ARC ONE: HALCYON DAYS
Prologue: Mask Off

If Eikichirō Saidō was dispatched to the World of the Living, it could only mean one thing: Grand Fisher was afoot.

Saidō had already logged enough time in the World of the Living to never be stuck on patrol duty ever again. He hadn't risen high enough to be a seated officer, but he was secretly a member of the Onmitsukidō Patrol Corps; his main job was to spy on fellow Shinigami and report back to Second Division Lieutenant Marechiyo Ōmaeda. But he could forever dine out for having fought the Hollow called Grand Fisher.

Fifty years before, when Grand Fisher was beginning to make a name for himself by luring and butchering unsuspecting humans, Saidō and two other Shinigami patrol members stumbled upon the Hollow and engaged him in battle. Fisher killed Saidō's comrades without much fuss, but Saidō was adept enough at Kidō to blunt the beast and land a blow. Grand Fisher fled fearing for his life that day, an embarrassment that had apparently reoriented his strategies. His tactics became much more shrewd from thereon, and he rarely engaged with Shinigami directly.

As Grand Fisher's infamy grew over the decades, so too did Saidō's reputation as the only Shinigami who had bested him in battle. He became something of an appointed expert on the career criminal and was called upon whenever patrols were worried the beast was on another spree. He knew what Fisher's Lure looked like, knew how the sonofabitch hunted, and could recognize that slimy spiritual pressure from a mile away. If anyone was going to determine whether the beast had picked a new turf, it was Eikichirō Saidō.

The Shinigami squatted down in the moist field, tipping back his signature farmer's hat and wiping a hand across his brow.

I can definitely feel his presence, he thought. It's fresh as garlic.

"So, what do you think, Saidō-san?" asked Unobiro Buzo, a stout patrolman with a shock of thinning blonde hair. "Is it him?"

Buzo was the Shinigami patrol who had called in a hunch that Grand Fisher was stalking Kagamino City. Three human women were sucked dry of their souls in the past week, all during bouts of rain.

"Well, the conditions fit Grand Fisher's M.O. perfectly," Saidō replied, scanning the perimeter: a muddy football field sandwiched between two dilapidated apartment buildings. Humans had cordoned the space off with crime scene tape. "You said the latest victim was found here this morning?"

"Yessir."

"That's odd," Saidō mused. "Grand Fisher's presence feels too pungent for hours to have passed by. It's like his stink just sat right here and never went away."

"You don't think... he's still lurking around?" Buzo gulped.

"Just keep your eyes peeled," Saidō advised, looking around apprehensively. "The last time his Reiatsu felt this close, he was standing right in front of me."

Buzo twitched nervously, visibly afraid. Understandable: he'd be out of his league if he actually ran into Grand Fisher.

"Um, may I ask a question, sir?" the Shinigami broached. "I've been patrolling out here all week, but I've been hearing snatches of what's going on in the Seireitei. Is it true... what they say about Captain Aizen?"

Saidō sighed. Oh, this poor guy's been completely out of the loop.

"I'm afraid so," he replied. "Aizen, Ichimaru Gin, and Tōsen Kaname. All of them traitors. I heard they're working with the Hollows now."

It had been four days since Soul Society was turned upside down. Things got crazy when some Ryoka kid crashed Kuchiki Rukia's execution, but then everything went really haywire when three captains revealed themselves to be allies of the Menos. The Seireitei went into complete lockdown afterwards. Members of the Third, Fifth, and Ninth Divisions were all interrogated about their loyalties and their barracks were ransacked for reconnaissance. Saidō himself was from the Eighth Division and didn't have to deal with the inquisition, but he was nevertheless glad to get a reprieve from the tense situation back home. At least he could be of use out in the World of the Living. For this occasion he was a bona specialist instead of a foot soldier or a glorified mole. In a perverse way, he was thankful to Grand Fisher for that. That bastard had hung around long enough to make Saidō kind of famous.

"I see..." Buzo said softly. "So Aizen Sōsuke is in Hueco Mundo now?"

Saidō cocked an eyebrow, disconcerted by the patrolman's tone of voice. He chose not to linger on the topic.

"Don't worry about all that, Buzo," he said, getting up and patting his moist Shihakushō. you're gonna need backup if Grand Fisher appears again. Radio SDRI and ask for reinforcements. Tell 'em I recommend fortifying this whole District."

"I can't do that, Saidō-san," Buzo replied.

"What do you mean you can't?" Saidō squinted, growing annoyed. "You're conduct is unbecoming of a patrolman, Buzo. You've just been standing there in the same spot since I got here, like a –"

A fleshy tentacle burst up from the mud, surging forth like a gnarled root and impaling Saidō through his back.

W-what the...? Saidō wondered, looking down at the wriggling appendage growing out from his chest. A hot curtain of blood began seeping down his belly.

"Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh," a catty voice rumbled from beneath the mud.

Buzo stood perfectly still, gazing blankly at Saidō. Suddenly, the patrolman morphed into a thin, fleshy reed, and sucked back down into the soil. Something large erupted up from the mud behind Saidō, cackling wickedly.

The Shinigami could feel the Hollow's breath beating against the nape of his neck. He grimaced, realizing that he had been outplayed. Buzo was dead before he had even arrived on the scene – he had been conversing with the Lure the entire time.

"B-bastard," Saidō gasped, reaching for his Zanpakutō.

"Nah-ah-ah, sonny!" Grand Fisher cackled, lashing another tentacle out and wrapping it around Saidō's arm. The feeler tightened its grip until –

Saidō let out a gasp of agony when his right arm contorted and broke, a shard of bone jutting out from his elbow.

"Uck!" he grunted. The pain all-consuming.

The tentacle pierced through Saidō's abdomen began to curl, turning him around at an agonizingly slow crawl to confront his attacker face-to-face.

Dammit, Saidō thought. That hideous mask is gonna be the last thing I ever see

His eyes widened with sock when Grand Fisher's face finally came into view. It was not what he expected: the Hollow's mask was gone. In its stead was a tanned head and red eyes, with thick braids of black hair behind a bald cranium and a gleaming jawbone armoring the mouth. The beast looked nothing like the Grand Fisher he remembered: it was humanoid, with an awkwardly muscular body of elongated biceps, tattooed streaks of black, and furry fringes along the torso. The tentacles sprouting from the beast were hairless, fleshy, and all the uglier for it.

"You... are..." Saidō gurgled, dying too quickly to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Remember me, sonny?" Grand Fisher hissed, his maliciousness unmistakable. "No Shinigami's ever gonna get the better of me again. Starting with you!"

Before Saidō could reply, a third tentacle sprouted from Grand Fisher's chest and speared through his face.

Fisher dropped the lifeless heap and retracted his fleshy appendages. He threw back his head and let out a triumphant cackle.

"Enjoying yourself?" a wispy voice asked from afar.

Fisher's laughter came to an abrupt halt. He looked back to regard his handler, Aisslinger Wernarr. The odd creature looked like a buzzard with his beaky mask and four quadrupedal claws. The upper-left quarter of his mask was shorn off, revealing a pale face with gray hair.

"I'm settling old scores," Grand Fisher harrumphed, bringing one of his tentacles to his lips and licking the blood clean from it. "That Shinigami was yummy, heh, heh..."

"You heard what he said: Lord Aizen's already declared war on Soul Society," Aisslinger interjected impatiently. "The War has begun, but we remain mere spectators. You need to feed on Hollows instead of wasting your time on human mincemeat and Shinigami grunts."

"Heh, heh, heh, I'm already so much stronger than I was before," Grand Fisher pouted defensively, like a child. "Maybe I should eat you, then?"

Aisslinger took an apprehensive step back, his one eye narrowing in anger.

"Kill me, and you will never see Las Noches."

"Heh, heh, heh, is it really all it's cracked up to be?" Grand Fisher mused.

Idiot, Aisslinger thought. He is so easily amused by Earthly delights that he cannot comprehend what true power is.

He kept that analysis to himself.

"I promised to make you into a mighty Arrancar," Aisslinger said. "Trust in me, Grand Fisher..."

"Heh, heh, heh, you'll get your champion, Aisslinger," Fisher grunted, his red eyes dilating into a furious scarlet. "There's just one more name to cross off. Kurosaki Ichigo!"