't have the power left to do another move like that. Perhaps a firestorm from the Flame Empress? No; the attack would eat up almost as much power as the lightning. She was trembling, and her knees felt weak. Slowly, Nnoitra took a step forward, an agonized look on his face.

"You're dead, woman," he hissed, a mixture of fury and satisfaction in his voice. "You got nothing left, do you? No tricks, no techniques, no shinigami bullshit to save your ass this time. Ain't that right?"

There was the palace again, radiant marble, and she stood by the edge of its stairs, staring out into nothingness. He stood beside her, his blond hair and gilded armour the same as always, a solemn expression on his face. There was the glow of an evening sun on them, and Erza thought she could see the night approaching. Death was just around the corner. It was a place she was familiar with, but it was no more comfortable for it.

"It is time," said Tetsu no Tama.

"You will allow it?" said Erza. "It is imperfect. I would disgrace you. I am not sure I could even pull it off. At my best, maybe…"

"You are never at anything less than your best, master," the spirit firmly asserted, "no matter what cruelties the world inflicts upon you. I would not have it any other way."

"I am weak," Erza admitted. "I've lost too much power."

"Then die," he said flatly.

"You don't mean that."

"I do. Why shouldn't I? If you have already given up, why keep fighting?"

Why keep fighting?

Because one always tried, even if the odds were one to a googolplex. She nodded. "I'll try."

"You will succeed," he said flatly.

Erza stood up straight, and her armour disappeared entirely, the crackling blue replaced only with a wrap of cloth around her chest, and a pair of red pants. In her hand was a long, curved blade, a katana longer and thicker than any other she had. It felt heavy in her hand.

"One last trick," she said to the approaching espada. "Just one."

"What, throwing away all your armour?" He sneered. "Done hiding? Just giving up?"

"Demon blade: Benizakura," she said firmly, grasping the blade in both hands. This was one of her zanpakutou's favourite pet projects, a form focusing solely on offense, foregoing all defense. She remembered his words when he'd first introduced it.

"Use it not on a foe quicker than you. Doing that will only rob you of your defense for little gained. But, if you have to kill your enemy… if you have to kill them, and quickly, then use this. Be wary of its strength, for it is as deadly to you as to your enemy if you misuse it."

Her waning reiatsu throbbed, and she knew the battle would be settled before a minute had passed. Nnoitra broke into a charge, all blades extended, ready to turn her into minced meat. Erza watched him move, and it was like watching it in slow motion. Every step, every movement, she could sense it ahead of time, sluggish, slow, and laughably easy to perceive.

As Nnoitra closed the distance, he found Erza suddenly pivoting to the side and appearing behind him, one of his arms severed before he could even react. A second ago, she had seemed all but finished, but now, she was carving at him with deadly precision. He snarled, spinning around with his five remaining blades, but the shinigami danced away from his strikes nimbly, before surging forward with a leap. He raised his blades, but she parried each strike. She seemed to glow with a faint light, moving preternaturally quickly even for a being of her calibre. He upped his pace, groaning inwardly; the fight had taken a lot out of him, and even the regeneration he prided himself on could only do so much.

Erza drove him back, keenly aware that she was on borrowed time. She was at the very edge of her capabilities now, and any second, she might simply collapse from exhaustion. There was no time to lose, no delays left. The espada pushed back, five blades working in tandem, but Erza saw through them. She saw them move at the pace of a pendulum, slow and predictable, and in that light, even the smallest opening became visible. As four blades came down from the sides all at once, Erza skipped back and lashed out with her blade, severing his uppermost left at the wrist. Left with four blades, Nnoitra pushed harder still, but Erza was not letting herself be hit. Her heart was racing, her breath laboured, but she was doing it. Another set of blows, another opening; she severed his lowest right arm. Down to three, Nnoitra was becoming desperate in his attacks, and Erza used it to her advantage. Skipping back to avoid a quick set of cuts, she surged forward, her blade finding its way to his lowest left. A twist of the blade, and a fourth limb tumbled to the ground.

"Damn you!" Nnoitra roared. "Damn you, woman! Just die!"

Erza did not respond. She lacked the strength. She was almost finished, almost entirely out of strength; she felt like a swimmer desperately yearning for a breath of air, the surface close but not close enough. She was nearly spent.

Still she pushed on, and with a furious strike she caught another arm, severing it almost at the root. Nnoitra was left only with his middle right, the one limb cutting at her pathetically. With dispassionate, ruthless precision, she caught the scythe with her sword, then flung it to the side, out of Nnoitra's grip. She stabbed forward, her blade catching him just under his throat. Impaled, he let out a choked gurgle and sank to one knee.

Erza withdrew her blade, and as she did, it turned back into the base shape of her shikai; her bankai had dissipated with the last of her strength. Keeping it another second might have left her unconscious with the exertion, and she was only thankful she had managed to get her opponent on his knees at last. Careful not to let her weakness show, she placed the edge of the blade against his neck. She wasn't sure she could even cut through it now. Luckily, Nnoitra was not regrowing any more arms, nor did his wounds seem to heal like they had before; he, too, was out of steam.

"The fuck are you waiting for?" Nnoitra snarled. "End it, shinigami bitch."

"You are a monster," she said with revulsion, "and I would like nothing more than to shear your head from your shoulders. But I don't like to attack the helpless. It's pathetic." That, and I'm not sure I can even physically do it.

"The fuck did you just say?" Nnoitra practically spat out the words, his snarl turning into a loud, insulted cry. "After all that, you have the nerve to look down on me? Raise that fucking blade and end it rightly, you cunt!"

---

Aizen watched the feed. There were no real visuals as such; the subtle little bugs Szayel had installed weren't that advanced. There was a good layout of Nnoitra's reiatsu expenditure, though, and he was all but spent. Aizen listened to the exchange with inscrutable interest, flanked by Halibel and Lanza, the two members of the Consejo not out on mission.

"He's through," Halibel said flatly. "All it will take now is the one strike."

"She won't do it," Lanza said, shaking his head. "She is too kind. A minute ago, in mortal combat… yes, but not now."

"Maybe," Halibel concurred, raising an eyebrow. "How can you be sure?"

"Halibel," said Aizen.

"Yes, lord?"

"What do you make of this battle?"

She shrugged. "He might have won it several times if not for his arrogance. He's pathetic that way."

"No," Aizen said, shrugging, the hint of a smile on his face, "you underestimate her. Truth be told, this is no less than I expected."

"As you say, lord," said Halibel neutrally, but Aizen knew she was not convinced. It mattered not.

"Retrieve him," he ordered. "I will not lose an asset of his calibre yet."

"Your will be done, lord," said Halibel, and Aizen admired the way she hid her disapproval. She had contempt and contempt alone for the beaten savage, but obeyed promptly nonetheless.

---

There was the ripple of a garganta, small and smooth, just large enough to accommodate one person, and Erza stayed her hand, in part glad to have had the decision made for her. The momentary joy was soon replaced with dread as she saw Tier Halibel step out of the rift, regarding Erza with cold indifference from behind her collar. Erza spun around, blade raised.

"Please," said Halibel coolly, "don't. You are near enough death as it is without rushing toward it needlessly."

"Stay out of it, woman!" Nnoitra snarled. "This is between her and me!"

Halibel gave him a look as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of her boots. "I am taking you back. Be glad Lord Aizen takes pity on you despite your failure."

Without even acknowledging Erza further, she walked toward Nnoitra, and grabbed him by the collar.

"I said stay out of it!" cried the espada, but he did not resist as Halibel dragged him away.

"Halibel…" said Erza.

The dark-skinned espada paused briefly, and looked at Erza one last time.

"Rest assured," she said icily, "when the time comes, I will personally strike your head from your shoulders. But not tonight. My orders were to retrieve this trash, and that alone. I know where my loyalties lie."

"Halibel," Erza said keenly, sheathing her blade with some effort, taking a step forward. "Halibel, it doesn't have to be-"

"Have to be what?" said Halibel evenly. "Not like this? Not us as foes? You threw that aside when you betrayed Lord Aizen. You threw that aside as lightly as you did our friendship. What could you have to say to me, I wonder, that could ever change that?"

"He'll use you," Erza insisted, surprised at the genuine concern welling up in her chest. Neliel and Halibel both were good people; that much, she was sure of. "He'll use you until there's nothing left to use, and then-"

"Farewell," Halibel said stoically, and with a flick of her fingers, she re-opened a garganta. Seconds later, she had stepped through it, dragging an infuriated Nnoitra with her. Soon she was gone, leaving an exhausted Erza behind.

She was alive, still. Victorious, even. Yet, Halibel… Halibel seemed stronger than ever, and she'd never won even one fight in all the time they'd trained together. If she had a grudge to settle, if Erza had to try this hard to beat the likes of Nnoitra, just how would it go if she faced off against the likes of Halibel?

---

Soifon hopped down through the hole in the basement's roof, smoothly landing on her feet. With a cold stare, she marched up to Urahara Kisuke, flanked by Yoruichi. Normally her old mentor's presence would have calmed her, but Soifon was professional enough- and angry enough- to not let it disturb her right now.

"I sensed you both engaging the espada down here," she said neutrally.

"Oh, yes," Urahara said casually. "Quite a bother, that one."

"You are both former captains, with experience in the Stealth Corps," said Soifon, "so I was wondering how exactly the espada managed to get away from you both. I am wondering, in fact, how she suddenly burst up and charged me after I subdued her subordinates."

"You don't mean she escaped?" Urahara said, sounding shocked. "Along with her subordinates, too? Well, that's just terrible."

Soifon's eyebrow twitched. She hated that man.

"Urahara Kisuke, I don't know what your intentions are, but-"

"Come on, it's an espada," Urahara said dismissively. "You really think Yoruichi and I can just beat anyone easily? We're retirees. Out of the game for over a century now. She threatened to release her zanpakutou, and… well, I believe you of all people would know just how destructive that can be. I'm not bound to the Gotei, and I certainly won't see everything I built leveled out of devotion to a cause I do not believe in."

It was a very good lie, good enough to be believable. The best kind of deception always included as much truth as possible. Still, Soifon was not convinced.

"If we cannot be sure of your loyalties-"

"Soifon, relax," said Yoruichi. "She really was pretty dangerous. If she'd gone all out… well, who knows what would have happened? A destroyed headquarters, that's for sure. We fought her, drove her away, and prevented her from achieving her objective. We won. I know you don't like Kisuke, but these are the facts. Aizen sent her here to reclaim the prisoner, and he failed."

"I…" Soifon said, hesitating. "I would have expected…"

"I get it. I get it," Urahara said warmly. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, we really stuck it to her, alright?"

"I'd have preferred a capture or elimination."

"Look," said Yoruichi, "we've got this under control. You're in charge of headquarters for the moment, aren't you?"

That was true.

"Of course," Soifon said reservedly. "Yes, I should… be getting back to my duties. Can I expect a full report on the matter?"

"I'll get right on it, little bee," Yoruichi said warmly, "first thing in the morning."

Accepting it, feeling happier about it than she knew she should, Soifon nodded, and hurried back to the command central.

"You know," said Yoruichi as Soifon headed out of earshot, "I hate lying to her."

"It's not lying, really," said Urahara. "Nothing we said was untrue, as such. I just… left out a few details."

"I hope you're not wrong on this," Yoruichi muttered. "What could be important enough to let somebody like her go?"

---

Neliel walked quickly through the halls of Hueco Mundo; Pesche and Dondochakka almost had to jog to keep up with her. She had managed to blindside the captain who had subdued them, only just enough to let them all escape, but the relief of her companions being alive and well did little to dull the shame burning in her chest. It ate at her in a way that nothing had thus far in her service to Aizen. He had trusted her with this mission. He had expected something of her, and she had failed to deliver it. She loved him, loved what he stood for; she was fully dedicated to his cause, and she had let him down. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, hated traitor, was still safe amongst their enemies, and worse still, she had only escaped on the whims of an enemy, an enemy whose mercy she had been left at entirely.

She could have been killed- or worse, captured, left to the cruel devices of the shinigami. She liked to think she could have withstood the cruel tortures Aizen had mentioned they would use, but she was only glad she did not have to find out.

Failure. Disappointment. Half-measure. Unworthy.

The words hammered into her mind relentlessly, and she balled her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

"Leave," she told Pesche and Dondochakka as they neared Lord Aizen's chambers. At least she wouldn't have to report her failure to the entirety of the arrancar- this had been a mission for the Consejo. There was at least that.

It was a small comfort.

She entered the chambers, maintaining a mask of dispassionate neutrality on her face, careful not to let her misery show. She would not disgrace herself further with such unseemly behaviour.

Nobody else was in the room besides her lord and, of course, the council. Ulquiorra stood there, inscrutable, his clothes torn and ravaged but his body well, a sign of a battle very fresh in memory. Halibel stood beside the throne, arms crossed, nearly as distant as Ulquiorra. Only Lanza seemed any different, shooting her a quick smile.

"My lord," she said, falling to her knees, bowing deeply, "Neliel Tu Oderschvank, reporting back."

"By the excessive nature of your humble bow, and of course, by the lack of a certain traitor, it would seem you have not succeeded."

Aizen's voice was perfectly calm, and there was no anger in it. There was no need for it.

"I did not, lord," she said quietly, just barely audible.

"And so my plan was all for naught, it would seem."

"Lord, I beg your forgiveness," Neliel pleaded. "There are no excuses-"

"Stand," Aizen commanded, and Neliel obeyed hastily. He stood in turn, staring her down for a moment. His face was strict, and Neliel was ravaged by shame seeing it. Then, to her surprise, his stern face broke into a smile.

"I am glad to see you returned to me safely, Neliel," he said warmly.

"Lord?" she said confusedly. "Lord, I failed you-"

"Failure is always a possibility. As weak as the Gotei has grown, we must not underestimate their capabilities. It is not surprising they would guard their prize well."

"But Grimmjow-"

"-is a secondary objective," said Lord Aizen dismissively. "Do you think this operation was a failure?"

"Lord, I… the primary objective was not accomplished…"

"It is of little consequence," said Aizen with a shrug. "We tested their defences. They won, and so they feel encouraged. Lulled into a false sense of security."

"What of those who died, lord?" said Lanza.

"None died who could not be replaced," said Aizen. "The privaron's sacrifice was appreciated, of course, but neither Nnoitra nor Neliel were lost."

"As… you say, lord," said Lanza hesitantly.

"Only the reckless would storm such a battlefield without first testing it," said Aizen, his voice seeming to fill the chamber, and Neliel felt a wave of relief. She had not disappointed him after all. "No, this is but a preparation for what is to come. Had you captured Grimmjow, it would have been well enough, but the damage was already done. Now… now we've gained vital intelligence about Karakura's defences, at a low enough cost. Rest assured, my Consejo, we are exactly where I want us to be."

"Of course, Lord Aizen," said Halibel quietly. "After all, why else forbid the use of our resurrección?"

"Exactly," said Aizen with a nod.

"Lord," said Neliel, "there was one more thing…"

"Yes?" said Aizen, turning toward her.

"I was… defeated," she admitted, hanging her head, "by Urahara Kisuke and Shihoin Yoruichi. They proved too strong to defeat without going all out."

"Worthy opponents," Aizen said with a nod. "It is nothing to be concerned with, Neliel. Defeat is part of life. Learn from it."

"Yes, lord," she said. After a hesitant pause, she took a deep breath, and said, "I was let go, lord."

"Let… go?"

"Urahara Kisuke agreed to let me go in exchange for a… favour."

"A favour?" said Halibel sharply.

"I have done nothing wrong," Neliel said hastily. "I would never betray our lord. He asked that I… take a message. I… it was nonsense, really. It was foolish of me to bring it up."

"A message?" said Aizen smoothly. His voice was calm, restrained, but came a little too quickly to not betray the interest that lay therein.

"As I said, lord, it was nonsense."

"Please, indulge me," said Aizen. "I would know what the coward has to say to me."

"Well…" Neliel said. She sighed. "It was… 'Impetuousness is the vice of the juvenile,' lord. I do not understand its meaning."

"Ah." He paused briefly. "It is nonsense as you said, Neliel. I am not sure why I expected better from the likes of him."

Neliel simply nodded.

"Well then," said Aizen, "with all of you returned safely, I expect you will all be eager to return to your quarters for a well-deserved rest. Don't let me detain you."

They could all recognize the order given, and as one, the Consejo walked out, each one bowing to their lord before leaving the room.

Aizen sat down in his chair, behind his desk, and ran a hand through his hair.

Impetuousness is the vice of the juvenile.

You're rash and childish.

He gently made a fist, surprised at the anger welling up inside. Make excuses as he might, he knew this night's operation had not been part of the plan, had not been necessary, and had not been a success.

He sees right through you.

Self-doubt was not part of Aizen's repertoire, but all the same, the nagging voice was there. Had Urahara Kisuke recognized the move for what it was? Why would he go so far as to release a captive as valuable as Neliel?

To sow discord and doubt in your mind.

The voice, this time, belonged to Kyouka Suigetsu.

You know this to be the case. Do not let yourself be taken by it.

"I am taken by nothing," Aizen muttered by himself. "Everything is going as planned. Nothing of value was lost."

Then why must you reassure yourself of it?

"Be silent! Who is trying to sow doubt here, that hack scientist or my own blade?"

I cannot sow what is already there. You must erase it.

"There is nothing to erase!"

As my lord says.

As before, the voice was too sincere to be honest. Aizen grit his teeth. That damnable scientist! When the time came, he would execute him personally. Yes, personally…

Imagining the punishments he'd exact, Aizen calmed. There was nothing to fear. Nothing had really gone wrong. All there was, was the word of a coward who knew he was losing, and a mischievous zanpakutou in dire need of discipline. Yes, looking at the facts… everything was just fine.

Just fine.

---

And so, the 2nd, (3rd if we count the fight with hanvel) Arrancar invasion has finished. Now I know some people have been asking and wanting to see casualties on both sides of the war. You will get this eventually I promise you. However, there is a time and a place for characters to die and we haven't reached that point. Not to mention we still have the Quincy war after this one. I cant just go and start killing characters now or im not gonna have any characters that im willing to kill off by the time we get there! Character death should be done when it helps the narrative and helps other characters grow. So many people think that simply being more dark and killing off characters makes for a better story, but more often than not, it can lead to a bad one. The death has to mean something and have impact. Case and point, I didn't kill of Erza's friends at the academy just for shock value, I also did it to make Erza just a bit more darker than her cannon counterpart and to develop her a bit out of her naivety, to have her be the person you see before you. Someone who still cares for her friends and value's life, but is willing to take one if absolutely necessary.

Now with that all out of the way, i'd like to just go over a few things.

1. Isshin's power. Some of you may have been a bit confused as to why Isshin struggled as much as he did with the 4th Espada considering this is the man who managed to fight toe to toe with Aizen of all people in cannon. Well it's really simple. In our version, Isshin has gotten his soul reaper powers back, but he has yet to gain access to his full power. Considering how long he's been out of action it makes sense. Besides, having another fighter with that level of power around just complicates things way too much. So we nerfed him...For now.

2. Rangiku's battle. I think far more often than not, her fans aside, people look at Rangiku and just see a beautiful woman who is a lazy drunk who just happens to be a vice captain. However, every vice captian is in their position for a reason, and I wanted to show that she is worthy of that position. Considering I haven't given her a full on win by herself, I wanted to make her battle here one that really showed how skilled she really is. She's more than just a pretty face, and I hope I proved that with this.

3. Erza vs Nnotira. After what's been going on in the fairy tail sequel recently, I couldn't think of anything better to wash the terrible taste of those events out of our mouths than this fight. God knows I sure as hell need it. Now I want to be clear on something, I don't necessarily hate Nnotira. I don't really care for the guy either, but for what it's worth I think he's a decent antagonist. He does his job well and his fight with Kenpachi is one of my favorites. In no way, shape or form did I do this fight to bash him. Nor due to the recent events in the fairy tail spinoff sequel, this was a fight I wanted since day 1. I did after all give him a fair shake in this fight I feel.

But there's something just so satisfying to see a sexist asshole like him get his teeth kicked in by one of the best female characters in the shounen genre, Erza Scarlet.

His defense and slight regeneration was really the only edge he had over her. While in term's of raw physical power the two of them were more or less equals, Erza just happened to have far superior skill with her weapon, more intelligence, speed, and multiple long rang technique's with her various armors. This was made all the more clear once she dawned the Clear Heart clothing and discarded her defense for a vast increase in attack and speed. Once his iron skin was rendered useless, it was clear he stood no real chance.

I've been meaning to bring in Demon Blade Benizakura for a long while and I couldn't find a good opportunity to use it...until now. In terms of sheer cutting power, its the best sword she has. However, it can only be used without her armor, so it's not something she can use whenever she wants. Don't worry though, I have no intention of using this form all the time like cannon does. It'll come out when it's needed. No more, no less.

In any event, I know that it feel's like we've been copying the arrancar arc without any real major changes besides Grimmjow's defection...But this wont be the case once we reach chapter 80. Why? Because chapter 80 is the start of cannon being left behind and the start of our own original content. That's not to say that things similar to cannon wont happen, but things from this point on will be very different than canon. How so? Well you'll just have to read to find out!

New things are coming my dear readers, and I cant wait to show them to you.

That all said, please leave us your thoughts in a review. I'm really happy with how things turned out, but as always, your opinion lets us know if we're doing good or not. So please, tell us what you think. The more reviews we get, the more it makes us want to do even better! Never underestimate just how much one review can mean to us. Trust me when I say it can make a rough day much better.