Chapter Forty Seven:

Frigid, glacial water doused him to his core, and he was forced to suck in a knee-jerk gasp as every inch of his body was enveloped by chilling seas, waters so deep he was sure he'd never see sunlight again as the cloudy depths took him. Ichigo thrashed, arms and legs flailing in an attempt to reach the surface, to break exterior of his blackened lake, but no matter how much effort he gave he couldn't seem to break free, couldn't seem to rise, couldn't seem to brush his finger tips against the rippling face of the water.

White arms bandaged him, holding him so incredibly close that he thought he might disappear. It was warm, a calming candlelight in the midst of the never ending darkness. Hushed whispers were only faintly warbled by the bubbles escaping soft lips. It was soothing. Welcoming. Homely. It made the pain, the humiliation, the shame fade into nothingness.

Daring to open his eyes, Ichigo released a startled sound as he found he could breathe with ease, frowning faintly as he looked up into gold and black eyes. They lacked all their usual hunger, their insanity, their chill. Instead he found blazing heat, scorching sunrises that seemed to set alight his soul and offered an ointment to everything.

"Yo, Aibou." Shiro's voice was gentle, wholesome, the silvery undertones were more comforting than ever before.

"Am I dead?" He asked, watching distractedly as small air bubbles escaped between them.

"No." A small shake of the head blustered locks of snowy white hair around them, "But we are dyin'."

He expected to feel sad at his Hollow's words, but instead he found a deep seated rage beginning to burn. He had survived so many situations that had screamed for his death, escaped so many traps that had tried to cull his determination, broken free from chains that had tried to drag him so much deeper. Who was Ulquiorra to kill him? Who was Ulquiorra to exchange his purpose for weakness? Who was Ulquiorra to drag him to the deepest point of the ocean and leave him to drown?

"Where were you?" The accusing tone was accompanied by a scowl, "I needed you! Where were you?!"

Soft fingers brushed his cheek, pale lips turned downwards, "Trapped... Ya saw me briefly, that blackened reiatsu... It was Ulquiorra's. When he injured ya, he laced the wounds with his own reiatsu and it was like a barrier, preventin' me from movin'... Stoppin' me from breakin' free to help..."

Ichigo was startled to see tears rolling down the albino's cheeks, he could see sadness and remorse flooding his expression but there was anger too, deep seated rage that matched his own, "You saw everything, didn't you?"

"I was a prisoner... Watchin' through yer eyes." Came the almost silent answer, "I'm sorry."

Flinching almost, Ichigo clenched his teeth, his anger grew. How dare Ulquiorra try to tame his Hollow. How dare Ulquiorra try to punish them both. Who did he think he was?

"Can I beat him?" The strawberry asked.

"No." The answer was surprising, as was the anger it evoked within the Hollow's eyes.

"Can we beat him?"

"... No." The anger grew.

Staring up at the Hollow, Ichigo felt his gut churn. He didn't want this to be the end. He didn't want to die, naked and battered and humiliated face down in the Sands... In the belly of Aizen's palace. He wanted to fight! He wanted to win!

Ichigo's voice was hushed, "Can you?"

Shiro bowed his head, gently nuzzling into his King's neck affectionately, lacking all the usual lechery, "Yes. But only if..." He trailed off almost reluctantly.

"If what?" His question was immediate, flames burning brightly in the pits of chestnut orbs, determination was returning.

Lifting his hands slowly, Shiro framed Ichigo's face and brushed his thumbs beneath his eyes, a sad smile creeping across his face, "As long as ya remain the dominant soul I can't break free from his trap, he's too strong... I need ya to merge with me... I need ya... To become the submissive soul. Lingerin' here... We will be able to communicate, but... I won't need to listen to any orders ya give me... I will be in control. Complete control."

He thought about asking the most obvious question: would he ever regain dominance? But... He bit his tongue. It wasn't important anymore. They were both going to die... They'd both be gone and there would be no way back. No escapes, no retakes, no second chances. Byakuya would remain in Hueco Mundo. Rukia; Renji; Chad; Ishida and Orihime... Would remain in Hueco Mundo. Kaida and Hotaru would never see their parents again. They'd be orphans, because of him.

He sucked in a breath. Red hot, liquid fuelled vehemence rushed through his veins. This wasn't about Byakuya. It wasn't about his friends. This was about him. This was about his pride. His honour. His survival. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die!

Ichigo lifted his arms, sliding them around his Hollow, fingers gripping the back of his snowy shihakusho tightly as his shoulders slackened and he allowed his body to become limp.

"Make it slow. Make it painful. Teach him the meaning of fear."

Tilting his head to the side slightly as he observed the resolve return to those chestnut eyes, Shiro broke into a broad, far more familiar grin. Mania stretching as the promise of brutal and bloody violence passed between them. His eyes darkened, dangerous glints of rich savagery rose in place of soothing warmth.

"I will make him wish for somethin' as sweet as death." The whisper was full of its usual hysteria, a vow that wouldn't be broken.

"Enjoy your fight." Ichigo breathed, his voice growing fainter, the air bubbles that rumbled free seemed to choke him as the glow that had sustained him from his Hollow began to fade, surrendering to the bitter harshness of the billowing winter that ravaged the albino.

"This is our fight."

Almost laughing at that, Ichigo allowed the darkness to take him, feeling Shiro's grip tighten and pull him in. His first response was to struggle, to fight a way free, to deny it all. But as he closed his eyes, allowing the last few bubbles of breath to escape him, he let go. He let it all go.

For better, or for worse he gave himself away. Allowing the lunacy and the delirium to devour the bright spark of his soul. Surrendering to everything he had ever fought. There would be no holding back, no restraining himself, keeping back that ounce of power he was scared of showing. Shiro had no concept of mercy, no notion of restraint, no thought of holding back for the sake of those around him. He was raw, unbridled passion, burning like the heat of a thousand suns. He would burn anyone who got in his way without regret, without remorse. He was danger. He was darkness. He was a dagger in the side that couldn't be deflected. That was what they needed.


Aizen couldn't recall the last time he had used Shunpo as a matter of urgency rather than leisure, but as he darted through the halls of Las Noches with Byakuya Kuchiki clutched tightly in his arms he allowed swiftness to overtake every other sense of time. They broke out onto crisp white sand, the inner dome of the palace. The false sky above them beating down an impossible sun.

Grimmjow's words still burned in his ears, the weight of them, the truth of them. Had Grimmjow come to him alone he would have dismissed his concerns, passing them off as idle resentment. He knew all too well that Grimmjow and Ulquiorra had a chequered, violent past. But the look in Byakuya's eyes, the desperation, the pleading, the lack of telltale pride in place of an urgent need... It had convinced him.

To see the nobleman before him, afraid and panicked was resounding enough. But to know that the fear was not for himself, was not because of his situation... To know it was for Ichigo. The only person they both cared for. The only person to link them together. Byakuya Kuchiki... Had convinced him.

He had been blind. It infuriated him to admit it, so much so that he had very nearly crushed both of them on the spot. But there had been no time for that, no time to take his anger out on the two people who had connected dots which he had barely noticed. That was the only reason the Kuchiki heir was in his arms, that was the only reason he had sent Grimmjow to summon the Espada. He knew he was capable of stopping Ulquiorra alone, but he wanted his subordinates to witness what happened when one of them betrayed him.

Ulquiorra... His most loyal Espada.

How long had he been hiding his true feelings? His hatred towards Ichigo? His desire to rid the world of warm chestnut eyes and bright orange hair? How long had he been stealing from Szayel's supplies to limit the extent of his Solita Vista? It was a tempting thought, to punish Szayel for his carelessness. But by the time he had finished with the Cuatro, no Espada would ever dare step out of line again. Not one.

Aizen's body stiffened as he inhaled the scent of corruption that flowed so strongly through the air, a stifling depravity that seemingly knew no bounds. He altered his course, only slightly, and drove towards its epicentre. It was unlike Ulquiorra to be so blundering with his control of his reiatsu, the way it was spilling free was an offensive impregnation upon every Hollow that resided in the sandy abode. Undoubtedly, many weaker Hollows would have already perished from the pressure, the overwhelming weight of the Espada's might. Innocent lives striped by carelessness.

When had Ulquiorra delved so deeply into madness?

Skidding to a stop, chocolate eyes widened at the sight before him. Zangetsu had been cast aside, bound to prevent its use, the blade was fluctuating between Bankai and Shikai, a vision that brought a glimmer of apprehension to the forefront of his mind.

Zanpakutō only fluctuated like that when the death of its wielder was approaching.

Byakuya writhed suddenly in his arms, struggling for freedom as a strangled yell escaped his lips, resembling the name of the strawberry haired Shinigami they were both so fond of. Aizen followed his gaze, breath catching in his throat at the sight that had roused such a response from the usually impassive noble.

Ichigo was chest down in the sand, grains which had been dyed crimson, naked and bruised with little imagination required to work out why. Unmoving, silent and lacking the usual aggressive torrent of reiatsu that naturally escaped from him. Head yanked back, Murciélago was clearly cutting an ever deepening groove into the exposed throat of the unresponsive Shinigami.

Ulquiorra was straddled over his body, lithe form barely betraying the strength in those muscles as his hands gripped his blade all the tighter, pulling all the harder. An obvious determination to behead burning brightly within the Cuatro Espada. Ulquiorra seemed so entirely captivated in his depraved actions that he hadn't even noticed their arrival, back still turned towards them.

He felt his arms loosen and Byakuya was free, sprinting forwards with a carelessness he would never have expected. Aizen couldn't bring himself to reach out and snag him, he felt... Frozen... Locked in place... His heart was thundering in his chest in a way it never had before. What was this feeling? What was it? It couldn't be... No...

A flash of blue entered his peripherals as Grimmjow appeared and grabbed Byakuya, strong arms snatched him back, fighting with the unconstrained fury of the raging nobleman, "The other Espada... Are on their way." The Sexta stated, eyes transfixed on the scene before them.

The sight of Byakuya elbowing Grimmjow in the face and tearing free from the Sexta's grasp brought the temptation to crush the Kuchiki heir, but something changed. Just one thing. A single moment that forced him to fist a hand in raven locks, yanking the overwrought Shinigami back towards his body, encasing him in an iron grasp again. He twisted on the spot, arching over his captive to buffer him from the abrupt exploding storm.

Ebony black reiatsu detonated from the motionless body in the sand, it was dense enough, heavy enough, powerful enough that it threw Ulquiorra aside, sending the smaller built man clean through one of the many red pillars in the area with a sickening, bone crunching crack.

The power seeping out across the area was enough to make even Aizen's breath catch in his throat, his heart fluttering briefly as he completely lost sight of Ichigo. He felt the nobleman in his arms slump against the pressure, sweat breaking out across his skin as he took on an ashen, sickly appearance; Aizen's eyes darted to the side to see Grimmjow, he was only just standing, a hand clasped over his chest, heaving for breath with wide azure eyes.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Aizen looked back at the mass of swirling whorls, the whirlpool of black reiatsu was a curtain between them and its master. He saw Zangetsu cease fluctuations in his peripheral vision, as the blade began to tremble, shaking like a leaf in a storm, chain rattling as the binds Ulquiorra had wrapped it in tore away. The Zanpakutō suddenly shot from its resting place, vanishing within the black blanket of energy.

There was an ear bleeding Hollow roar from within the darkness, long and loud and livid. And then, a single slash cut through the wall, dissipating it with mindless ease and revealing what was beyond.

Alabaster white skin. Taut, defined muscles. Taller. Leaner. Waist length snowy locks fluttered like feathers in the wind. Long fingers curled around a bleached Zangetsu, the Zanpakutō as pale as its wielder. Face concealed behind a mask that was as black as the night, two elongated horns that promised so much foreboding stuck out wickedly, jagged and sharp, as faint white stripes rolled down from the eyes like tears, stopping just before reaching grim black teeth.

There was no mistaking the ominous reiatsu that billowed free from the creature before them, devoid of colour with an epitome of pure darkness. The sand beneath his bare feet seemed to quiver and shift, as if trying to worm free from the depravity that wept its way forwards.

Gold orbs flickered into life within the depths of the blackness, glittering like gemstones. Except there was no wealth to be found, it was the twinkle of immorality, of atrocity. A silent promise of devilry and death.

As a final seal of definitive control, the naked body of the white Hollow before them was slowly clad in a bleached mimic of Ichigo's Bankai attire, it materialised from the reishi in the air around them, swirling together like beads of webbing until modesty was restored. Black tufts of fur encased his wrists and neckline, resembling the mane of a lion.

If possible, the completion of the garb seemed to send the creature's reiatsu to even higher levels, Aizen watched with bated breath as the Hollow's head tilted in an almost questioning manner, only to raise the white Zangetsu and point it directly towards him, it was suddenly swept to the side as if shaking off invisible tarnish, the force of which obliterated the scarlet column just behind the white figure, crumbling it into dust.

"So you finally got what you wanted." Byakuya's voice was stiff, as if restraining the shudder threatening to run through it at the sight of the raw power before them, there was no fear in those steel eyes, but there was a heady struggle to remain standing, even while the brunet buffered the worst of the pungent Hollow reiatsu away from them.

"No." Aizen said softly, not daring to tear his eyes away for even a second, "This is not what I wanted."

Byakuya's face contorted into a frown, but the honesty on the brunet's voice was clear, "What do you mean?"

He didn't answer. He owed Byakuya nothing.

He had wanted Ichigo to merge with his Inner Hollow, to become one being, one beautiful, powerful being. But that had always centred upon the idea of Ichigo being the dominant leader of the shared Soul. He had envisioned long locks of sunset coloured hair, chestnut eyes ringed by gold and a feral smile that promised carnal urges and instincts while retaining the intimate lack of emotions that had always ensured him to be the most precious of his warriors.

This creature was the polar opposite. Beautiful yes, powerful yes, and wilfully feral down to the very root of the reiatsu it gave off. But this was not Ichigo. Ulquiorra's degradation of Ichigo's Soul had clearly broken something, shattered the careful symbiosis of his very existence.

Ichigo was not the sort of person to submit his Soul knowing he might never get it back. And that was exactly what he had done, Aizen could smell it in the air, he could smell the domination of the Hollow's power over Ichigo's spirit. His strawberry haired subordinate had surrendered himself to the perverted sinfulness of his Hollow... Willingly.

It had been self preservation. He had been dying. Ulquiorra had very nearly succeeded in ridding the world of a most precious sunset. Monochrome now reigned supreme in a world that should have been sun-kissed with glowing orange.

Watching an empty pale hand raise, long black nails dug beneath the chin of the blackened mask, slowly lifting it upwards. Fingers clasped tightly and peeled it clean away from the stunning pearly face beneath. Ruffling strands of hair fell across those gold and black eyes, hair framing his face like soft palms cupping at even softer skin. The scowl that was present made the Hollow seem even more like Ichigo, but the wide animalistic grin that carved its way across his face told a different story.

Aizen felt his chest tighten, he had never met another being in any of the three worlds that reeked with such ferocious, wanton instincts. He had heard Kenpachi speak of the instinct to kill being a powerful driving force, and it was one he knew to be true, but the white Ichigo before him was instinct incarnate. The physical depiction of bloodlust embodied in flesh and bone.

"Yo." Silver tones cut across the silence like the delicious first lick of a knife against flesh, keen eyes swept from face to face, lingering on Aizen's for an especially long moment before they turned and stared off towards the tattered remains of the pillar Ulquiorra had been swallowed by, "Don't go anywhere."

The black mask was discarded on the sand as the Hollow vanished in a blur of densely crackling Sonido, Aizen saw Byakuya's eyes widen, the fastest Shunpo user in Soul Society apparently unable to keep up with the movement. The brunet would never admit that he had lost sight of him as well.

A screech of frenzied laughter tore across the space, followed by the sight of Ulquiorra being tossed towards them, the white Hollow reappearing only to slam the heel of his bare foot into the Cuatro's spine, smashing him into the sand beside his black mask. White fingers clasped around pale cheeks, dragging the Espada off the ground and forcing his toes to scratch weakly in an attempt to find balance, gold eyes stared into wide green ones, smile turning mocking.

"Unhand my Espada." Aizen's voice cut through the insanity rupturing before him, his face setting like stone, "He will be punished for his actions."

Gold eyes met chocolate brown ones, "Unhand him?"

"Yes." He stated calmly.

"Is that... An order? Aizen-sama?" The purr in that reptilian voice sent shivers everywhere possible.

Clenching his teeth slightly, the brunet nodded, "That is an order. Unhand him at once."

Head tilting, the white Hollow giggled, it was a deranged sound full of irrationality and unsettling detachment, "I'm sorry to disappoint ya, Aizen-sama... But I got another set of orders to follow at the moment."

"What do you mean?" He asked, eyes narrowing.

"Make it slow. Make it painful. Teach him the meaning of fear... Aibou can be rather unhinged himself at times, ya know? But I wouldn't deny him his wish. Not when he's given me free reign."

Aizen could almost see Ichigo saying it, the old Ichigo, the one he had known before Byakuya's involvement. He almost wanted to approve of it, to give Ichigo what he craved, to aid in repairing his broken pride. But he couldn't, he would have to step in.

"Aizen-sama." The white Hollow's eyes were fixed on him, wide and abruptly very serene as he dropped the Cuatro to the floor without care, "Take one step towards us, just one step... And I'll cut ya down too."

Aizen was startled, visibly, so far as to take a single solitary step backwards. He was no stranger to Ichigo's Inner Hollow, there had been countless times since being reunited with him in Shino that Ichigo had turned up on his doorstep, eyes as black as the night with glinting gold submerged in the centre. Normally, something had happened during the day which triggered an emergence of the Hollow, usually an event of anger or violence which seemed to call to the hidden spirit dwelling deeply within the strawberry.

He remembered like yesterday, when he'd opened his door only a few months ago to find Ichigo in some such state, aggravated beyond control, seething with a rage he was usually incapable of showing. Almost as if in a trance, the Shinigami had entered his private quarters and half pounced on him, begging to be dominated to wash away the torrent of anger brewing within.

The cause, he had discovered only when the Hollow was sated, had been Byakuya Kuchiki. The events in the bathhouse, the noble revealing that he was aware that Ichigo had broken into his office, and had stolen evidence relating to Aizen. The offer of aid, the hand held out to pull him from the darkness. It had rattled Ichigo to the core, to the extent that his Hollow had crept forwards and taken control.

But this was different. The Hollow had never threatened him, never promised harm to befall him, never defied him for more than a few fleeting seconds. Over the years, he had acknowledged that the creature's feelings towards him were far less than platonic, bordering on adoration. He knew that the creature's sensitivity towards him had coloured Ichigo's feelings as well, and he could only imagine that it was a bleeding effect which worked both ways. Ichigo's feelings about the nobleman currently being held captive would seep into the Hollow, creating a twisted mirrored effect of their day to day life.

But this was different. There was no affection present in those eyes. No adoration. No respect. No desire to bow down. There was only lust for bloodshed and pain. The will to humiliate Ulquiorra, to avenge the Shinigami who had given him a home within his Soul.

"Let him do it." Byakuya's voice cut through his flow of thoughts like a blade, Aizen was surprised once again and looked down at the nobleman, blinking as he saw the disgust spreading across the elegant features, "Ichigo will never rest while the Espada walks free of what he did. Even if you reprimanded him yourself for his actions, it would never be enough. This is about Ichigo's pride. If you ever want him to come back from this... His orders must be followed."

"He might not come back regardless." Aizen muttered in response, "If the Hollow gets too strong, he'll never be able to fight his way free."

"That's the risk he took when he surrendered to him." Steel eyes met chocolate ones, narrowed and angry, yet coloured by pain as well, "Let Shiro do what Ichigo asked of him. At least give him that much dignity."

Aizen looked at the pale Hollow, he hadn't moved. He seemed curious, willing to see what direction the conversation would take.

The brunet Shinigami lifted his chin, eyes narrowing as he aimed to show his lack of fear, "Would it at the very least... Be acceptable to ask you to wait until the Espada have arrived? If you are intent upon revenge I will not stop you, but I would like the others to see what happens when one of their own disobeys a direct order."

White fingers coiled in black locks of hair, yanking Ulquiorra back towards his feet when he noticed the Cuatro attempting to crawl towards his Shinigami master, Shiro's smile grew wider, more menacing, "Havin' an audience sounds... Entertainin'."

"Aizen-sama!" Ulquiorra let out a shrill shout, eyes wide as he seemed to realise help wasn't going to be given, "Aizen-sama please! I'm sorry! I will never touch him again, I swear it!"

Aizen looked at the Espada he had once believed to be the most loyal, "You are quite right, Ulquiorra. You won't."