Ishida Uryu was a perceptive young man.
At least, he liked to think that he was.
He couldn't literally see into the future- not yet anyway- nor was he quite a master manipulator like Urahara or Aizen. But he had keen eyes and a sharp mind.
He knew it would come to this.
Staring into the wide, disbelieving eyes of his former friends; blood soaking their bodies from the battles they fought to make it this far.
He had known from the very second the arrancar stepped into Kurosaki's bedroom, wearing white- Quincy white- that they would all come clashing together; fighting to the death at the end of the world.
No, even before the arrancar, he had felt the odd pull on his powers; the nightmares of something dangerous waking up from a long-forgotten slumber. The paranoia had been looming over him for a while now, even without his personal knowledge of the God-King of Quincies.
He had known something was coming, and he knew it would be his job to stop it. Alone. The rag-tag group of supernaturally-powered humans he had slowly taken to calling "friends" wouldn't be able to help him. Not this time. For his plan to work, he needed to get close.
Very close.
Too close.
He was dealing with forces beyond his comprehension. His act needed to be foolproof. He would need to convince the Quincies, convince his friends, convince himself. No, they couldn't know. If they knew, their reactions wouldn't be genuine.
He needed to become their enemy for real.
Whatever that took.
So he joined the Vandenreich. He donned their uniform and walked the halls of his new habitation with all of the pomp and poise of a proper Quincy he could muster, ignoring the looks and hushed conversations that abruptly cut off when he stepped into the room. Pathetic. He knew everyone hated him here. Being named the heir and of Yhwach painted a target on his back. It was an eat or be eaten world. There were no allies to be found in those lonely halls. He wondered, occasionally, how many people joined in an attempt at revenge. The occasional overheard conversation pieced together a grim picture of the kinds of injustices suffered under Yhwach. Not that anyone would dare to voice their true reasonings out aloud. Regardless of personal motives, they had been brought together under one uniting banner: Pride.
How many times had Ishida learned about the great Quincy Pride? Far too many to count, certainly. He had grown up drinking in stories from his grandfather, his pride as a Quincy led him through his life. And it all amounted to this!?
What a sick joke.
For the very first time in his life, Ishida Uryu understood his father. Sōken Ishida had apparently omitted a lot from his retellings.
There was no pride in anything Uryu was doing. He felt the cold rage threatening to overtake his rational thought every time he laid eyes on that monster that called himself the Father of Quincies. How could he share blood with something so revolting?
He tried not to think about the strengthened bond between them.. the A carved into his very soul... The horrific ritual that led to it being there.
His plan had worked so far. The ties to his friends severed, he had forged a thin thread of trust with his superiors. But that thread was being pulled taut. Haschwalth had gotten suspicious and wanted proof of his loyalty.
"If you really aren't a traitor, then you should have no problem killing your friends." The blond man offered. A chance to prove himself and remove the largest threat to their empire.
Blue eyes scanned the stunned faces in front of him. The genuine reaction of confusion twisted his moral core. He pushed the discomfort aside. Good. It was working.
He couldn't hesitate now.
It all came down to this.
"Of course..." Haschwalth spoke softly, tauntingly, "I already know how you're going to respond.
He'd prove him wrong.
Inoue and Sado were easy enough to separate off, held in a cage by a few well-aimed Seele Schneiders. They could be dealt with later. Maybe, he thought, daring to hope, maybe I could bargain for their safety; make a case for keeping them alive. Kurosaki was a different matter. Everyone knew that if anyone stood a chance against Yhwach, it was Ishida's orange-haired rival. It seemed as if this fight had been destined, their whole entangled lives leading to this one point.
Kurosaki was dual-wielding. That was new.
Uryu wasn't surprised. He'd lost the ability to be surprised by Kurosaki when he learned the guy was apparently half Quincy. Not much could trump that. Plus, it didn't really matter. As long as Uryu kept his distance, he could fire off thousands of projectiles before the shinigami could even begin to attack.
The arrows that flew from Uryu's bow were dodged or shattered with a quick slice. They were nowhere near their full strength, each feeling out the terrain of the fight. They had watched each other, fighting side-by-side, enough to know the other's general rhythm and tactics; but they had never faced off before. If they started fighting for real, Uryu was in trouble; especially if he lost the advantage of distance. He didn't doubt his own skills, but Kurosaki could be a monster in battle.
Fortunately for the Uryu, Ichigo was staying on the defensive and using his focus to ask questions.
Questions like "why are you doing this?" and "what's gotten into you?"
Questions that Uryu wouldn't- couldn't- answer.
Guilt speared through the Quincy as an arrow found its mark in Kurosaki's shoulder. Crimson spilled from the wound. He wanted to give them the Sun Key and let them escape to safety. It would be easier- much easier than fighting. But Haschwalth would know, and then it would all be for nothing.
Kurosaki had gone still, sinking to his knees in shock. The pain was nothing, they both knew he had endured far worse, but the sheer surprise of it all.
Pale fingers manifested another arrow as Uryu stalked towards his enemy. He paused, a step away: bow drawn, arrow notched, aimed right at his heart.
It wouldn't kill him. Probably. Ishida was well versed in human anatomy and good enough with his weapon to know how to inflict not-quite-lethal wounds. He would have to be careful though, he would never forget what happened to the last person who had put a hole through the shinigami's chest.
The whole world felt like it was holding its breath.
"Uryu..."
A barely-audible whisper.
Blue eyes met brown and the Quincy's breath was stolen as he saw the emotion that was there. The same emotion was written on his face when Tsukishima had turned all of their friends against them.
Devastation.
Uryu felt the pangs of guilt coil tighter.
"Why?" Anger and frustration and pain laced his words, "Aren't we your friends?"
He had known from the very beginning that he would need to play this role, and that it would require him to take it farther than what was excusable. Farther than what was forgivable.
The arrow hummed under his fingers. A burning question.
How far did he have to push the act?
How far until he could never go back?
How far was he willing to go?
He had come all this way.
The bowstring slipped from his fingers.
