Time seemed immeasurable with the slow passage of the waxing moon across the sky.
The moon, Rukia thought wistful. It wasn't the same moon that hung perpetually over the Hueco Mundo sky. For her peace, it could've been. It could've been the side of a crystal cave with the milky white of the moon playing on their forms. Around her, the Shinigami of Thirteenth drank themselves silly. They talked and laughed around her until even that too, fell into silence and sleep. Ukitake in his quiet way, had remained a peaceful presence, quietly asking for her and Stark's assistance in rounding up the wayward squad members passed out on the grounds of Ugendo.
Rukia was only too happy for action. Inaction made her weak, listless. Stark said little, surprisingly having stayed awake during the party. He had drank little as well, claiming to not have a taste for the distilled rice liquor. They worked quickly, efficiently. He took care of the male Shinigami escorting them to their quarters near his own while Rukia helped a sleep-walking Kiyone along with a few other young women she was vaguely familiar with, into their respective chambers to sleep off intoxication.
Beforehand, her Taichou had wished them goodnight, so she expected little by way of interference from there. With each passing moment bringing her closer to a definable place of answers, Rukia's trepidation grew. "It's all done," she whispered, clasping her hands. She 'd retrieved her Zanpaku-to, figuring it better to be armed than not when entering the Hollow world.
In the hallway washed with moonlight, Stark stood at the opposite end, running his fingers through his long hair. She watched his languid motions, comparing his almost indolent stride to Ulquiorra's efficient motions.
He will be there, she thought suddenly, anticipation heightening. A slight thread of anger interwove with that remembrance, recalling Aizen's hand in bringing it all together. "My Shihakusho?"
"There are suitable garments awaiting you." Stark murmured, stopping a few feet from her. She watched him extend his hand casually outward; he would take her to that place again, where there were others similar to Ulquiorra, Stark and Szayel. Rukia lifted her eyes from his large palm and laid her small hand in his grip.
She had been prepared for something other than the burst of exhilarating speed that carried her from the barracks of the Thirteenth Division to the lake where she had first met him. Rukia's racing heart had barely caught up to the rest of her breathing, when they alighted.
"Here?" She looked around curiously.
"It's easier," Stark replied, drawing out with his free hand a cube of refracting light from the depths of his kosode. Briefly, his grip tightened on her hand, pulling her small form close against his taller one as the cube fell from his outstretched fingers to the ground, absorbing them both in a world of light.
"This place," she murmured, feeling not a little bit awed that they'd made the journey in as short of time as they did. The gargantuan white walls stretched far up into deep pitted ceilings. Arched doorless stanchions towered far above her. She looked around; a few smaller doors similar to the living world's, lined the hallway opposite her.
"Las Noches." Stark said unnecessarily, stepping away from her.
"I've been here before." Rukia reminded, still taking it in. A few days ago, she'd been dazed from her fight with Ichimaru, the fight that had ended in his death. She had been unable to appreciate the sheer size of the massive fortress that hummed with a confusing mix of different spiritual pressures, most unrecognizable.
"But, where-"
"Through there," Stark jerked his head to a far black door set into the white facade of rough wall. "Is the Cuatro's palace."
Cuatro...Ulquiorra. She immediately searched for his familiar spiritual pressure, finding nothing but a remnant. "He's not there." She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, glancing back to Stark for explanations.
"He wouldn't want me in there, so this is as far as I go." The Arrancar shrugged stretching with a yawn. "I'll see you for the meeting."
"But, when- oh!" Rukia glowered at his retreating back. "Thanks for the information!" She stamped her foot, gripping her fists at her sides. Distantly, she thought she heard Stark chuckle. The nerve of the bastard...Then, he was simply gone and she was alone. Alone in enemy territory...no, how could she think that? He was here...here somewhere...she set her jaw and walked the length of the corridor, one hand casually draped across the reassuring icy haft of Sode no Shirayuki.
Once, she thought she felt eyes on her and turned quickly around, but the corridor was empty save for herself. As she drew nearer to the portal, she found herself wondering about his quarters. Given the little she felt she knew about his personality, she expected spartan comfort, familiar rough walls of rock and little light creating a play of shadow and darkness. Things that were familiar to her.
Comforting almost.
She twisted the knob and stepped into a small antechamber of similar design to what little she had seen of Las Noches. Aizen's hand? Rukia wondered idly, walking into another room of plain furnishings. A bed with black sheets, a trunk of plain design. There were other rooms she knew, the palace was large indeed causing her to worry slight about getting lost until upon further thought, realized she could seek out Stark's familiar spirit pressure and eventually find him; that is if no one came to retrieve her.
Without the Primera's spirit pressure being masked, his was easily the largest humming away at her mental barriers. Going room by room, the furnishings remained the same, hardly lived in, stationary without impression or personality to make them inviting. She had gone through many rooms including a few bathrooms of black stone and a kitchenette when the seemingly last door appeared before her, made of the same black stone as the entrance.
This, she felt sure was his room.
Out of curiosity, she tried the knob.
Locked firmly.
Suddenly annoyed for no reason at all, she kicked at the panel a couple of times before noticing the unusual computerized panel close to eye-level on the wall. Rukia studied it for a few minutes, then swiped her palm across the grid's surface. An internal lock clicked, the panel slid back into the groove built into the wall.
For a moment, Rukia lingered on the threshold gazing into the interior of the bedroom. It resembled a girl's room in the fanciful canopy bed with its silken swag to the ornate chest beside the footboard. Slowly, she walked further in, beholding the sight of the scattered dresses in black and white draped across the bedspread. You did this for me?
Feminine, sweet, it was everything the palace of Las Noches wasn't.
A home? A place for me?
She fingered the plainest dress consisting of a long tunic with overlays of black detail. In a closet to the left of the adjoining bathroom, rows of more dresses and black stockings lined the interior with plain sandals matched in neat rows on the floor.
Mindful of the time she had spent, she gathered up a pair of sheer stockings and sandals, proceeding to disrobe from her Shihakusho. Her new garments were primary white with black trim, they fit loose but not ill-fitting in the floor-length bathroom mirror she discovered.
Twice, she combed her fingers through her hair, finally running a silver filigree comb through her short messy locks. The picture she presented in the mirror felt none like the slayer of a Shinigami Taichou but rather of a young woman drifting about in uncertainty. The emotion didn't suit her. Where did she stand? Was this room prepared for her by Aizen? Deep inside, she prayed Kami no. The gesture meant more than a courtesy to a forced ally if the care had been orchestrated - there her head went again.
She was attaching further meaning to something that could have no meaning.
"Right."
She was acting foolish.
The final touch to her ensemble was slipping her Zanpaku-to through the black sash. Rukia observed herself dispassionately for a moment longer then strode from the room. Once convinced of the room being a gesture of Aizen's; her opinion of it had soured. She left without a backward glance through the door with its peculiar mechanized lock and through the maze of spartan rooms. She had expected an escort through the monolith of a fortress and received one. He had been waiting on the opposite side of the door to the Cuatro Espada's palace. Tall with shoulder-length dreadlocks, the man's swarthy skin and visor over his eyes marked him as different than the other Shinigami Taichous.
She hadn't expected him.
"T-Tosen-T-Taichou?"
He inclined his dark head slightly, unable to see her.
"Kuchiki Rukia-san." There was a bite to his otherwise pleasant voice. "Come with me."
Rukia braced her hand against the wall for support. Corruption went deep into Soul Society's roots, but nothing had prepared her for witnessing it firsthand. How can I call this man a...a...traitor? She bit her tongue and followed his longer stride. Tosen hadn't waited for the sound of her resuming pace, rather had seemed to distance himself from her.
She wondered briefly if Tosen and Ichimaru had been close? Then, dismissed the idea. They seemed too dissimilar, both men operated on different wavelengths of thought as little as she knew. Other than a recognition of the man escorting her through the uncharted fortress of Hollows; she knew very little about many of the Shinigami Taichous.
The deeper they walked through the halls, the more she noticed furtive shadows lingering in their wake. Arrancars. Males. Females. All garbed in servile clothing, dissimilar in white and black. She felt their stares upon her and hurried to catch up to Tosen's shadow.
"Afraid?" He asked, seeming amused by the assumption.
Rukia lifted her chin haughtily though he couldn't see. "No. I only wondered if there was a purpose to all this useless grandeur."Her sarcasm stung the Taichou none; he appeared thoughtful. "Hollows are simple creatures," he said at length. "They can be impressed into service by a show of might." Although, it remained unsaid, she finished for him silently.
Glory.
Maybe a touch of normalcy.
Doors loomed up ahead.
"The left." Tosen murmured, stride brisk.
"Excuse me?" Rukia's voice was a tad smaller than she wanted. Intimidation showed in her aura and she struggled to reign it in.
"You will stand on Aizen-sama's left."
"I -" her throat closed up. The hum of spiritual pressures increased, drumming fingertips against her skull, building up into a finely knotted web of pain slicing through her head. Rukia gritted her teeth and steeled herself. They were nearly upon the doors now. "I know my place." Good. Her voice didn't waver.
Tosen seemed to approve yet stayed unsmiling, pushing open one side of the doors. The hall it opened up into was similar in size and scope to the previous ones they'd passed through. Closer. They were much closer now. Spots danced before her eyes, physically she felt sick from the weight of suffocating energy pressing down on her with each step.
Ten.
There were ten of them.
Aizen was separate from them.
Rukia's legs trembled, threatening to buckle beneath her. Tosen reached the next door first, pausing for a moment for her to catch up. Keeping her head held high, she came up level with him, tilting her swimming head challengingly. "Well, are we going in?" She asked coldly.
The Taichou said nothing and pushed the door open into another hallway ending in a short flight of white stone stairs. They walked abreast now with her flanking the left and he on the right. With each step resounding the acoustic of her footsteps into her heart, she tried to distance herself from feeling.
Down another set of stairs and into sight of a long white table with eleven white high-backed chairs drawn up to it. A hologram was fading in the center of the table and Aizen had ceased speaking. An incongruous pot of tea sat within reach of the Lord of Hueco Mundo.
Then, with their arrival, several of the present Arrancars lifted their eyes to her.
Stark leaned forward, clad in white trimmed black. For a moment, she had expected the opposite of color, used to seeing the Arrancar clad in the false robes of a Shinigami. Stark didn't smile. He gave no sign of knowing her. It's an act, right?
Seated across from Stark, an elderly man clad in black furs with a crown of bone capping a snowy white head, scowled darkly upon the world. Across from him, a stern woman with caramel skin and pale, straw blonde hair arranged in a short braid, sat with her arms crossed.
Tosen touched her arm, barely the lightest of touches imparted with the tingle of Kido and then, she could hear Aizen's voice in her mind.
"Don't be alarmed."
Her eyes widened.
"Synchronized consciousness, Kuchiki-san."
She hated the amusement in his smug tone.
"Stark Gingerback, Primera Espada; Barragan Luisenbarn, Segunda Espada."
Again, she observed them, coming to a stop behind Aizen's chair as did Tosen.
"Tia Halibel, Tercera Espada."
She wondered if they heard the same, receiving her answer with the same look of mild curiosity held by the Tercera's pale blue gaze. "Ulquiorra Schiffer, Cuatro Espada." Rukia had held back from looking in his direction, from a peripheral standpoint he had been in the corner of her eye. The slim form with slightly messy black hair and milky skin marred by twin trails of green down his face. Ulquiorra had his eyes closed, but opened them, glancing in her direction for a fleeting second.
She had to tear her eyes from the magnetic pull between them.
"-tora Gilga, Quinta Espada."
The Quinta sneered something unpleasant in her direction which she met with haughty indifference learned from her brother. The next Espada wore a short jacket open to the chest. His body bristled with muscle and unreleased tension. A crown of teal hair matched his feral eyes. "Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, Sexta Espada." Aizen duly informed her. Rukia had the feeling the Sexta had written her off as trash.
A dark-skinned male with a solemn expression and domed bald head presided over the next ranking, Septima. Rukia recognized the Octava as Szayel, the pink-haired scientist from days before. Szayel gave her a cheery wave. The Noventa Espada possessed a name her tongue would threaten to tie over speaking. He - it - wore a high-collared tunic, white gloves covered flesh and a concealing faceplate mask hid its face from view. There was something familiar to Aaroniero's reiatsu...
The final Espada was a gargantuan beast with a dull expression on his face. "And Yammy Rigaldo, Diez Espada."
They had dismissed her as another faceless servant similar to the masked female that had moved from a drink cart to refill Aizen's cup. He savored the tea once poured into the fragile bone-white cup. "My Espadas," he announced aloud, a slight smile adorning his handsome face. "This is Kuchiki Rukia-san, the murderess of Ichimaru Gin."
Once again, she felt the weight of their stares focused upon her being.
But, this time with interest.
Some of them knew.
Stark smiled slightly with a vague nod to her.
Szayel shrugged and smirked.
She saved Ulquiorra for last, reveling in the second brief look he gave her. A look she read with her insides. He was proud of her. Praise was rare for her to experience. She felt emboldened by it, confident in his appraisal, that he most of all did not view her as trash.
Aizen was still speaking. "She will take his place from now on and be respected as Ichimaru Gin once was."
Rukia held Ulquiorra's gaze, aware of the ocean pounding in her ears.
This was it.
There was no going back.
-TBC
AN: A big shout out to my readers and reviewers last time! You guys make writing worth it! xD I promised I'd post this chapter after my new ebook was released, you can find my ebook through smashwords, the link's on my profile. Onto the next chapter!
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