Chapter Four: Oppression

During the last time he had encountered Grimmjow, the two of them had been crossing swords, each quite intent on cutting the life out of each other. Right now, what was taking place amounted to the complete opposite of just that. Worse still, he could not tell which of these two experiences presented more complications.

"I'll be damned. I leave you for five minutes and this is what happens." Octava's voice shot through the room.

Unless Ichigo was mistaken, Sexta was taking the intrusion as some source of excitement and, to prove just that, he was heard answering,

"Privacy, if you please."

"Screw you. Get away from him."

"Grantz, order me around again and you better run like your fucking life depends on it, because it probably does."

Ichigo had now begun suspecting how this encounter would end, if it ever would. For one thing, he could just chuck his aspirations of peace, perhaps because Szayel had by now produced from his pocket a miniature Grimmjow plushie and had begun to explain the specific atrocities it could do to Sexta's innards. Having endured enough, Ichigo resolved to escape from Grimmjow's arms and to smack some sense into these dudes, just in time for another foreign voice to come on to them like a flash,

"Your arms are all on the wrong places, Sexta. Might I be permitted to rip them off? They seem to be incapable of doing anything right anyway."

It was Starrk. At this point, things turned out as Ichigo had thought they very much well might; much worse than how they had started. To his temporary relief, though, Grimmjow went on to stuff both his fists back in his pockets where they usually belonged. As of now, however, Ichigo was hell-bent on caring nothing for what these three might or might not think of him, so with indifference he proceeded to print a few copies of the article he had been perusing, ignoring the bickering as much as he could.

"Know what, fucking Primera? What I do with my arms is my fucking business so, unless you're my fucking bra, get off my tits." Sexta was saying.

Ichigo was now collecting the printouts. If truth be told, he wasn't really quite disposed to overlooking the injurious threats the Espada were flinging at one another but, according to his own logic, the priority now was to extricate himself from further frustration.

"I'm off. Lemme know, guys, if you're all done being neurotic." The Shinigami announced, walking past Primera Espada.

Their gazes collided for a moment, and in that passage of mutual understanding a set of dimly felt emotions surged over him. Inwardly a number of expletives gulfed across his head. One would naturally suppose he could not keep his mind off Starrk any more than he could forget his own birthday.

…

In the privacy of his borrowed quarters, he educated himself with literature concerning demonology. It mostly came hand in hand with a number of religions, hence there his weaknesses lay; religion had played no role in his life, and lesser still had it had any impact on him… until now. From what he could tell, the topic of demonic possession had been exploited in every possible context, and, in so being that, it was difficult to tell which articles pertaining to it were reliable and accurate. One thing remained consistent in the texts, though; the demons' most potent adversary was Christian belief. This subsequently meant the Arrancars in Las Noches were way beyond saving. On the bright side, he could help them in he shallower aspects of their dilemma, particularly in cases which concerned the use of religious articles as protection. In other words, he was useful only within the limitations which confined his lack of religious beliefs. There was no way to pretend and act around like an ordained priest and to take matters into his inexperienced hands.

He thought of Starrk, whom he believed was in great danger. Succubi were nasty things, and he had to wonder up to what extents should Christian articles do their job of repelling a foe such as the queen among these creatures. Grimmjow's situation wasn't giving his mind any reprieve either. The fact that Sexta had retaliated severely against the entity was one huge problem. For all Ichigo knew, Grimmjow had just opened a fertile ground on which the demon could wreak its sinister enterprises. His imagination meandered off to each and every Arrancar in the palace.

But the day drew on desultorily, and it wouldn't be until the evening of another day would he come upon something ghastly.

…

He had become accustomed to the regular disturbances occurring in the corridors and he now looked upon them as tolerable, even commonplace. As of the present, the nightly inspection of hallways was yielding very little results. Ichigo was in the very least thankful for that. But this complacency would evaporate as soon as he reached the corridor were Szayel Apollo Grantz's bedroom door was located. His nerves, always of the strongest, were beginning to jangle. Without having to labor for any indication of a malevolent presence, Ichigo was being raided by a series of uproarious readings. Just what the fuck was happening inside Octava's room? He pressed one ear against the door, only to be greeted by silence. A longer inspection, however, proved to be effective, for now sobs could be picked up from the other side of the wall. Hesitation vanished right on the spot. After kicking the door open, he swept past pieces of furniture and into Octava's bed chamber. In there, the curled figure of Szayel was snuggled into a corner. Some beast must have harassed the Espada, whose pajamas had been torn to shreds, exposing quite an expanse of skin on his legs. He had very attractive limbs, like a woman's to be precise.

"Hey, what the hell happened?" Ichigo had dropped to one knee and had raised Szayel's face with the tip of his fingers. It was like a scene from a fucking movie where a knight in shining armor had rescued a damsel. Frankly, the reality wasn't faring too far from that.

Instead of an audible answer, all he received was a shaky finger which pointed to a square opening on the floor. There was a basement in Octava's room. Despite the moonlight, the darkness beyond the edge of the hole had a presentiment of evil, as far as his observation went. At length, the Espada spoke, shakily,

"S—some unseen attacker dragged me in there. I barely made it out in time before I got shut in! Good thing I used Sonido."

"Are you absolutely certain you haven't been sleepwalking?"

"Dude, it hasn't been doing things the subtle way to start with! First my blanket got tugged away aggressively. And then the pillows were brutally jerked from my head. As if that wasn't enough, my feet went next. I couldn't scream for the life of me! I'm not Starrk, which means that kind of sadism would've stirred me completely awake on any given night!"

"How long has this been going on?"

"F—for a while now. Weeks. In the beginning the assaults didn't go past rocking my bed gently, and then it evolved to things utterly vicious. Oh, Ichigo-chan, what would become of this room?"

Ichigo was frequently most contented when things were changing the least, rather than when they were developing into something else. So when a draft issued from the basement's passage, carrying an ominous hiss, total unease nearly devoured him whole. The sound carried with it a certain inhumanity, the kind which would've sent strands of hair standing on end.

"We need to get out of here."

They fled the room and tucked themselves as far away from Octava's quarters as possible. Upon reaching Yammy's old chamber, which was now gathering dust, Ichigo gestured at Octava to sit on the bed.

"I used to keep my equipments there." Szayel started reluctantly, as if he detested admittance of every kind. He resumed, "Through the years, my equipments got smaller and smaller due to technological advancements. It was only a matter of time before a number of them became obsolete. It seemed impractical to throw them away so I resorted to just store them in the basement, to lay there untouched. Honestly, I have long ago forgotten about them so it didn't take me second thoughts to decide to re-floor my room with granite tiles, a procedure which utterly barred access to that accursed basement. And now it has reopened. Who did it and why, I have not the slightest idea."

"I was patrolling corridors when I found you. Believe me, I never meant to kick down your door, but I sensed something agitating inside your room. It was like a dark brooding mass of menace, danger—indeed of everything harmful. You know, where I grew up it is said that rooms ought to be utilized regularly, otherwise they'd be liable to invite stray spirits and other unseen entities to inhabit them. I have no intentions of terrifying you but it looks like we've all gone beyond terrified."

Grantz was sweating profusely, his hair in every bit in disarray. As for Ichigo, he had illustrated the brighter rather than the darker side of the story. On the whole, there was no use in running away, because the entity had made it apparent it wished to seize Octava Espada entirely, and would stop at nothing in order to succeed. Strangely, though, he began to fancy he had it in him to at least relieve this strikingly beautiful Arrancar of his present anxiety. And why not? He was upset beyond description, to the point that successfully comforting him would be impossible to even attempt. Just like that, Ichigo rose to his feet and drew himself within an arm's length of Szayel, who now muttered bitterly,

"They say I'm made of pure madness. If they only knew what's driving me nuts at the moment, they'd look at me in awe for managing to stay sane under these circumstances."

"Of course, you're not mad. You're just, er, a little eccentric."

"You think so?" Szayel asked longingly. Without waiting for an answer, he leaned his forehead toward Ichigo's abs.

The teen did not move a muscle. In that action, or inaction, was it revealed to him that life would've been safer to experience if he had not cared for things he shouldn't have cared about. Right now, that reasoning was fleeing entirely. He had heard from Renji and Ishida that Octava Espada was the worst, most cruel enemy one could conceivably face. Both insisted that this claim owed itself to the perverted jungle of shit Octava had for a mind. In fact, Renji could not utter Szayel's name without ever shuddering. It hadn't been long before Ichigo had ceased to doubt anything upon the matter. So when Commander Kyouraku had ordered the release of Octava from Captain Kurotsuchi's equally perverse basement chamber, it had taken all of Renji's constitution to refrain from unleashing a middle finger on the newly appointed commander. As for Uryuu Ishida, betraying Soul Society for that one glorious blunder had been playing around the recesses of his mind since then. Maybe he would do just that.

"Abarai, who the hell voted for that hentai to be your next commander?" Ishida had snarled at Renji.

"Don't look at me! If I had a pocketful of fucking votes I wouldn't spare a single one for a fucking someone who's off to pardon that perverted shitty little flamingo! Argh. My life is ruined!" Renji had answered.

Nevertheless, Octava, for more than a year, had suffered the worst possible fate one could have availed himself. Mayuri Kurotsuchi was a fiend, and Szayel had had to experience the degree of the captain's perversities first hand. With all these details taken into careful account, Ichigo could not help feeling sorry for the androgynous dude. He planted one knee on the edge of the bed, right next to Octava's left thigh. Believing himself at perfect liberty to do as he pleased, the teen pulled the Espada's head closer to him. Indeed, there seemed to be an odd emotion plaguing him presently, which showed itself for the most part by his subtle movements, which were nevertheless forthcoming. Why was he holding this sick bastard as a man should hold a woman? Surely, Octava looked every bit like a runway model, except for that one glaring self-evident fact; he was a dude. But right now Ichigo was feeling more of a man than ever. Indeed like a virile savior and a protector. They were as close to each other as any pair of lovers could get.

Holding the Espada close to him, all the while trying to expel from his imagination all the madness, the irrationalities which so often had defined Octava's actions, Kurosaki Ichigo realized that all he wanted at the moment was to protect the vulnerable Szayel Apollo Grantz, to shield him from the miseries and the evil threats of the world.

TBC