Hey everyone, we're back with another chapter. How long has it been since the last one. (Looks at last update)...Oh my. Ok, so it's been a bit of a while. Well, alot has happened in the past two months. I've just recently moved to a new home and my writer is deep into his education. But hey, better later than ever i say. I do hope that you all enjoy this chapter and leave us your feedback. Well, ypou've all waited long enough, onto the show!

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.

A gout of bright red flame enveloped an unlucky arrancar, the kido-powered flame incinerating him in a matter of seconds. He screamed briefly before he collapsed on the floor, mercifully dead.

"Formation!" Momo cried, lowering Tobiume. Her blade had already been released, and it was warm with the heat of the dozens of fireballs she had cast already. "Get in formation! Line up. Medical teams, secure the wounded. Third and fourth seat, organize the troops!"

As she barked her orders, the shinigami of fifth division hurriedly obeyed. They had advanced into Las Noches following the bloody trail Erza and Komamura had wrought, and it hadn't taken long for them to run into resistance. Dead arrancar lay in the wake of the captains who had come before them, but the palace seemed to have an endless supply of lesser hollows, be they arrancar or their less evolved cousins. As the shinigami had advanced into a spacious corridor the beasts had fallen upon them in the dozens, charging into their ranks with furious abandon. Men and women had died, bones had been broken, flesh had been torn, and blood had been spilled- but the organized, disciplined formation of the shinigami had won the day so far, the hollows crumbling under the united strength of the reapers. One by one, they had been cut down and purified. As Momo charged another fireball, incinerating the last standing arrancar, the few remaining hollows turned tail and fled, most of them cut down by kido fire from the division specialists.

Momo watched as the division closed ranks again, leaving the fallen behind. It hurt her to see the men and women under her command like this, forced to ignore their dead comrades, but this was war. The wounded were already being taken to the sides, where fourth division support teams would come retrieve them later.

Momo took care not to let her distress show in any way. Erza wasn't here, and in her absence, the fifth division needed a strong source of leadership. She would save her tears for later.

"First unit ready for battle, vice-captain," cried third seat Kaikou with a salute.

Momo nodded. "Then we're moving. I'll personally take the lead."

"Is that wise, vice-captain?" said Kaikou. "I would gladly take point. We could not afford to lose you to a surprise attack-"

"Captain Scarlet is out there, fighting for us. It is up to this division to catch up, secure the ground she has cleared, and offer any support we can," said Momo, her tone allowing for no disagreement, "and I will lead our efforts in doing so. Is this understood?"

"Yes, vice-captain."

"Then get the soldiers ready!"

As the soldiers of Fifth advanced, bruised and bloodied but unbroken, Momo's sorrow was mixed with a sense of pride. She was doing it. They were doing it, together. They had seen battle and handled it correctly. In the distance, she could sense Erza's spiritual signature- and another, monstrously powerful source of energy. An espada, then.

"Forward!" she commanded. "Forward, soldiers! Our captain needs us!"

There was a resounding cheer, and the march broke into a sprint as they upped their pace.

Her enthusiasm was short-lived, though. Just as a larger room started to come into view- undoubtedly where Erza was squaring off with whomever her opponent was- three arrancar stepped into view, dressed in pure white. Momo sensed it clearly- these were no lesser warriors, not like the relative weaklings they had cleared out on their way here.

"Halt!" Momo commanded, sliding to a stop. The soldiers, to their credit, obeyed almost immediately. The muster came to a still, staring down the three new arrivals.

Momo took a good look at them. One looked ill-tempered. She had short, black hair, her left eye was lined with red, and a bony horn protruded from her skull as part of her mask. The second had dark skin. Thick, wavy brown hair flowed down her shoulders. The third looked aloof, flowing robes obscuring her lithe features, her elegant face complemented by long, black hair.

"Fracciones," Momo said under her breath. There was no mistaking it- these had to be the strongest, chosen to serve an espada.

"You're god damn right," said the dark-skinned one confidently. "Lady Halibel is fighting in there. Not one of you will be allowed to interrupt."

"Mila Rose, stop talking and get to work, you lazy cow," said the horned one. "We should just kill 'em all."

"The fuck'd you say to me?" snapped Mila Rose. "Apache, this would be so much easier if you weren't always such a bitch!"

"You're both disgracing yourselves," the third one said with a sigh.

"Vice-captain," the third seat hissed to Momo, "what do we do? A coordinated assault?"

Momo shook her head. "Stand back. I'll handle this. Be ready to back me up, but don't interfere. These three are beyond you all."

"Look at that, huh?" said Apache mockingly. "Sun-Sun, she's gonna take on all of us!"

"Delusional," Sun-sun said, "but let her try if she wants to. Our only job is to guard the door."

Momo let the symbols on her body come aglow. They were underestimating her at their own peril. She took her first step forward, sword drawn.

"Fuckin' hell," Apache muttered, "I'll do it myself if you lazy assholes won't."

She moved in a blur, sword drawn. However, as she came in for a swing, striking with lightning speed, she found her movements slowing to a crawl as Momo raised a fist, intercepting the strike. The blade stopped, almost an inch short of Momo's skin.

"The fuck?" said Apache, equal parts frustrated and surprised.

"I've come this far," said Momo darkly, "and I won't be stopped by any one of you. Shou."

The spell, despite being simple and un-chanted, sent the arrancar flying. Before she hit the ground, Momo raised her hand again, palm thrust out as she cried, "Soukatsui!"

Blue flames enveloped Apache, who hit the stone floor screeching in pain, rolling around to put them out.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" she cried, patting at the fire until it finally went out. Her fellow fracciones didn't lift a finger to help. She finally stood up, a murderous look on her face. Her clothes were half burned, and parts of her skin were singed.

"Wow, Apache," said Mila Rose smugly. "Good job."

"Fuck you!" Apache snapped. "And, fuck that bitch most of all. Now I'm real pissed!"

"As disgraceful as she may be," said Sun-sun, taking a step forward, "we can't let her fight alone. Brace yourself, shinigami girl."

"Try me," said Momo defiantly.

This was the trial by fire she had anticipated. Three to one. Magic versus might. And, on the other side of her opponents, Erza, fighting for her life. She had to win. Losing was not an option.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Ikkaku's cry was loud, exuberant, filled with blood-mad glee. Raising Hozukimaru, he was already charging the figure ahead of them, completely without hesitation or regard for the fact that their enemy could only be an espada. Iba stared, exasperated, for a second or two before he followed suit. He was no stranger to violence, but Ikkaku was second only to his captain in his desire for bloodshed.

Their captains had left them in the dust, as expected, but they had none of them been left behind. Eleventh had barely held together, throwing themselves at their enemies with the kind of fury that was so characteristic of their division. Their casualties, Iba was sure, would be greater than any other division's, but the damage they did in return was proportionately massive. In their wake they had left twitching, dying shinigami behind, and piles of dead hollows slowly disintegrating. Iba had done his best to keep the battle line organized, but any chance of personally taking charge had ended when the blond beast in front of them had emerged. Iba knew a top-level threat when he saw it, and with his captain away, it fell to him to step up and face it.

Ikkaku was busy locking blades with the espada, a muscular monster with thick, blond hair going every which way. He looked every bit as cheerful about the fight as Ikkaku, and Iba cursed his luck.

The espada was countering Ikkaku's every blow so far- no, not all; it was clear that Ikkaku was the better swordsman. Blow after blow rained down, Ikkaku's sword sheath complementing the sword itself, and every now and then, he'd score a glancing hit. If not for the hierro, Iba was sure the third seat would have drawn blood already.

Iba circled round, blade drawn, looking for an opportunity. Charging in recklessly could be disastrous. If he was careless, he might end up hurting Ikkaku instead.

As he circled around, Ikkaku caught a sweeping blow, redirected it toward the floor, and lashed out with the sheath. It caught the espada in the temple, and he reeled back, stunned. Ikkaku jeered triumphantly as he slashed the hollow across the chest, his blade dyed red with blood. Iba, seizing the opportunity, lunged at the hollow from behind, cutting at his knee.

The espada, fearsomely quick, twisted himself around, moving his leg out of the way. Iba went in for another strike, cutting from above, but the espada raised an arm, blocking the strike, simultaneously parrying another attack from Ikkaku with his sword.

"That's an espada for you, huh?" Iba grunted. His blade had barely drawn blood. "I guess I don't need to feel ashamed for coming at you from behind."

"It's the smart thing to do," said the espada, with a wide grin on his face. "Keeps me honest, doesn't it? And here I thought your lot were all stupid."

The espada pushed back against the both of them with sudden force, and Ikkaku and Iba both staggered back a few paces.

"You're Madarame Ikkaku and Iba Tetsuzaemon, ain't ya?" said the hollow, licking his lips as he glanced back and forth between them. He seemed calm even now, but he seemed aware, as if able to react to any attack no matter the angle. "You got the look of a couple punks about you. Almost like you're tough. The uniforms don't suit you so much."

"You shut up," Iba snarled. "We're officers of the Gotei Thirteen, not brutes like you."

"Whatever," Ikkaku said, looking eager to resume the mêlée. "Since you know our names already, why don't ya give me yours?"

"Zancrow," said the espada. "Just Zancrow."

"Right, then," said Ikkaku. "You seem like you're worth goin' all out for. Grow, Hozukimaru!"

As he called out the words, he slammed the hilt of his sword and his scabbard together, summoning the polearm that was his shikai.

"A toothpick?" said Zancrow dismissively. "If that's what you call going 'all out', I'm not gonna bother with you any further. I'll just kill ya both real quick and move on to something worth my while."

"Careful, Ikkaku!" Iba cried, knowing it was most likely pointless. "He's the real deal. We have to work together- don't let yourself get provoked!"

"As if I'd need provoking to come at him!" Ikkaku said, howling a spirited battle-cry as he charged again, thrusting the spear rapid-fire at Zancrow. The espada parried the strikes, undaunted. Iba cursed to himself. Ikkaku and tactics went together like oil and water, and with so many people around, Iba doubted Ikkaku would actually go all out. Preparing to summon his shikai, Iba tried to spot a weakness in the espada's defence, anything at all. He was strong, vicious and fast, and Iba felt as if Ikkaku was punching above his weight class…

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, a hollow as proud as he was egotistical, had never imagined he'd ever feel envious of a shinigami. But, seeing the constant flow of soldiers marching through the gate- the gate he had opened, not that anyone had thanked him for it- he felt a growing sense of jealousy. These bastard soldiers were all of them going to see real action, and soon. These ants, spreading out in all directions into the palace of Las Noches, were going to shed and draw blood soon. They would partake in the wonderful dance of brutality, where you really got to know what you were made of and only the most vicious could prosper…

Grimmjow shifted uncomfortably, mentally salivating at the thought. To be this close to the fight, to know that battle was done where he couldn't reach it, to sense it even at a distance…

He grit his teeth. Fuckin' hell, there really is no justice in this world.

His hands went to the hilt of his blade. Red had persuaded the other black-clad bastards to let him keep it. She'd vouched for him. But, right now, Grimmjow had half a mind to sink it into the back of a passing shinigami just to slake his bloodthirst.

It wasn't that he had any kind of loyalty toward his fellow hollows. Fuck 'em. Fuck Aizen, fuck his little legion of dimwit pets, and fuck the damned palace they lived in. But, although he had learned to tolerate a few individual shinigami, he still hated them all categorically, and it was just as frustrating to watch them go by and do nothing as it was to keep himself from running into the fray.

Far in the distance, he sensed Red, her energy pulsating vibrantly, and right next to it… Halibel.

Now, that was something he'd like to see. Red was fucked, obviously, but she'd put up a hell of a fight.

Grimmjow made a fist. To hell with it. Ally or not, pact or no pact, he wasn't going to just stand by in the operation that was about to give Aizen the finger in the most direct way possible. Hell no. He'd get hell for it…

Briefly, he stopped himself. He'd get hell for it, and possibly ruin his relations with these bastard shinigami. But, on the other hand… longingly, he stared into the distance, sensing the clashes ahead with the desperate need of an addict.

To hell with it.

He glanced around. By the gate, a detail of elite shinigami stood guard as more and more of their kin streamed through. Not far off were four monstrously powerful figures- the old man himself, the surprisingly frightening doctor lady, the guy in the pink coat, and the guy with the white hair. Captains all; Grimmjow didn't remember their names- except, of course, Yamamoto. Nobody in Hueco Mundo was ignorant of that.

They seemed preoccupied. The old man kept a keen eye on the troops and would often turn to whom Grimmjow guessed were his military advisors. He was downright distracted, actually; both he and his two disciples would often turn to discuss as new reports, fresh from the front lines, were delivered. The doctor lady was coordinating what he guessed was doctoring work. All four of them, their attention on anyone but him… that meant nobody here would really have the strength to stop him.

Still, just running would feel too obvious. Grimmjow, although favouring direct brutality, was no stranger to underhandedness or distractions. Frowning, he put his mind to it. What could he do to make this… less obvious?

Keep it simple. Grinning to himself, Grimmjow glanced at the four captains. None of them were looking his way. The officers in charge seemed very busy coordinating the muster of arms. Slowly, Grimmjow unfastened the blade from the sash at his waist. Tempting as it was to cut one of them down, it was not the kind of heat he needed right now. He took a tentative step closer to the line of men rushing through, again glancing to see if he was being watched closely. Determining that the coast was clear, he lowered the blade down, and in one quick motion, stuck the sheath out just in the way of a running shinigami.

The officer, yelping, tripped and fell, and the soldiers behind him stumbled as well. Just as Grimmjow took a quick step back, there was a chaotic set of shouts and loud orders cried as officers rushed to restore order to the line. Before anyone could notice, Grimmjow took a step further away, toward the inner parts of Las Noches. He glanced one last time and saw that the old man seemed busy still. Making a break for it, sword in hand, Grimmjow rushed in toward the palace grounds. A second's worth of sonido took him out of hearing distance of the captains, and very soon after that, he'd left the crowded, busy muster of soldiers behind.

Just you fuckin' watch, assholes, Grimmjow thought, merrily fantasizing about the havoc he'd wreak. I'll show you all who's pathetic now.

Rukia's heart was beating quickly. She had been given command of a platoon of her own, as per her recent promotion to officer. She had taken the responsibility very seriously and spent two days with them before the invasion, just preparing, getting to know them. She had made sure to keep a professional distance, but at the same time, it would have felt unfair to ask them to risk their lives for a leader they did not know. It had been a frightening prospect, but she had not backed down.

To begin with, it had been easier than she had expected once they entered the war zone. As a platoon leader, she was subordinate to the battle group leaders, who were in turn subordinate to the third seats of Thirteenth. They had followed in the wake of Sixth, their captain still in reserve. All Rukia had to do was keep the soldiers organized and follow orders. They had fought, they had bled, and some had died. Rukia had yet to take even a scratch. She was not the kind to put herself above others, but it was becoming increasingly clear that she stood head-and-shoulders above everyone around her in combat efficiency. Her subordinates looked to her with an awe that was both flattering and uncomfortable. They believed.

Then the easy part had ended. Her company had split off from the rest to secure a chamber and complete the tactical mapping of the area, and on the way there a hollow ambush had hit them hard. The hundred or so men and women of the group had been cut down to seventy, and among the casualties was the company commander, leaving Rukia the most senior member of command, and effectively the new company commander. The thought of it was mind-boggling, but Rukia knew better than to let it show. But… what the hell did she do now?

"Orders, ma'am?"

It was an elder officer, a sixteenth seat who probably would have been in charge if not for her, and Rukia briefly felt tempted to hand over command to him. To have somebody else solve a problem she felt ill equipped to handle, with lives in the balance? It was more than a little appealing.

"We have our orders," said Rukia firmly, as she got hold of herself, squashing her doubts. Her brother would not have stepped down, or hesitated. She was not him, would never be as good as him, but she could aspire to be like him. She could remain resolute, do her duty and carry out her orders to completion. "We'll secure the chamber, map it out, and then head back to rally point three," Rukia said, raising her voice so that the others might hear her.

You can do this. You're in charge. You're making the calls- and if you make the wrong call, they'll die. No pressure.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the old sixteenth seat with a nod, seeming relieved. Perhaps, Rukia thought, she wasn't the only one who feared the weight of command. Perhaps everyone did. Perhaps the difference was how one handled it.

"Form a line," Rukia called out, "standard formation. I want the veterans in front. Medical teams, tend to the wounded. Ten men will remain behind to guard. The rest, follow me forward!"

"You heard her!" bellowed the sixteenth seat. "In formation, you lazy bastards, or I'll whip you all bloody!"

The soldiers, seeming glad to have clear direction, fell into the well-practiced formations, lining up in front of the wounded, facing toward the chamber. They were close now. Hopefully, that ambush had been the worst of it.

"I'll take point," said Rukia, putting a hand on the hilt of her blade.

"Ma'am?" said the old officer. "I wouldn't mind-"

"I will not ask these soldiers to do what I will not," said Rukia firmly. "I will lead from the front. Besides, whatever comes at us needs a resolute response, and I am the best suited for direct combat."

It was a little self-aggrandizing, Rukia thought. It was also true.

My brother wouldn't hesitate about his own self-worth, Rukia thought to herself. Refusing to get lost in self-doubt, she took the first step forward, giving the order of a cautious advance. It was nerve-wrecking to walk down the corridor, expecting hollows to come at them at any moment. Rukia was no stranger to fighting, but war? So many people on her conscience?

Even so, she kept herself in check, and they reached the chamber without issue. She barked her orders, and the men spread out in a defensive perimeter, securing the area.

"I want a clear and detailed description of the place written down," Rukia ordered firmly, "so get that done, and then let's get the hell out of here."

"Yes, ma'am!" said the sixteenth seat. Rukia watched them work, a growing sense of trepidation in her chest. A million things could go wrong. This was hostile territory. She could sense powerful hollow energies all around, so many that she couldn't even feel alarmed by them anymore. The abnormal had become normal in this maddening place, and death was just around the corner.

But, even in these circumstances, some things could be extraordinary. On edge, Rukia kept watch, sensing for trouble. Slowly, she felt something approaching, not too powerful, but a cut above what they had fought so far… which meant it was well beyond any of the soldiers present.

"To me, right now!" she cried. "Form up near the entrance, defensive formation!"

The men, to their credit, reacted quickly. The last of them scampered away just as the figure came into view. He was a strange sort; Rukia could not see him very well across the expansive chamber. He appeared to have pink hair, and… a pair of glasses? No- that was a strange sort of mask fragment, Rukia realized as he got closer.

"Orders, ma'am?" her deputy asked, seeming rattled.

"Retreat into the corridor, now. This is something well beyond all of you." Rukia said, knowing it was true. If this was not an espada, it had to be something close to it.

"Well, well," said the arrancar. "That wouldn't do, would it? I'd like you all to stay. There's so much I could learn about you."

His callous voice sent shivers down Rukia's spine, the cold look in his face nothing short of psychopathic.

"I am Szayel-Aporro Grantz," said the arrancar, "and you're not going anywhere."

Rukia steeled herself. This was it, now or never.

Back and forth they went; thrust, stab, dodge, parry, evade. A spell cast here, the shock of a shikai ability there: it was all becoming something of a blur. Their battle was melding into a familiar mould, and even with the bitter enmity between the both of them, it was hard to shake the memories of when these battles had been but spars, mock combat between two youths working hard to improve their skills.

Tousen took two rapid steps back, evading two monstrous thrusts that he knew were coming, could sense before they had even begun, then dodged under the second and countered with a thrust of his own. Komamura, likewise familiar with the twists and turns of Tousen's style, parried it with ease and shoved his opponent back. Tousen stumbled, but recovered quickly. Komamura had always been physically stronger, and almost- almost- as precise as Tousen was.

He used a step of shunpo to create some space between them, to pause to take a breath or two. Sweat was running down his forehead, and he could feel the chill of the air against his shoulders and arms, both slick with moisture.

They were evenly matched. Too evenly matched. Tousen had always been very slightly better at the intricacies of sword-to-sword combat, but Komamura had greater reach. Try as he might, Tousen could never come in close enough to deliver any serious blow, and there was nothing he could pull that his old friend would not see coming. To make matters worse, Komamura had full access to a powerful shikai, whereas Tousen's own would be ineffective against a target aware of its abilities. Effectively, he was getting very little done against an enemy who knew all his tricks, inside and out.

Would he go through with it? If Tousen pretended to surrender, pretended to regret his actions, would Komamura fall for it?

Part of Tousen felt hesitant to use such underhanded tactics. He believed, as Lord Aizen did, that the ends justified the means, but something inside him pulled him the other direction. A very considerable part of him, proud and stubborn, wanted to best his old friend in direct combat. Not out of some banal sense of rivalry, but as a victory of his convictions, proof that his ideas were better.

Just do it. Roll over and pretend. Appeal to his better nature. Bring up your past. He'll drop his guard.

No. Even if it could work, there was no guarantee it would. The hurt and anger Komamura had gone through since Lord Aizen had revealed the truth might have driven his old friend places Tousen could not have expected. Komamura might run him through without a second thought.

Tousen grit his teeth. Direct action it was, then. Wordlessly, he charged again, his blade sweeping a wide arc as he closed the distance. Komamura parried and swept out with an armoured fist. Tousen evaded the blow, then somersaulted back just as another, much bigger fist sailed through the space where he had been a moment ago. Tousen landed gracefully on his feet, surging forward with a thrust, aiming to close the distance. If he got in close enough, the greater size of Komamura's blade would work against him.

Komamura parried his stab, driving the blade aside. He twisted his sword down, trying to pin Tousen's blade. Tousen had expected it, and aimed a palm upward.

"Shou!" he cried. The spell struck Komamura in the jaw. Momentarily stunned, Komamura staggered back, but before Tousen could capitalize on the opening a gargantuan blade came down in between them. Tousen jumped back, bringing up an arm to cover his face from the explosive spray of dust and gravel as the humongous sword connected with the floor, carving a several-feet-deep line of impact.

"Tousen," said Komamura, as the dust begun to settle, "I will ask you one last time to stop, before it's too late. Lay down your blade, or I'll kill you."

Tousen grit his teeth. It was insulting. As if he'd come this far to give in to the inefficient, cowardly system that had let him down!

"You're breathing heavily, Komamura," he said, refusing to respond to the plea directly. "You will grow careless. Sloppy."

"So are you, old friend," said Komamura, "and I think we both know which one of us will tire first."

A wave of anger washed over Tousen. Komamura was right. Komamura had the strength of an ox; he always had, and in a battle of attrition, Tousen knew he couldn't win. Komamura was a formidable opponent, more so than Tousen remembered, balancing tremendous power with finesse and restraint.

There was just one option left, but Tousen was loath to use it. If anyone in the whole world knew how to defeat it, it would be Komamura.

At the same time, he would rather die than let down Lord Aizen. Personal fears and anxieties should never come in the way of that.

"It's unfortunate," said Tousen, raising his blade, the tip pointing down, "but there really is no other way than this. I will make this quick if I can, Komamura. For old time's sake, I will at least try to give you a swift death. Bankai. Suzumushi Tsuishiki: Enma Kourogi!"

Tousen touched the ring by the hilt of his blade, and let it expand outward as he pulled at it, the circle spinning more and more quickly at his command. It split into ten rings, encircling him, and with a slash of his sword, Tousen sent them flying outward. As the world became a place of darkness, he sensed Komamura move, very slightly. A nod of the head, an oddly confident gesture, as if he knew what was going to happen.

Was he making his peace with death? Did he have something prepared?

"It doesn't matter," Tousen muttered to himself as he took a first step toward Komamura, comfortably walking inside the lightless, soundless realm of his bankai.

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing he wouldn't be heard. "If you had more clarity, you could have been one of us. I would have liked that. But, wishes are pointless, aren't they? All that matters is what you can actually do to change the world. You couldn't. I will."

Tousen broke into a run, blade raised for the attack. His old friend couldn't read his attacks anymore. This would be over, very soon.

Jellal circled the captain, his blade-arms spinning at a relatively slow speed. Hyourinmaru, as the captain had called his blade, was fully released. The captain was a sight to behold. Great wings of ice, clawed feet, hovering symbols above his head… this was Hitsugaya Toushirou, the fabled prodigy of the Gotei, the child captain. Jellal knew better than to count the boy's lack of experience against him. No captain ever gained their rank for a lack of martial ability, and he had found no weakness yet, no rash mistakes. He was cool, both figuratively and literally, approaching the battle with considerable calm. The two had not wasted much time, both realizing quickly that neither could best the other whilst holding back. Jellal paced around in his insectoid resurreccion, protected by bony plates. His spinning blades had so far shattered all the ice thrown his way, but the chill of it made him fearful. If he was ever fully encased, he knew it would be over. The cold would be the last thing he felt before the dark took him, and he'd stare out at the distorted image of the captain as his life faded…

"Aren't you a little too cautious?" said Hitsugaya, his voice level. "I've never seen a hollow so reluctant to tear my throat out."

"A lack of caution is the end of you," said Jellal, still circling around him, the little captain shifting around to keep his eyes on his quarry. "I've learned that much. We're not all fools, captain. In fact… I think caution will be to my advantage. The symbols above… one of them has partly faded. Tell me, what does that mean?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Ah," said Jellal, nodding, "so it is important. A timer, perhaps? If all I have to do is outlast you, then this battle will be mine. You're too reliant on big attacks, young man. Precise and well-measured, but still too wasteful."

He watched the captain's reaction carefully. Through the well-practiced indifference, he thought he spotted something. Annoyance, perhaps, or concern? He had gotten very good at reading people, and his gut told him he had hit home.

His suspicions were all but confirmed when the captain swung his blade, sending an icy gale his way. Knowing the cool air would freeze into ice in a second, Jellal dashed to the side and begun to close the distance, his blade-arms spinning at full combat speed. Hitsugaya met the charge head on, one of the icy wings absorbing the strike from Jellal's bladed arms. Shards of ice sprayed through the air, but his strikes clattered off without doing much harm. That was the problem with them- they would do some fierce damage if they hit, but the sheer speed of the blades meant that if they didn't connect, they went nowhere, the momentum throwing them all around. Jellal took a step back. His bony armour deflected a stab. Hitsugaya brought down his blade again, and a line of icy spikes sprung up where Jellal stood. Instinctively, Jellal leaped into the air. It would make him a target, and avoiding a strike would be harder mid-air, but he had no intention of letting the captain strike first. His clawed arms folded back for the moment, revealing Jellal's hands. He crossed his arms, aiming his palms down, and he let power surge through him. His old memories had been painful, but there had been inspiration there too. Revelations of old skill sets, ways to fight unfamiliar to most hollows. A great circle of red formed beneath him as he sailed through the air, and Jellal poured his energy into it, letting the attack drink deep of his reserves.

"Grand chariot!" he cried, and a multitude of ceros formed, over a dozen, bombarding the area where Hitsugaya stood. They went off one by one, rapid fire, gouging great craters into the rocky floor. It couldn't have missed, he was sure; the volume was too great and the speed too quick. The captain had to have shielded himself-

Before the dust even settled, a determined, furious Hitsugaya came sailing through the air. A mighty swing of his blade knocked Jellal out of the air, and he grit his teeth as he felt the pain of steel slashing into his skin. His armour had failed to protect him. He righted himself as he fell, managing to land on his feet, but the captain was already on him. Managing to snap his blade-arms back into place in time, Jellal parried an overhead strike.

"Tired yet, captain?" he said sardonically, glancing up at the symbols above Hitsugaya's head. The first of the three symbols had all but faded. The barrage had taken a lot out of him, it seemed. Then again, it had taken a lot out of Jellal, too…

"Judge for yourself," Hitsugaya snapped, parrying a stab from Jellal's other arm. A thrust was all the espada was able to manage this close up. The wings rose up, spreading wide and leaning over Jellal, and a great chill overcame the espada, greater than normal. Figuring it was yet another attempt to freeze him solid, Jellal tried to take a few steps back, get his blades spinning again, but the dragon's tail wrapped around his ankle. Overbalancing, Jellal fell on his back, and Hitsugaya stabbed his blade down, cutting into Jellal's chest. Not very deep, thanks to the hollow's armour, but it hurt all the same.

Being pinned down would be the same as death. Almost desperate, Jellal lashed out with his own tail, and the unexpected movement caught Hitsugaya in the face. The blow did not do much real damage, but it stunned the captain. Quickly, Jellal scrambled back to his feet, and breathed a sigh of relief as he got his blades spinning again.

"I have to say," he said, partly because he wanted to buy a little breathing room, partly because he had something to say, "you're just as good as Lord Aizen said you were."

"I clearly need to do better if I can't even defeat the septimo."

"Don't be fooled by numbers," Jellal said, ignoring the insult. "I am not the strongest of them all, but not one of Lord Aizen's best are weak."

"Evidently," said Hitsugaya, furrowing his brows. He hadn't expected it to be this hard.

In that regard, Jellal's expectations had been better adjusted. This was exactly as hard as he'd expected it to be. A captain was always a captain, and the likes of Hitsugaya Toushirou… Jellal felt more than a little pride to be holding his own so far.

"Come on, then," said Jellal, letting his blades spin like buzz-saws. "Let's see which one of us wears out first!"

Blades out, he charged. The captain met him. Once again, they locked weapons, bone blades against ice, neither one willing to yield.

Erza's twin blades spun around in tandem, dancing around at lightning speed. Halibel was keeping up, if only just barely. Erza had switched into the light scale mail of Heaven's Wheel, and with her twin blades, she was fast enough to even push her opponent back. Not the tercera for nothing, Halibel had managed to parry or evade every strike Erza had thrown at her so far, despite the shorter range of her strange zanpakutou. Still, this was just to get a feeling for how Halibel was in her new form. It had been ages since Erza fought her, when she had only been a Menos Grande hollow.

She was overwhelmingly powerful still, but the gap had closed a fair bit. Erza had come a long way, and her swordsmanship and speed were enough to phase the dark-skinned espada, to keep her on the defensive.

Erza dodged under a vicious counterthrust aimed at her skull, both her blades raking ineffectively against Halibel's hierro. That was the problem with fighting an arrancar of Halibel's stature. Although Erza might be clad in plate mail, her opponent had natural armour all around her, and even under the best of circumstances, the twin katanas would struggle to pierce her iron skin. Nimbly, Erza let the wings at her back carry her a few paces backward, assuming a stance and waiting for her opponent to charge.

Not a moment later, Halibel had closed the distance, a mighty swing of her shorter blade cutting horizontally against Erza. Anticipating the attack, Erza rolled under it, and before she even got to her feet her armour had changed into a grim black and her weapons had shifted into a shield and warhammer. She parried a lightning-fast slash aimed at her neck with the shield, and brought down the hammer on the espada's shoulder. Erza heard the crack of bone, and Halibel stepped back, a brief look of shock on her face. Her clavicle had snapped, and an ugly, red mark was dripping with blood where the hammer had connected.

"I'm not the young, naïve shinigami getting my teeth kicked in anymore, Tier," said Erza sternly, furiously staring down the tercera, "and you're not going to walk all over me like you used to."

Halibel said nothing, but her brows furrowed. Anger briefly passed over what could be seen of her features, and she flexed the arm whose shoulder Erza had struck. It had to hurt- but then again, no hollow of Halibel's quality would be stopped by a little pain. She lunged again, favouring her sword arm, and Erza braced herself. As Halibel rained down blow after blow, Erza patiently defended with her shield. Seeing the opening just in time, she lashed out with the warhammer, catching Halibel in the knee. It was a good hit, and Halibel stumbled, falling onto the floor. She turned the fall into a roll, quickly getting to her feet. Had Erza been a little more ruthless, she might have pushed her edge right there, hit when her opponent was down, but for some reason she held back. Halibel was… in Erza's mind, she was still a friend. Not a ruthless monster that deserved to be cut down, but a misguided soul. Somebody who wanted what Erza wanted: a better world for all.

In the second it took Erza to hesitate, Halibel had come up on her feet again, limping. She was favouring her left leg, the right seeming weaker. Her leg did not seem broken, but Erza felt sure it had to at least have fractured. The hammer was made for breaking thick, hard defences, and Halibel had not expected it, not seen it coming.

"I told you," Erza repeated, "I'm not the girl you used to know. You'd better get serious."

That, she realized, was nearly suicidal. She had been lucky enough to catch Halibel unawares, against a weapon she had no experience fighting, but Tier Halibel in her full glory, resurreccion and all? The thought was terrifying.

Still, part of her wanted to face it. A strong, stubborn part of Erza wanted to see what her old friend was capable of. To leave her broken and beaten without it felt… a little cheap, somehow. Unfair.

"You've changed," said Halibel slowly. "You never used to be arrogant."

"What's arrogant is getting hit twice and thinking you're not the one doing something wrong. Isn't that a bit prideful? Isn't pride one of the things you consider a luxury?"

Halibel snarled and leapt forward. Erza's hammer and shield shifted into the brutal form of Render, the great black blade. She met the charge head on, their blades slamming into one another. Halibel, poorly balanced on her wounded leg, stumbled slightly, and Erza slammed the hilt of her blade into the espada's face. Stunned, she reeled back, and Erza brought down the blade with all her strength. It cut the tercera from shoulder to hip, biting deep into her iron hide. Halibel stumbled back, shock written in her face as blood began to dye the white of her uniform red.

Erza advanced, steeling herself. Time to finish this. Cheap or unfair, this was life or death, and she had an obligation to stay alive. If that meant winning early, then so be it. She raised her blade, but just as it came down, Halibel sprang into action. She raised her own blade, letting Erza's strike slide into the hollow end of her zanpakutou, then twisted their joined swords aside, driving the strike into the floor. A spray of shattered rock went flying into the air as it came down, hard.

Halibel lashed out with a fist, heedless of the pain in her shoulder, and caught Erza square in the face before she could react. Erza stumbled back, letting go of her weapon. Even wounded, Halibel was much too dangerous to be kept pinned down, and Erza let the shield reappear to parry any follow-up strike. As she recovered, though, she saw Halibel had not moved. She was bleeding, breathing heavily, yet standing tall despite her wounds.

"You were right," she said, her husky voice teeming with anger. "I was being prideful. Or, arrogant. Call it whatever you want. I thought I could end you without going all out."

She gave Erza a strange look. Was that appreciation? Pride? Respect? For a moment, she looked less than hateful, but Erza could not be sure in what way.

"Destroy," she said, and Erza felt the espada's power surging, "Tiburon!"

The reiatsu peaked, and as the dust settled and the glow of transformation faded, Halibel stood tall before Erza, injuries gone. She was something to behold. Halibel wore very little in the way of clothes now, her wrecked uniform faded and torn off from the discharge of power. Two bony, armoured protrusions formed a set of shoulder guards, and her chest was all but naked, her breasts held in place only by two slivers of bone.

A set of boned splinters formed a skirt of sort around her waists, and her lower legs were encased in armoured bone, too. In her right arm was the all too familiar bone greatsword, held aloft with ease. She looked like some elegant, terrifying Amazonian goddess, like some primordial deity come down from the heavens to wreak unimaginable havoc on the world.

"You changed, too, huh?" said Erza weakly, swallowing down a growing lump of fear. The sheer power Halibel radiated was terrifying.

"You'll soon see," said Halibel coldly. As the espada took her first step forward, Erza braced herself. At least in her battle with Kenpachi, she'd had the upper hand in terms of skill. Here, she had no such advantage. This would be the fight of her life.

Zaraki Kenpachi was not in a good mood. It wasn't really the fact that he had a sizeable hole in his chest, with blood trailing out at a rate that anyone else would have found alarming. It wasn't the first time that had happened to him, and hopefully wouldn't be the last. A good beating meant some serious pain, and that was the trade-off for the joy of combat. That had always been his philosophy, simple enough for him. So far, it had worked.

It wasn't the pain, or the injury, or the fact that he was starting to get dizzy. It was the fact that nothing about this was fun. The disappointment of it was the worst part. Heading into battle with the fifth espada had set his expectations high. He had fully expected to go all out, take off his eyepatch and really let loose. She wouldn't win, he hadn't expected that, but it should be a good, hard fight, one that left a few good scars and sated his bloodlust for a while.

Well, he had taken off his eyepatch, but that was the only expectation that had been fulfilled. She wasn't weak. It was just that nothing about this was enjoyable. He couldn't reach her. It was a fight, and he was barely even fighting, just trying to stay alive.

So far in life, Kenpachi had had a very basic strategy, which largely involved savagely mauling his opponent with reckless, powerful attacks. If he went up against some technical type with a lot of skill, he'd rely on his ability to endure pain and punishment long enough for his opponent to make a mistake. Against somebody fast, he'd rely on the fact that he'd probably only need one good hit to cripple them. Anything less than that, he'd usually walk all over. But, for the first time in his life, he was faced with a style he had no answer for. Neliel Tu Oderschvank was fast, but not only that, she was powerful. And, that was only the start of it: Kenpachi, who had never really bothered with finesse like parrying or evading, was forced to think about the way he fought for the first time… for the first time in several lifetimes, actually.
It was that dreadful lance. Half again as long as his own blade, it had more reach by a considerable margin, and when it was backed by the momentum of one of her charges, it was absolutely deadly.

Kenpachi snorted irritably, swearing under his breath as he anticipated another attack from Neliel, ignoring the pain as he rolled to the side without even attempting a counterattack. The lance sailing over his head by the barest margin. She had gotten one good hit in so far, and he was still reeling from it. Another clean hit would be the end of him. This wasn't just strength, it was concentrated force, optimized to pierce through any defense.

What the hell was he supposed to do? The hall they fought in left her plenty of space to move in. If he could get her into a narrower corridor, her larger form wouldn't help her nearly as much, and if he could get the initiative even once, that damned lance wasn't going to work as much more than a glorified club. It was a one-trick pony, everything into the charge. Unfortunately, it was working.

He'd tried to bait her, but furious as she was, she was too clever to fall for it. She had seen through the limited choice of moves he had and had evaded them so far.

She readied herself again, and Kenpachi took a deep breath, steadying himself on his legs, forcing down a wave of nausea and pain, gritting his teeth.

If I don't do something, I'm going to die.

His thoughts gave word to a realization that had already been etched into his mind. With murderous intent, he grasped his blade in both hands, remembering the basic kendou the old man had taught him so long ago. A quick sidestep, a well-timed slash… she couldn't be that tough. If he could get her hurting, slow her down a little, he could turn it around. If he didn't, it would probably be the end of him, here and now. He could see the hate in her eyes, the killing intent.

Time seemed to slow as Kenpachi took a stance, the formal movement awkward and unfamiliar. There would be a fraction of a second to act, the smallest of openings. If he missed, he'd die. He heard the clopping of her hooves over the stone floor, taga-dam, taga-dam, reverberating in his head like thunder. His eyes narrowed, and his breathing slowed to an even, calm rhythm in a display of discipline that felt alien to him. There was nothing for it…

Then there was the clash, sudden, brutal, and over in the blink of an eye. Waiting until the last possible moment, Kenpachi leaped to the right side. Her lance was coming at him from his left, meaning her angle would be that much worse. He could only hope it was enough. As he leaped, he slashed at her side, knowing her greater momentum would add to the power of his swing. He felt his blade bite deeply into her flesh- but at the same time he felt the shock of impact as Neliel, adjusting at the last second, still managed to glance his shoulder. Kenpachi was thrown off his feet, white-hot pain flashing through his torso as he struggled to hold on to his blade. Breathing erratically, he blinked, trying to dispel the black spots in his eyes, threatening to take his consciousness away. He forced himself to take one deep breath and clawed at the floor with his hands- his hand, he realized; the other one wasn't answering.

After what felt like an eternity, Kenpachi got to his feet, leaning against a pillar. His left arm hung limp from his side at a twisted angle, and his left shoulder sported a new, raw gash where the lance had glanced him. His left arm had popped out of its socket, hanging limp. Loath as he was to do it, Kenpachi let go of his blade, momentarily leaning it against the pillar. He took another breath and held it, knowing this would hurt. Grasping his limp arm firmly, he lifted it up, only hoping the espada wouldn't jump him in the middle of it. He grit his teeth, snarled, and yanked at his arm, forcing it up and inwards at just the right angle. A thousand nerves screamed at him, and his vision went black for a second. When he opened his eyes again, breathing quick, sharp breaths to work through the pain, he tried moving both his hands. Thankfully, his left arm was back in the fight, although the edge of his vision was still dark.

"I gotta hand it to ya," he rasped as he reached for his blade, unsteadily taking a step forward as he laid his eyes on the espada again, "been a while since anyone made me do that. You're strong."

"You are a monster," Neliel hissed. "You know, I want to believe you can be better than this. I think you are, most of you. But you? You're worse than our own kind, Zaraki Kenpachi."

Her right side was dyeing red with blood, and by the looks of it, the one hit seemed to have done its job. Her right front leg was trembling. Even so, Kenpachi knew he was worse off by far. His vision was going blurry with blood loss and pain, and his reiatsu was fluctuating.

What a fuckin' way to go, huh? Beat into the ground in the one fight I can't stand to be in.

The bitter thought haunted him, but Kenpachi was nothing if not persistent. If he was going to die, then… well, it wasn't like he had hoped for a peaceful retirement, was it? Here and now, sword in hand, that was as good a time to go as any.

"Enough talkin'," he said, taking another unsteady step forward, breaking into a run. If he could catch her now, then maybe…

Neliel reared up on her hind legs as he came at her, batting his fumbling swing to the side with her lance and lashing out with her front hooves. They struck him in the face, and Kenpachi stumbled back, spitting out a tooth. Neliel broke into a sprint, away from him, turning around to face him some twenty yards away, just enough to mount a charge. Kenpachi breathed in, defiantly raising his blade in both hands.

It felt wrong. Combat had always been a joy to him, but this? A fight where he could barely get a hit in, where he was all but helpless against an enemy perfectly suited to tear him down? He hated it. Hating battle, that was what felt wrong. It was like hating good saké, or his sword.

Not that he was going to chicken out. He broke into a run, facing the charge with one of his own.

The wounded were coming in at a steady pace, but so far the load was far from impossible to manage. Unohana was directing dozens and dozens of field medics, overseeing the operation directly. Isane was hard at work, covered to the elbows in the blood of the injured. She was holding up well, occasionally shooting her captain a look. Each time, Unohana gave her an approving nod, feeling a little guilty that she could not help. But, she was on stand-by for more important matters, as one of the senior captains, and as per the orders of Yamamoto, she was to be ready to intervene at a moment's notice if Aizen, or one of his greater disciples, showed themselves.

Then she felt it, distantly. A sense of wrongness. At first, she dismissed it as nerves, but as the sensation persisted, she recognized it. Each captain had been outfitted with a mark denoting their life status, roughly speaking. Right now, the kido-powered mark, one of thirteen on her arm, pulsed alarmingly.

It was the eleventh one.

"Captain-commander," she said urgently.

"Yes?" responded Yamamoto, sounding a little aloof as he stared out into the distance.

"There's an emergency. I must go."

It was not a request, and the old captain-commander knew better than to refuse her. He nodded. Not wasting another second, Unohana dashed down the hall with all haste. People had died already. More than likely, she would see old, familiar faces fade away before this was gone. But… not him. Please, not him, of all people!

He had been skewered. Faintly conscious as he was, he was aware of at least that much. The lance had run halfway through his stomach, and partly into the pillar behind him. He tried to raise his blade and take her head off her shoulders now that she finally was within striking range, but the sword felt heavy in his hands. He grunted, his arm trembling as he slowly raised the weapon. Neliel stared him in the eye, a furious look on her face, and twisted her arm. A fresh jolt of pain shot through Kenpachi, and the darkness on the edge of his vision began to overtake him. His strength faltered, and his blade lowered.

"Ah, hell," he muttered, coughing up a stream of blood. "You… really did it, huh. Good… on ya."

The last thing he saw was that merciless face, framed by curving horns, silently staring him down as the darkness took him.

Against either one, Ulquiorra would have had absolute confidence. Neither Kuchiki Byakuya nor Kurosaki Ichigo possessed the skills or strength to best him in combat. In almost any situation, even from a disadvantage, he would defeat either one of them in single combat.

But, put together, they were… rather a nuisance.

Something had changed. The friction between them the first time he had seen them together had been extreme, to the point where the prideful, haughty nobleman had all but attacked the boy. Now they worked together harmoniously, a flurry of pink petals shielding the half-breed from harm every time he came at Ulquiorra. And, every time Ulquiorra was hard pressed by the black blade of the half-hollow, the pink tide would form a saw, grinding at Ulquiorra's form. His skin could only protect him for so long, it seemed.

Speed had been his ally so far, but this was not a winning battle. Pushed back time and time again by a relentless opponent, always on the defense?

It was a joke. He was the cuarto, Lord Aizen's most trusted enforcer. Either of these two was vermin. Ulquiorra Cifer was not a prideful person. In fact, his commitment to a lack of emotion meant he was barely a person at all. Pride, envy, anger… these were useless emotions that ruled lesser beings.

But, he did have purpose, a singular drive that gave his existence meaning, without which he had no reason to raise his blade, or even draw breath: service to Lord Aizen. Right now, he was not serving his lord well.

The half-breed brought down his blade again. Ulquiorra parried with ease, but as usual, before he could retaliate a wave of pink forced him to retreat. Ulquiorra Cifer was not an emotional being, but something very much like anger was starting to make itself known at the corners of his mind.

Ichigo brought down his blade again and again, exhilarated. His mask held strong; he was stronger and faster than he had ever been, and he was driving back the fourth espada. Wrapped in pink blades dancing around them like some surreal artwork, it felt like fighting in a dream. This was what they should always have done, working together. Even an espada was bound to trip up eventually, and when he did, Ichigo wasn't going to hold back.

He tried to take Orihime. He made her cry. He terrified her. He's coming for my entire city, my home. I will kill him before I let that happen.

He never knew it, but he had never been more of one mind with the stoic captain by the side lines.

"Kurosaki," Byakuya called out, "this is going nowhere. Can you buy me a few seconds?"

Very briefly, Ichigo wondered what it was. Well, it wasn't as if he had the time to stop and ask. He just… had to trust him. Like he had so far.

"You got it!" he called back, his hollow's voice echoing across the halls. Momentarily that pink blade-storm slowed down, and Ichigo redoubled his efforts to pin down the espada. He appeared behind Ulquiorra, almost instantly. The espada parried his attack flawlessly, as Ichigo had expected, but he pushed against him, their blades grinding against each other.

Their faces inches apart, Ichigo sneeringly said, "Scared yet, espada?"

With inexorable strength, Ulquiorra batted aside Ichigo's blade. Ichigo jumped back, narrowly evading a slash that nearly cut out his throat. He caught the next strike, an overhead swing, and angled his blade down, redirecting the blow. He slashed down, aiming to exploit the momentary opening, but Ulquiorra was too quick. He nimbly side-stepped the blow, gracefully dodging the attack.

"GETSUGA TENSHOU!" Ichigo roared, discharging one of the crescent moon strikes almost point-blank. Ulquiorra caught it with his blade, reeling back a little as he sheared it in two.

"Bakudou sixty-three: Sajou Sabaku!"

As the glowing, golden chains wrapped around Ulquiorra's torso, Ichigo realized why Byakuya had needed some time. Nothing short of a full, perfectly worded incantation of a high-level bakudou could hope to contain a hollow of Ulquiorra's calibre. The chains wrapped tight, and although Ulquiorra almost instantly strained against it, his guard had been forced down. Before he could break free, before he could escape, Ichigo raised his blade for a stab and without hesitating, he surged forward.

Tensa Zangetsu bit into Ulquiorra's flesh. Putting every ounce of his strength behind the attack, Ichigo pushed hard, and was rewarded with his great blade piercing through hard hierro, sliding fully half the length of his blade through the espada's chest. Ulquiorra shot Ichigo a hateful look. The chains cracked under the pressure, and Ichigo, realizing he'd rather not have his blade stuck, kicked Ulquiorra in the chest while tugging his blade free. Ulquiorra reeled back- only to stumble into a great wave of pink. The espada did not scream, but his mouth widened with pain as the thousands of little blades, rotating and grinding like some particularly vicious saw, bit into his back. The pink took a redder colour as Ulquiorra moved away in a single, masterful step of sonido, putting a fair bit of distance between them.

"Good job," Ichigo said appreciatively, shooting the nobleman a nod.

"Keep your wits about you. This is far from over," said Byakuya, keeping his eyes on Ulquiorra.

"You…" said Ulquiorra, staring them both down. "You are both unworthy of this."

Ichigo, who had never expected to see anything more than passive contempt from the espada, was surprised to hear a tremor to his voice. He sounded, just a little, like he hated them both.

"Unworthy or not, it sounds like we're about to get whatever this is," said Ichigo confidently. He already had a good idea of what the espada meant. Things were about to get deadly serious.

"Even a hollow should know better than to blame his lack of success on anyone but himself," said Byakuya. "Do as you must. We will defeat you with or without your full strength."

Ichigo gave him a strange look. Was he that confident? That prideful, still? To Ichigo's surprise, Byakuya just shrugged, as if to say 'it's not like we could stop him from going all out'. If that was the nobleman's meaning, Ichigo couldn't really disagree.

Ulquiorra pointed his blade at them. "Enclose, Murcielago," he said darkly. His reiatsu rose drastically and there was that terrifyingly familiar discharge of power, as his shape morphed and reframed itself.

"Time to switch it up?" said Ichigo.

"I concur," said Byakuya. "Senkei."

Upon his command, the pink blades shifted in turn, forming a dome of blades around them.

"I'll keep you unaffected," said the nobleman coolly, grasping a blade in his hand. "Whatever he's about to throw at us, I doubt my petals will catch. I was struggling to wound him at all."

"Got it," said Ichigo with a nod.

The dust cleared. As Ichigo had come to expect, his injuries had fully recovered. The espada tore away his half-shredded shirt, revealing a toned, muscular body, as white as the skin on his face. He hadn't transformed radically at all; most of his form seemed to be the same. The half-helmet mask fragment on his skull had become a full helmet, with elegant, menacing horns protruding outward. Great, bat-like wings extended out from his shoulders, and in his hand he carried a long spear of some sort. His hands and feet were different, though, bestial and black. Claws sprouted where his fingers and toes would have been. Veins of black protruded far up his legs and arms, a disturbing contrast to his marble-white skin. The green lines under his eyes had thickened, irregular and muddled now, and his black hair was longer, giving him a wild look.

One moment he was giving them a contemptuous look. The next he was upon them, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. Ichigo let out a gargled cry as the spear ran through him. Byakuya reacted with due haste, swiping at the espada's neck, but he evaded with ease. Wrenching the lance free from Ichigo's shoulder, he launched into a series of rapid-fire stabs. The nobleman was put on the defense, and even under the aid of senkei it seemed clear he would be overwhelmed within seconds. Still reeling from the pain of the stab, Ichigo grit his teeth and charged some energy into his blade. The Getsuga flew out at his command, but Ulquiorra somersaulted over it and continued his assault almost uninterrupted.

Ichigo took in a deep breath. He could feel the strain of his hollow, thrashing against the bounds of his mental control. He wouldn't be able to maintain the mask for much longer.

Had they just been delusional, thinking they could handle an espada like Ulquiorra?

Not that they could back out now. Here they would stand, and here they would live or die.

Tousen felt a sense of resignation. Komamura was near death. Very soon now, Tousen would take his best friend's life. Very soon now, he would have proven his loyalty to Lord Aizen beyond any and all doubts. Very soon now…

Refusing to be stopped for even a moment by any kind of doubt or hesitation, Tousen focused his mind entirely on the battle ahead. He would grieve later. He would do the deed, and never let himself be stopped by any ties to the past.

Komamura was in a bad shape now. He had suffered a deep cut to the chest, and he bled profusely from a dozen other wounds, as well. Still, he had done well, considering the disadvantage. Aside from his chest wound, he had taken only relatively shallow cuts. His reaction speed was commendable. Despite having no sensation available to him except the touch of Tousen's blade, he would twist himself out of the way the moment he sensed the zanpakutou's edge against his uniform, turning grievous injuries to shallower cuts. If anyone could do it, it would be Komamura. Who else knew Tousen's fighting style better, except Tousen himself?

It was unsustainable. He was breathing heavily, and the damage was adding up, valiant efforts or no. Tousen would have liked for it to be swift, merciful and kind, but then again… he was killing Komamura. No part of that was kind, certainly not from where his old friend was standing. He would struggle until the very end, like the stubborn old beast he was. It was a drawn-out torment for the both of them.

Tousen dashed in behind Komamura, going for a deep stab. Come on, you stubborn animal, just die already!

He aimed for a spot where the captain's armour would be weaker. The blade went in, and just as it did, Komamura spun around, lightning fast, with a powerful sideways swipe. Tousen, anticipating this, dodged low before thrusting upward, aiming for Komamura's neck. The captain pulled back just a little, but the blade cut deep into Komamura's chest. Another good couple of hits like that-

Then, Komamura's free hand shot up in a vicious punch, one that Tousen narrowly evaded. He dodged under it, repaying the attack with a swift slash to the arm.

"Can't you see it?" Tousen cried, even knowing his friend couldn't hear him. "Can't you see you're already dead and gone, you foolish beast?"

Frustratedly, he took a few steps back. Komamura was breathing heavily, he could tell. His heart rate was slower. The blood loss seemed to be getting to him. His off-hand was hanging from his side, seemingly paralyzed by the fresh cut. His shoulders were heaving, and he was covered in blood. The deed was almost done. Just a little more, Tousen thought to himself. Almost there…

He dashed to the side, aiming another stab to Komamura's gut. This time, the bestial captain did not react in time. He tried to twist himself aside, weakly, but it was no use. The blade slid in halfway, only partly hindered by Tousen's faltering strength. He was getting weaker, too, he realized. This had been harder than he had expected, and not just emotionally. Still, this was it. All that remained was a coup de grace-

Then suddenly he felt a massive fist close around his wrist, and Tousen reeled back in shock.

"I wasn't sure this would work," said Komamura, and Tousen trembled at the giant's weary voice, echoing through the soundless chamber suddenly, "but I had to at least try."

"Hadou-" Tousen began, raising his off-hand to quickly call out a spell, anything to get him free, but Komamura's sword-arm came in, the guard of his zanpakutou slamming into Tousen's face along with his fist. Tousen staggered back, held on his feet only by Komamura's grip on his wrist. He spat blood, his head ringing, pulsating with fresh pain.

"You never were all that inventive," Komamura rasped, his breath ragged. "Very, very good, but not very inventive. Always business as usual with you, Tousen. I had to bank on that. I had to think of the patterns you used. I had to let myself get hurt… really badly, or you'd never let your guard down. But I knew if you did… well, your bankai has one weakness, doesn't it? It's quite an advantage it gives you, but I always thought that kind of power invited sloppiness."

Komamura raised his great blade, angling it for a stab. Tousen, his head still shaken from the blow, tried to break himself free, but it was no use. Komamura was holding on to him for dear life, and as the blade rose, Tousen cursed.

There was a single, smooth motion as the zanpakutou surged forward, violently cutting into Tousen's chest. Sinew, muscle, and bone gave way, and Tousen gasped as he was impaled, fully from tip to hilt.

"I'm so sorry," Komamura said ruefully. "I'm so, so sorry."

He twisted the blade, and Tousen gargled as his insides were maimed and mangled. Somehow he kept hold of his blade, although he was barely conscious of it. This was a mortal wound, and Tousen knew it. His bankai began to crack, his concentration ruptured as thoroughly as his insides, and with a crack, it disappeared, the world around them returning to colour and sound once more. Komamura let go of Tousen at last, and Tousen fell to the ground, sliding down into an undignified pool of blood. Komamura winced as Tousen's blade pulled free of his flesh, and slowly returned the favour.

It was all going dark. His sensations were going faint. His insides had been shattered. His ribs were a mess, one of his lungs was ripped in half, and God only knew how many arteries Komamura had severed. Tousen took in long, gasping breaths, trying to stay focused, trying to stay awake. There was one thing still left…

"Stay still," Komamura ordered, remaining standing over him. "I… I wish I could say we could take you in and heal you, but I doubt I'll have the chance. I… I'll ease your passing."

"N-no…" Tousen hissed, slowly bringing a trembling hand up toward his face.

"I… I do not wish to see you suffer," said Komamura, "but if you wish to be left alone, I will give you that much."

Tousen just hissed, hatred overcoming him. This pity? This farce of mercy, from the likes of Komamura? From the side that had eschewed justice, perpetuated the same system that had robbed Tousen of the one he loved most?

Never.

Komamura stared in disbelief as Tousen made a claw of a hand over his face, and slowly, a mask of white began to form. His bleeding stopped, and his reiatsu changed to something different, something darker.

"Tousen!" Komamura cried, shocked. "Tousen, what have you done?!"

"What… was necessary," Tousen hissed. His bleeding had stopped, and somehow, against all reason, he began to claw himself up to his feet, wobbling but still standing up. A hollow's mask had formed over his face, featureless save for a single black slit running from forehead to chin, and a grotesque mouth with no teeth, just jagged edges.

"That… is the thing,"Tousen hissed, his voice reverberating across the hall. "You never understood what was necessary. None of you did. Not even you, Komamura."

"What the hell have you done to yourself?" Komamura demanded. "You would throw aside your humanity like this?"

"The process is imperfect still, so Lord Aizen said," Tousen replied, "but it seems to work fine to me. To become a visored… to take part of a hollow in you for strength. Now I can continue beyond your petty limits. You will die, and I will live!"

Tousen surged forward with sudden, renewed speed, and Komamura only just parried, put on the back foot. Tousen cried out in a shrill, malicious cackle, letting blows rain down on Komamura, the bestial captain grunting with pain, just barely defending himself.

"DIE! DIE! DIE!"Tousen cried, all reason abandoning him. It felt good to let loose, to give in, to feel the hate…

"DIE, KOMAMURA! DIE!"

Then suddenly he stopped, and blinked. His mind felt… clouded. Something felt wrong. He could sense his skin changing, hardening, something malevolent crawling all over it like a parasite. Clawed hands grasped his blade. Panicked, Tousen reached for the mask on his face with his off-hand, trying to pry it off just like Lord Aizen had shown him. That was right, one wasn't supposed to use it when one was too injured, or it would- it would-

"No! NO!" He cried out, as he tore at the mask. Part of it came off, exposing his left eye, but the rest.. refused. A numbness came over him. He was losing control. He could feel his blade arm wanting to kill and kill, with a will of its own.

"TENKEN!"

The voice rang out, bold and furious, and suddenly Tousen found himself on the floor. Surprised, he stared out at his legs. They were… some four feet away from him. Attached to his waist. To his left, a few feet away, lay his sword arm, still clutching the zanpakutou. And there was him, one arm left, torso sheared from the rest of his body…

"Koma… mura…" he managed, staring up at the giant.

His old friend said nothing. He didn't have to. Even now, Tousen could sense it all from the sound of his voice, the tremors in his reiatsu. Regret. Disbelief. Disappointment. Sadness. Somewhere along the way, Tousen realized, something had gone wrong. He raised his arm to Tousen, the one limb he had left. It was dark-skinned as it should be, the pale white having retreated. The fog over his mind had begun to lift a little, replaced by a haze of pain and despair. A single tear trailed down from the one eye not covered by white bone.

"Just… do it…" he hissed, his trembling hand pleadingly tugging at Komamura's uniform.

The last thing Tousen Kaname sensed was Tenken's edge, rising up and then coming down very, very quickly.

Komamura very slowly wiped his blade, partly from the pain, partly from the shock of it all. To kill a friend was bad enough. To see him reduced to that… it was almost too much to bear. Eventually he sheathed his blade, still in a haze. Tousen had been laid to rest. He had at least been a shinigami when he died. It was a small mercy, but it was all he could find. Komamura fell to his knees, weeping quietly by his dead friend's body.

The advance was beginning to slow down. Captain Hitsugaya was engaged in combat with an espada, and Rangiku knew better than to try to intervene. Not only would she be monstrously outmatched, but she would likely just get in her captain's way. Normally those might have read like excuses, but she did have a military advance to coordinate, didn't she?

Well, at least she used to, except she had turned one too many corners fighting some lesser arrancar, and once it had been dealt with, she had found herself alone in a dark, spacious chamber littered with fallen pillars and dust. Unlike the other rooms, the ruination didn't seem recent. Wherever this was, it was a place that had been neglected for a long time. Rangiku looked disdainfully at the arrancar corpse at her feet, its throat shredded, still twitching. Bastard. She resisted the impulse to kick it. Then she gave in to the impulse and kicked it anyway. It didn't accomplish much, or change her situation in any meaningful way, but it made her feel slightly better.

Right. Alone and isolated in enemy territory in the midst of the biggest attack the Gotei had mounted in living memory. Don't panic.

Rangiku took a few deep breaths, blade still out, and sensed for any enemies. After a couple of minutes of careful sensing she deduced that if there were any out there, they were good at hiding their presence. Well, that took care of immediate danger, at least. Now… she just had to figure out a way back. She couldn't have strayed far. In the distance, she had sensed the many, many battles still raging. Her captain was close, probably just a couple of chambers over. Let's see, here… she was positive she had come around that passage, right over there, and she was relatively sure she had come through there after a left turn. Or… was it? The memory was rather a flash, most of it occupied with her dead enemy's sword trying to take her head off.

"Hello."

Rangiku froze. She had sensed very, very carefully. Nobody would be close… unless they were very good at hiding.

"Show yourself!" she demanded, taking a stance, pointing her blade in the general direction of where the voice had come. Where exactly that was, she didn't quite know; the gloomy chamber was wide and there was a slight echo to it.

"Now, there ain't no need fer that sorta thing."

Rangiku froze a second time, from a different type of shock. Having been so on edge, she hadn't quite realized it the first time she heard the voice, but… it was unmistakable. That lazy drawl, speaking like it knew every secret in the world already, playful but threatening at the same time…

"Gin," she whispered breathlessly.

"How ya been?"

He stepped into the light- or rather, out from the shadows and into the slightly less dark part of the room, leisurely walking toward her, stopping just a few yards away. Rangiku kept her blade up, trembling. Gin was the enemy. They had always been friendly, but… she had never really known him. She had learned that not so long ago, when he had ascended with Aizen, the one person who seemed to know what Gin was capable of.

Ichimaru Gin, childhood friend. Ichimaru Gin, murderer. Ichimaru Gin, traitor.

He had his hands hanging from the sides, and he seemed at ease, but Rangiku knew better than to relax. A captain was a captain, whether he had abandoned the rank or not. If they fought…

She swallowed. If they fought, she would die.

He had his hands hanging at his sides, and he seemed at ease, but Rangiku knew better than to relax. A captain was a captain, whether he had abandoned the rank or not. If they fought…

She swallowed. If they fought, she would die.

"Relax, wouldja?" Gin said, lazily scratching his head. "If I wanted to kill ya, I'd have done it already."

"No, you wouldn't," Rangiku hissed. "Drawing it out and playing games is exactly what you would do, you bastard!"

Gin shrugged. "Well, ya got me there, I guess." He reached for his blade, and Rangiku tensed, steeling herself. Then he pulled the blade from its sheath, and with a casual, almost disrespectful gesture he tossed the weapon aside. It clattered on the floor, a good ways away. "See?" he insisted.

"The hell do you want?" Rangiku snapped, frustrated and afraid. Even unarmed, he was very, very dangerous.

"Well," said Gin, leaning his head back a little, "I just sensed that my lil' Ran was out n' about, and I figured I'd take the opportunity to say, 'Hi.'"

"Stop it!" Rangiku's voice turned into a shout, just a pitch away from a scream.

"Stop what?" said Gin innocently.

"This! This whole… playing games, like we're not mortal enemies, like you're the type of guy who'd be sentimental enough to just say, 'Hello.' That wasn't you before, and it sure as hell isn't you now!"

Gin cocked his head.

"Guess you're right about one thing. I ain't the sentimental type."

"If you're here to kill me, just get it over with!" Rangiku snarled. "Do me at least that favour. Show me at least that much respect!"

There was something in his face then, even in the gloom, that seemed to change. Most people wouldn't have noticed it- in fact, Rangiku was sure she was the only one in the entire world who could have. Because, Ichimaru Gin had never had any friends… except her. She was the one person who would notice.

"I'm not here to kill you. After all this time, after all I did… that's the last thing I'd want to do."

The lazy, exaggerated drawl had gone from his voice, his accent toned down, more natural. The hint of low-key mockery had vanished, too.

"Have you finally decided to stop pretending, then?" said Rangiku, lowering her blade just a little.

"I've spent so much time pretending, I don't really know when I'm not," he said, shaking his head. "I ain't normal. Never been. Matter of fact, I don't think I've ever really been me with anyone except you."

"It was Aizen, wasn't it?" Rangiku said weakly, lowering her blade even more. "All those years ago, when you were just a boy, before you had anyone to show you a better way… he saw what you were and he fed the monster in you. Wasn't it so?"

Gin shook his head, his eyes opening wide. "You know that ain't true. I've always been the same. Cold. Never understood any of the things everyone else took for granted- loyalty, love, life… no, I've never been corrupted by anybody. I am who I am."

"Then, why?" Rangiku demanded, finally lowering her sword entirely. "Why did you betray us? Why did you leave me?"

"I'm sorry. I wish it could be another way. I wish the best for you."

"No, you're not, and no, you don't!" Rangiku spat. "You don't know what sorry means, you bastard!"

"It does sound false when I say it, doesn't it?" said Gin with a shrug. "I was always able to fool some people by saying the right things and pretending like I was normal, like I was just a little strange. But not you, Ran. I… just said some things I know people would normally say. To comfort, I suppose."

"Why even bother?"

He suddenly took a step closer, and Rangiku flinched.

"Because you do matter. Even if I'm not normal, you do matter."

"So, why are you here and not with us, then? Why would you- why would you turn to Aizen?"

"For the same reason," said Gin, and something malicious seeped into his voice. A hint of anger, the kind of emotion he never allowed anyone to see out in the open.

"What do you mean?"

"I followed him because of what was done to you," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"You know. Or maybe you've forgotten. I'm sure I'd like to forget, too. But I know, and I will see Aizen Sousuke skewered for it. All this time, I've waited, and the time is near now, Rangiku. Very soon, he'll pay. I couldn't stay by your side. I'd never make a good husband to anyone. But revenge? Violent retribution? Murder? That I do understand. And so, I chose my path."

"Gin…" Rangiku said breathlessly, putting a hand over her mouth.

"Go back, Ran," said Gin severely. "You're the only person I'd spare that. Go back to the back of the lines. This invasion attempt will be over very soon, and when that happens, I'd like it if you were alive."

Rangiku took a step back.

"So, that was… Gin, you idiot!" She grit her teeth, balling a fist. "I'm here, right now, alive! I'm fine. Revenge won't undo anything. It'll only get you killed!"

"Maybe that's the way it should be."

"Damn you…" she muttered, shaking her head. She was near to tears now.

"Go. I won't ask you again. Go, or I'll kill you myself. I'd make it cleaner and quicker than any of these arrancar, and if the choice is between you living or dying slow, in pain, I know what choice I'd make."

He spoke the words with a terrifying finality, and Rangiku knew he meant it. In his own, twisted way he did care, just not in any way a normal human being could relate to.

"To hell with you, Ichimaru Gin," she said venomously, and turned around.

"Nice seein' ya, too, Ran," he said with false cheer, as she started walking away.

The first hit had cost her Render. Halibel had cut the great, black blade apart with a single furious blow, nearly taking half of Erza's face off in the same strike. It had left her reeling, a great red gash across her right cheek. She hadn't had time to think about anything since, only barely managing to summon her shield and sword in time to parry the next attack. Halibel's attacks were just a little slower, the great blade carrying that much more energy with each strike, and that was the only saving grace so far. It was the only reason Erza hadn't died yet.

Her arm ached with each blow she parried, and her shield was becoming worryingly dented and cracked, nearly destroyed under the intense abuse it was taking. She couldn't counterattack, either; Halibel's weapon had too great a reach. The one weapon that matched it was already destroyed, and although it could be remade, that wouldn't happen in time.

Halibel spun her great blade around for a series of swift, powerful attacks aiming high. Erza managed to evade the first two strikes, parried the third, and was forced to take the fourth on her shield. Her arm screamed with pain as the great bone blade came down. The shield finally shattered under the assault. Erza lashed out with her sword in a counterattack, mostly to buy some time. Halibel evaded the strike, and Erza skipped back a few steps, trying to flex her arm, hoping dearly it wasn't broken. Although numb, her fingers responded.

"Heaven's Wheel!" she cried urgently, bringing out her twin katanas. Her arm being functional, albeit barely, was little consolation compared to what she was facing. Halibel was an absolute monstrosity in combat. It wasn't her overwhelming power- no, in terms of sheer reiatsu alone, they were not all that different. She was just very, very good, down to the smallest of movements. Nothing was wasted when she thrust her blade, no mistakes, no small errors to exploit. Erza was a master of the blade, but Halibel had lived a whole life with one literally as part of her body, and none of it had been wasted practice.

Erza let the wings carry her back a little, trying to think about her next move. It didn't help much. Halibel was upon her almost as quickly as she could retreat. Erza narrowly dodged under a swing she knew better than to parry directly.

"Abandoning fighting power for speed, Erza?" said Halibel disdainfully, pausing her attack briefly. "That's a losing strategy. You know it is. Have you already given up?"

"Not while I'm still breathing!"

It might have sounded like empty bravado, but Erza meant it from the heart. She knew it was true. She could not expect help, not soon enough. This would be over within minutes, if even that. She needed time to think, but Halibel wasn't giving it to her.

Erza evaded another wide strike, feeling the shock of air as the tip of the tercera's blade nearly glanced her breast plate. She had to try something.

"Flame Empress!" she cried, her armour shifting once more. She was enveloped by red and brass plate, glowing hot, and Erza launched herself into the air, swinging her blades down in a cross motion, launching a fierce storm of fire down on the espada. A blazing inferno covered her, and if a dragon had breathed down on the tercera, it wouldn't have looked much different. Erza landed nimbly on the ground, dismissing her twin blades in favour of Breaker, the great axe. Before the freshly summoned inferno had even died down, Halibel calmly walked out of it. She looked singed, parts of her skin reddened with heat, but she looked mostly unharmed.

She cocked her head a little, and Erza could hear it as plainly spoken as if she had said the words. Really? That's it?

Halibel surged forward again, and Erza brought her axe to bear, one great weapon clashing with another. Halibel parried, catching the axe blade with ease, the two weapons grinding against each other. Erza refused to yield, giving no ground as they pushed against each other. Then, with a look as if bored by the exchange, Halibel reached out with one hand, grabbed Erza by the gorget of her armour, and pulled hard. Erza lost her balance, and with one mighty tug, Halibel threw her across the chamber with such force that it made a crater in the wall when she hit it. Falling to her knees in a shower of debris, Erza lifted herself to her feet with a burst of fiery energy, and summoned the force for another firestorm. It had done something last time, so…

She brought down her axe, and once more Halibel was engulfed in fire. She wasn't even trying to dodge. As the fires came for her, she raised her blade, and calmly called, "Cascada!"

At her summons, there was a sudden rush of water, flooding most of the chamber with overwhelming force. A literal tidal wave struck Erza, completely overwhelming the fire, which sizzled out like a matchstick thrown into an ocean. Steam was all that was left to attest to its existence as Erza found herself pressed against the wall again, pounded by the sudden rush of water.

"Fire," said Halibel as the water began to recede again. "Pathetic."

Erza coughed, down on her knees, breathing heavily. Weakly, she tried to get to her feet. Before she could stand up, Halibel had waved her blade again, directing the water like a conductor directing an orchestra. Erza was struck again, lifted off her feet by an impossible mass of water, seeming to fill most of the chamber somehow. Erza closed her mouth, holding her breath as she was tossed around like a ragdoll, like a leaf adrift in a tumultuous stream. More than once, she felt the heavy impact of a pillar slamming into her. She was lost in this whirlwind of water, and her lungs had started to burn by the time Halibel relented, leaving Erza coughing, gasping for breath on the floor.

She didn't even have time to get up this time. A mass of water encircled her, forcing her arms down at her sides. There was a controlled stream of water around her, binding her. For the first time, Erza got a good look at the terrifying ability. Half the chamber looked like an ocean now, all of it masterfully directed by the tercera, seemingly without effort. It was as if their battle had been transported to the sea floor, a dark and wet tomb. Halibel stared Erza down, eyes narrowed, holding her great blade out in one hand, gently motioning it around. Presumably, this was what controlled the water holding her stuck. Erza wiggled her arms, but it was like moving in tar.

"I'll admit it," Erza wheezed, taking in a deep couple of breaths. "I didn't see that coming."

"We've both grown."

"Fire against water," Erza said with a chuckle. "Yeah, that does look pathetic, doesn't it? Everyone knows water conquers fire. Right?"

"Obviously."

"It's just that just like I made a mistake using fire, you made a mistake using water."

"I fail to see how."

"I'll show you. Lightning Empress!"

Her armour shifted into a deep blue, raw electricity playing across its plates. Erza let her spiritual power drain right into the armour, lightning energy growing explosively. Erza's eyes came aglow with lightning, becoming a thing of light, and Halibel's eyes widened. Just then, Erza let loose.

"Thunderstruck!" she bellowed, and strike it did. There was no need to aim, or try to control it. At maximum power, thousands of volts' worth of electricity surged through the water, hitting Halibel almost instantly. There was no escape for her in the water, and she trembled and shock as she took the full force of the attack, powerless to defend. As her concentration lapsed, Erza was released from the encircling water. Halibel had been brought to her knees, her hair standing upright. She moaned and grit her teeth, and what came out her throat sounded like a scream cut short by a jaw forced shut by cramping muscles. The water ebbed away, turning into nothing as it flowed away from Halibel.

Unsteady on her legs, Erza stood up, axe in hand. Halibel was still twitching, and if Erza could have struck now, if only she'd had the strength, this would be the perfect time. But, Erza was swaying; not yet exhausted but reeling, both from the weariness of fighting and from the sheer amount of power that attack had drained from her.

Move! Move forward, raise that axe, and take her head!

The thought was her own, and Hagane no Tamashii echoed it. Stubbornly, she took a step forward, raising her axe with an arm that trembled from the effort. Halibel was far from finished, herself, though. Her twitches began to slow, and she stood upright on her knees. Then, slowly, she got to her feet, her arms and legs trembling much like Erza's.

"Well," Halibel hissed, hoisting her blade up with some effort, "I didn't see that coming, either."

"We're just full of surprises, aren't we?" said Erza, cursing the fact that she hadn't been faster. Gritting her teeth, she took her axe in both hands and took a swift set of steps forward, forcing her weary limbs to move. Halibel did the same, meeting her charge with a strong parry. She redirected the force of Erza's strike, batting aside the axe, and pushed Erza back. She followed up with a heavy sideways strike, and Erza just barely parried, her initiative lost. She evaded the next strike, and hit back, refusing to back down.

They had both slowed down, both tired, both wounded from their fight, both refusing to give, but as they continued to exchange one heavy, slow blow for another, Erza realized that the one who had come off worse from the last attack was her, not Halibel. Her arms felt heavy, and it took great mental effort to raise her weapon each time. Meanwhile, Halibel seemed like an unrelenting force of nature, inescapable like death, itself. Erza lashed out with a hand, and a burst of lightning momentarily stunned Halibel. Erza lashed out with her axe, one-handed, and found an opening. It bit into Halibel's side, cutting through her skin- but the cut was not deep. It lacked the force, and with just one hand, Erza's worn-out muscles could only do so much.

Halibel grunted, shoved Erza back, and cut down at her, hard. Erza's parry failed, and the bone blade cut through her armour in the shoulder. Confidently, Halibel followed up with a series of heavy strikes, each one driving Erza back. Erza's skill with the axe was not on par with Halibel's skill with a blade, and if this kept up, it would only be a matter of time before the tercera landed that one, final hit that would end the fight. Erza lashed out with a lightning strike again, using the momentary stun it gained her to take a step back. She needed to recover a little.

"Adamantine armour!" she called, and was enveloped in the thick, blue plate of her impenetrable defense. She needed to think, she need to recover, and she needed to rest her arms just a little. Halibel lashed out, striking hard, but one of the two shield plates floating over the armour absorbed the hit with ease. She struck again, and again, appearing behind Erza in a flash, but to no avail. The shields held strong, and Halibel, now slowed by her injuries, couldn't do much about it.

That's right, thought Erza, keep going. Bang your head against my walls until you're just as tired as I am.

Halibel was not one for giving up, hammering Erza's shield mercilessly, but to no avail. The defense was impenetrable to her great bone blade, no matter the angle. After a minute or so of fruitless assault, she paused. Erza tensed. Halibel was not stupid, and she would not waste time with a method that wasn't working. If Erza couldn't be attacked, and if Halibel couldn't attack, then it would mean respite. A chance to recharge, rethink, and gain a little bit of a rest. For Halibel, too, but it was better than nothing.

Still, Halibel didn't seem content to sit back. Her reiatsu flared up briefly, and a wave of water spun up around her blade. It rotated around the blade, and as Halibel pointed the weapon toward Erza, the water seemed to sharpen.

"La gota!"

As Halibel called it, Erza braced herself. A sharp, triangular water projectile shot out, and though Erza reeled from the impact, her shield held strong. Halibel fired twice, thrice, four times, and it did little more than to keep Erza wet.

Halibel furrowed her brows.

"Defense isn't a winning strategy."

"Neither is yours," Erza countered.

"Evidently," said Halibel severely.

"Call it a draw?" said Erza hopefully. It was not yet time to despair, at least. Draw it out long enough, and she might get some relief. Komamura might be done fighting soon. Captains could come in from the front line, too.

Halibel snorted. "Don't insult me." She lowered her blade, and raised a palm. Her energy began to rise even greater than before, and a bright, blue light started to build in her hand. Erza's eyes widened. She- she still had that much power left in her?

Should she run? She didn't fancy her chances. She was tired and weak now, and she might just leave herself vulnerable. Counter-attack? It would have been a valid alternative earlier, but now, it might just be suicidal. She grit her teeth, and braced herself.

"Gran Rey Cero."

There was an overwhelming surge of power, and even with her eyes closed and her shield raised, Erza was blinded by the light. Her whole world went white, and she could only feel what happened. Intense heat charred her armour. Her skin crackled and burned as the metal of her plate began to heat. She dug her feet in and pushed back as hard as she could, but she held on only for a couple of seconds before she was violently thrown off her feet. Blind, she tumbled through the air, feeling her armour all but dissolving as she fell. She connected with a wall at the far end of the chamber and had the wind knocked out of her. Flailing around, trembling, still trying to see anything beyond the white, dancing lights across her vision, she tried to stand up. She blinked and blinked, and slowly, her vision begun to return to her.

"Impressive."

Halibel was walking toward her at a leisurely pace, dragging her blade behind her.

"That armour of yours absorbed almost all of my cero. My cero. I didn't think it was even possible. You really have grown, Erza. You were worthier than I thought. But," she said, hoisting her blade up as she came in closer, "this is the end of the line for you. No more stalling. No more tricks. Try to at least die standing."

Erza braced herself up against the wall.

"I can do that," she said, short of breath. Her vision was still blurry. On her feet. Like a member of Fairy Tail. And, maybe, just maybe, she could take Halibel down with her.

"Yoto Benizakura," she whispered, and the charred, broken armour disappeared, leaving Erza in her pants and chest bindings. A great, long katana was in her hand, and she felt a stubborn sense of pride rising. I'll go out with a bang. I'll take you with me, you obstinate bitch!

"No more armours?"

"No more armours," Erza said with a nod, "just blades. Let's see who will get hit first, shall we?"

Halibel nodded approvingly and charged. Erza met her head on, and together they clashed, bone grinding against steel. Erza was a little faster, but she was too weak now to make much of it, and Halibel's patient, powerful swings bwere more than a match for her attacks. Even so, Erza would not yield. Not yet. Not until she had nothing left to give.

High and low, horizontal and vertical, back and forth their blades went. Working on will alone, Erza knew her time was almost up. Dodging under another swing, she took a quick step back and aimed a stab at Halibel. The tercera parried it with ease. Erza evaded the counterthrust, just barely. By the slimmest margin Halibel overextended, and immediately Erza reacted, cutting at her shoulder. Benizakura cut into her flesh, and Halibel wavered for just a second. Furiously, Erza swung her blade around, pressing her advantage. The espada managed to parry the next strike, just barely, but she was off balance, and the next strike cut true. Cutting downwards, Benizakura cut Halibel from shoulder to hip; a spray of blood showered the floor. But, before Erza could rejoice, Halibel had swung her bone blade one-handed in a wide, horizontal arc. The great blade cut Erza from the right, severing her arm and cutting into her side. Erza gasped, spitting out blood as she staggered back, watching her arm fall to the floor. She only barely held on to Benizakura, barely able to lift it.

Halibel stood there, bloodied and weakened, but still standing tall. Against the pain, she raised her blade, staring Erza in the eye.

Die standing. That was what she'd try to do, then.

Oh my, that's not good. I think it's safe to say in fact that this whole invasion isn't going so well at all for the soul society. Is there any hope for the gotie 13!? Will our hero's be able to make it through these trails of fire (or water in Halibel's case?) or will they die trying?

I hope to hear what your thoughts were on this chapter, since a lot of work went into it. We're just one chapter away from the 100th chapter, and trust me when I say I will make it worth the specials occasion.

Im eager to see your reviews. Till next time!