NOW, ENTERING THE ARENA, NÚMERO SEIS, SEXTA ESPADA,

GRIMMJOW JAGERJACQUES

He stopped breathing for a moment, everything going silent. He was calm, he took his first breath in the arena. He was alive. He was Grimmjow.

There were no such thing as weight classes in the fight. No restrictions and no rules. This was no game. This was life and death and people loved it. Placing bets on the lives of their chosen fighter, cheering for the brutal loss of their opponent. It was a tough business but sickos like them would pay for these sort of cruel entertainment. It was as if TV shows and movies couldn't fulfil their sick fantasies. And it disgusted Grimmjow that he was part of this business. People bet money on him and he would fight harder and hit faster, just for the money, the way out. The worst part of it was that somewhere inside of him, he enjoyed it. The animal inside him, a savage creature that would take control. Complete and utterly merciless destruction in the ring.

The fight that he dreaded finally came. He had already prepared himself for what's to come. He was going to have to kill his opponent and from what was at stake, he was definitely going to give them one hell of a show. One would feel guilty to kill an innocent but his opponent wasn't exactly one. A gang member though voluntarily unlike Grimmjow. Numerous street fights, countless rapes and murders. Grimmjow thought that killing the man in front of all those people was him doing the Earth a favour.

The training time was abruptly short, fortunately he was still in good condition. He made sure to practice deadly moves, thinking about ways to break as many bones as possible in one go. He was going to have to win for Neliel's sake.

ON THE OTHER SIDE, LUPPI ANTENOR, A PATIR DA ARRANCAR!

What?

Grimmjow was confused as he finally recognised the name of his mystery opponent. Aizen wanted him to kill someone from the gang. The Espadas were similar to the Arrancars but on an elite level, more experienced than those 'starters'. Fighters that were in the ranks of Espadas were unbeatable and the scores proved it. All of them had their own signature techniques among mastering the basic martial arts. Grimmjow's was a mixture of boxing and jujitsu. Throwing hard punches from a distance and when the preys close enough, he goes for a debilitating body lock. Usually letting go after hearing some satisfying cracking noises or the sound of the ringing bell signalling the end of the match. So far his record was 0 DEATHS, 22 , 6 WIN, 0 LOSSES.

Aizen wanted merciless, he's going to give merciless. The two fighters entered the ring, both bared their torsos. Grimmjow had opted not to wear his usual knee grips, knowing that bare contact would make it more painful. He made sure to wrap his knuckles extra thick, and chose not to use the padded MMA glove. He needed his knuckles to jab deeper, and not being protected by regulatory padding. His opponent, on the other hand, wore knee and shin paddings, with a combat knife in his right hand in an ice-pick grip, a clear note that this man was either a professional or just plain stupid. At least the man had his knife out, no other surprises hidden.

The bell rung, signalling the start of the match. Circling each other, they studied their body movements carefully, finding weaknesses. That's what Grimmjow did, his opponent was just stupidly running his mouth, taunting him. Grimmjow was deaf in the moment, noises he could only hear were breathing and the sound of bodies moving. Luppi ran forward, his knife thrusting forward in multiple stabbing directions, Grimmjow avoided them like it was just basic defence class. This is a fucking joke.

Grimmjow threw some punches in between dodging, making sure to hit vital areas in the abdomen. Not going for the neck, because the good part was always saved for the last. His opponent would back away after every single hit, reeling from the force of the punches but would insistently try to go in.

It was pitiful, from Grimmjow's point of view. He was beginning to doubt the things he heard about this guy. Were they sure that this was the actual guy who killed that many? Maybe with a gun, that'd make more sense.

Grimmjow decided to kick the opponent in the head, the moment when he saw a blind spot, just to entertain the people were watching. Immediately, the crowd cheered, appreciating the brutal move to the head. The opponent, obviously, was hit so hard he fell back on his ass, knife surprisingly still in his grip. He gripped the side of his face where he was kicked, and groaned on the ground. His mouth bled and knowing its effects, he had probably cut the inside of his mouth with his teeth or some had fallen off from the impact. Grimmjow didn't give a damn. They had wanted blood. Here was the start of it.

Grimmjow just stood there and stared at the man, honestly a little bored. Two fights in a row, his opponents had been utter weaklings. People just wanted to watch him devour tiny little weaklings like this one, it seemed. He hasn't been able to let loose the animal since then. The last good fight he had was with a huge ass boxer, Zaraki something, motherfucker hit like a 10-ton truck and trying to hit him was akin to punching a brick wall. The fight hadn't been pretty, he had to let the animal out, marginally winning with a choke hold, squeezing the man's windpipe from behind him, seconds from actually killing the man.

Snapping out from his thoughts, he realised that the weakling had gotten up. And was apparently screaming at him in some weird language. He looked pretty disgusting, the right side of his face already a dark blood-clotted purple and his mouth bleeding continuously, his teeth stained red.

Suddenly he ran forward, this time faster, a lot faster and more precise. His grip on the knife was still the same however he was way more in control. Making small slashing movements and fast reel backs instead of the previous large and slower movements.

Grimmjow figured the kids adrenalin must have worked finally because this wasn't expected. Grimmjow had to dodge faster, and in more directions. Even then he was still in control. This time, he kicked the kid multiple times in different spots. And shockingly the man just flinched instead of backing away.

Shit. The kid was definitely hiding something and he finally understood what they meant. He wasn't hiding an actual physical thing, he was hiding an ability. People with psychopathic tendencies were rare but dangerous no matter what.

Grimmjow waited for a moment to pull his opponent in a chokehold, or maybe a slip so that he can do a proper pounding. The man had also thrown in some new moves like a few punches with the left arm that wasn't holding the knife. He managed to land quite a hit at Grimmjow's left chin. It was that rather than being stabbed. They were already sweating like crazy and the fluids dripping from the opponent had made the match floor slippery. A disgusting mixture of red and clear liquid.

Dodging a left slash, and trying to throw in a low kick, his stabilising foot slipped on some blood and he fell backwards. Fuck, big mistake.

The opponent instantly took the moment to go for a slash to the stomach. And the worst happened, it was a fucking long one to the stomach. Grimmjow had purposely fell back, anticipating the kid would take advantage of his vulnerability. The cut didn't hit any major spots but it did cause quite a lot of damage. Also, it did successfully pissed Grimmjow off which was always a bad thing.

Grimmjow getting mad was like lighting gasoline on fucking fire. Mixed with seeing his own blood spilling from his body, the animal bared its fangs.

Taking almost no break, he immediately grabbed the opponent's right arm that slashed him, pulling the opponent towards him forcefully from his seated position. Audience would see it as a death wish, especially when Luppi still had the knife in hand, Grimmjow could've been a dead man. A slit to the throat and match over. Congratulations to new Sexta Espada, a wimpy shit taking his spot.

No way is that shit going to ever happen. Grimmjow was an animal now. Grimmjow justified in his mind that whoever this kid is, the asshole was definitely dying, Aizen's wish or not. That shit was going to lie in his own blood.

Grimmjow twisted the arm, and normally one wouldn't be able to bend the arm because it's twisted. Grimmjow used his right heel to kick down on the twisted joint, the elbow while it was twisted, effectively dislodging the lower arm from the elbow socket. Luppi screamed in utter horror and pain, his lower arm had disconnected from the elbow, leaving the skin only holding his arm together. It was an odd sight, like those ice popsicles that you had to break into two.

All this happened in two seconds, Grimmjow acting in almost grace-like movements. A vengeful attack on the man for slashing him. You cut me, I snap your arm off.

Luppi was still horrified his knife arm was no longer useful in the fight, in fact, forever. He crawled away on his fours, away from Grimmjow in utter fear, like a chick in those horror films. Luppi was going to die.

Grimmjow immediately stood up, not even remembering that his stomach had been slashed and was bleeding. He stepped on the man's ankle, lightly, just stopping the man from crawling away.

Grimmjow smiled, he was happy. He raised his feet and stomped on the ankle so hard until the bone cracked from the force. How did he know it cracked? He could feel it under his bare feet, on the heel where he could put the most force. Also, there was the satisfying cracking noise that filled the arena.

And again his prey was bawling out, tears running from his face, screaming in pain and whatever he was trying to beg from Grimmjow. Something like mercy or whatever. The kid had already sealed his fate, though more likely Aizen was the one who sealed it for him.

Grimmjow looked up, to the upper panels. You could see every single audience from the stage. The arena was lifted above ground. There was the pits where people gathered around. The stage high enough until it reached over their heads. So they had to look up and see the match. Further back there were the bars, where some would sit back for a drink and watch from afar, not wanting to get in the sweaty repugnant mess of people. They were close enough to catch the flying blood, saliva, sweat even vomit. Maybe that was the appeal of it.

Then there was the upper panels of course. Occupying the second and third floor of the renovated warehouse. Distinctly overpriced decor. They watched behind full sized glass screens on their expensive couches, surrounded by their harem and their thousand-dollar drinks. If they wanted, the glass could recede halfway so that they could lean down for a better look.

Last but definitely not the least, there was the fourth floor, the highest. Instead of a window, the whole floor was glass. Everyone from below the fourth floor could see everything going on there. You could look up and see the feet of very important people: the occasional mob bosses, government officials and always Aizen who would attend to them or the other way around. Aizen owned the fourth floor, he owned the whole building, the business. Everything and everyone was below his feet. He could watch the people below him fighting for their lives, wasting it all away, their very semblance of humanity dissipating from their own fingertips. And he would be the one at the top. Like a god on his pedestal watching measly humans.

He met Aizen's eyes. The man that ruined his life; who was currently sitting on his sofa, legs crossed, peering down. The man stared at him, he then leaned his head on his right hand that was resting on the arm chair. He raised his eyebrow slightly. An expression, clearly staring 'that's all?'

Grimmjow grinned his shark-like teeth, a full smile, displaying his naturally sharpened canines. He mouthed a curt, fuck you. And Aizen's little grin turned to a frown. His expression, gaze very angered by the display of disrespect. His opponent laid forgotten on the floor, still begging for quick death.

POLICE ARE IN THE AREA. I REPEAT, POLICE IN THE AREA. PLEASE MAKE YOUR EXIT THROUGH THE SPECIFIC ROUTES.

The glass floor that Aizen was on suddenly flipped to a black screen. It was a clear emergency gesture. The audience around the arena scrambled mindlessly, trying to find a way out. Running away from the feds being their utmost priority. Emergency exits behind the bars and toilets were opened and all ran out. The upper panels were already escorted out even before the alarm signalled.

In the midst of the chaos, Grimmjow was too distracted to notice that three men had entered the arena. When he turned to defend, it was already too late. The two men had already closed up on him with knives, Grimmjow immediately dodged. However being too late, both the knives tore in his upper left arm. The knives tore two distinct slashes in his arm.

Thankfully for him, the men were untrained, didn't cut any major veins, just a deep cut in the muscle. He barely noticed the other man dragging Luppi out of the arena and bolting. Instinctively, after dodging he went for a sweeping low kick, forcing the two men to fall. Fuck.

He ran, he had to. He didn't want to get caught, he fled the arena, ignoring the blood seeping out of his wounds. He bolted, not even noticing that his feet were bare.

He fled into the carpark, watching people scrambling off in all directions. His barefoot was on road tar but not his priority. Next to him, he saw someone struggling to start up their bike. His vision was getting blurry and his legs were beginning to wobble. He grabbed the man on the motorcycle in choke hold. His good arm squeezing tightly on the stranger's windpipe.

"Listen here, you are going to give me a ride back to 41 Garner Street alright? You don't want to give a fight or you will die." He whispered into the man's ears. He could hear the sirens. The man nodded in fear.

Grimmjow climbed on and they sped off. He was barefoot, half naked, and bleeding. On the bike, he put pressure on his stomach wound. He evaluated his injuries, none being too bad, the only thing that really worried him was amount of blood he was losing.

Fuck my life.

By the time the man pulled in front of the apartment, Grimmjow could only hobble off to the back alley staircase entrance. The man immediately sped off on his bike. Grimmjow was bleeding too much by then and the pain was overwhelming. His body was weak and he could barely hold himself up with the last bits of adrenalin. He was spilling blood all the way up the staircase to his floor and fumbled at the exit. He entered his apartment with the key that he had hidden behind the fire extinguisher box next to the house.

Taking one whiff of his house, his body just broke down; his legs gave out. He fell to the floor with a hard thud. He laid down on his house carpet, his door barely even closed, the key was god-knows-where. He couldn't care anymore. He couldn't think. His body had lost a large amount of blood and he was too dizzy. He knew he couldn't close his eyes, if he did that'd be the end of him. He had to keep awake and stand up but his body just wouldn't comply.

Meow,

meow.

The cat had just entered the house from the window. The white cat had walked in, like it was no one's business. It didn't give a damn that he was bleeding on his floor, on the verge of death. Grimmjow just stared at the cat that headed to his direction. Slowly walking, like it usually did. When it came closer, it rubbed its whole body on his face. Nudging his head on Grimmjow's head, purring lightly before walking off to the couch. Grimmjow had managed to lift an arm to pet the cat's body. A little drunk happy by the nice notion from the usually asshole-y cat.

As the cat sauntered off, he saw the bloody handprints he had left on the cats white fur. Shocked by the contrast of red against the white, he pushed himself up to the kitchen. The pain overwhelmed him so he opened his liquor drawer. He took out the whole fucking drawer and went to sit on the couch where the cat was. He slammed the drawer on the coffee table and let his legs go out on him, landing on the couch. He grabbed the nearby remote and just switched it on. Opening the first bottle of Jäger, he chugged it down like water. After a few gulps, the pain seemingly disappeared and he took more. He was fucked but he wanted to at least be drunk with a cat next to him when he went off.

He closed his eyes. And leaned back. Sorry, Nel.

The world was a blur and he was still alive. Barely. His head throbbed and his body was numb. He couldn't feel anything but he could hear someone sneaking up behind him in the dark. The flashing lights of the TV blinded him so he could only squint.

"Whoever you are. Get the hell out before I break your fucking neck." Obviously, a lie. The thief could just walk into his room steal his shit, cook dinner and live in the damn house and Grimmjow still wouldn't be able to move by then. He was on the verge on actual death. In the same position, he heard a sigh.

The fuck?

Then, the whole world lit up like it was on fire. The blazing lights everywhere, he couldn't focus on anything. He groaned, at the same time he heard a gasp. Even when he closed his eyes, the lights were too bright, seeping through his closed lids. Whoever the person was, it came closer. Someone was talking to him but he was too lucid to understand.

"Get the fuck out of my house." Surprisingly he could hear hurried footsteps away from him. That was easy. He drifted in and out of consciousness at this point. The lights keeping him from really going into deep. His breaths were hard, trying to keep his blood moving. The blood that remained, at least. Then, he tried to test his luck and attempted to stand.

Suddenly, there was a warm hand on his chest, pushing him back and a familiar smell soothed in his mind. He knew this scent, a mix of rosemary, a little zesty scent. He opened his eyes fully, in hopes that maybe he could actually see the person in front of him. He widened his eyes and of course, they were blurry. He was so out of focus.

There was the familiar shade of orange and a handsome face staring at him. The man looked really familiar, he wanted to recall but he was too out of it. His eyes rolled back to a close, before that seeing the persons mouth move to say something, but he couldn't figure it out. He just nodded in some form of understanding.

Then, the same touch on his skin moved a little lower towards the stomach. Grimmjow fidgeted a lot. He didn't know what the other person was doing to him but there was a prickling sensation on the stomach wound. Feeling like he was useless, he tried to move the working hands, "I'll, I'll do it myself."

Then the same hand, sat on his chest, the same spot across his heart. It was reassuring, he appreciated the warm on his cold body. Like the cat rubbing himself on him just now.

He relaxed a lot, letting the person do its work. There was weird sensations all the way up his torso. He could feel his skin stretching a little but he didn't the reason behind it. He always felt some burning feeling when the person rubbed something on him. He hated that one the most because the feeling would sting a little, sending tingles down his numbed spine, momentarily stopping his headache and making it worse.

The person moved a little and began rubbing it on his arm. He could hear the other person's calmed breaths and the occasional sigh of exhaustion. When he rubbed that prickly shit on him, he couldn't take that feeling anymore.

"Get the- away from me." His words coming out in choked pants. He pushed the person back with his good arm onto what it seems to be the shoulder. He opened his eyes this time, a little more clearly, finally being able to see actual expression and body shape. From what it seems, it had really annoyed the person a lot and the stranger lifted up his palm to slap him.

In that quick moment, he saw the face of his mother, going to slap him because he did something to Neliel.

Like he always did with his mother, he flinched. Because she would always hit his ear and it would hurt the rest of the day.

"Uhhhh, just stay still Grimm. I'm helping you okay." Grimmjow relaxed immediately, so that was what he's doing. It made sense and he just sat still, letting the man work.

It reminded him of all the times he would be rushed off to medical after fights. Szayel fussing over him and quickly patching up his wounds. Maybe the kid was from medical? Wait, a kid?

He was dazed in his thoughts when he felt the man nudging him. He heard words, something about going to the toilet. He just obeyed, and tried to push his legs up.

They seemed somehow a little more doable and he felt the man holding him up and leading him to the toilet. The man really seemed too familiar. It was someone who he'd met a couple of times but he just couldn't remember in this drunken mess.

He was heaved atop the toilet and the man went off somewhere. Grimmjow immediately felt the urge to clean up as the grime was a little too sticky for his taste. He had wanted to stand up for a shower but he realised he couldn't. So, he grabbed the hand towel nearby and just wiped off his back. He could almost feel the grime being pelt off and he continued. Making use of his good arm to clean his shoulder.

Then, the person came back in with some stuff. The stranger took the cloth from his hand and wet it in the sink. Grimmjow was a little surprised by the cold when he was wiped down. The person had obviously done a lot of this caretaking before because his wipes and movements were so smooth and practical, almost doctor-like.

He still couldn't really see the expression on the person's face and it was beginning to irk him that he couldn't remember that face. The person then put some gel substance and plasters on parts of his body and face. He couldn't understand why but didn't question. He was made to take his shorts off which he just complied. The man swept his palms down Grimmjow's entire length; particularly around his legs and back. The man then continued and swept his own palms on Grimmjow's face and head.

It was the same routine as Szayel did in the medical room. After which, he was made to wear some clothes. After what seems to be a long time, the man across him heaved a sigh and stood up.

"I'm going to clean up here. You should go and rest in your room." And the person immediately went to the sink r8ght next to them. He looked a little zoned out. Finally being able to see the whole person, in his side view. Grimmjow finally knew who this kid was. His vision was finally clear by then. No wonder the familiar scent and voice calmed him.

It was Ichigo.

He couldn't believe it. And just for that moment, he could actually say he lov-, appreciated the kid. The whole time, the kid had spent hours trying to clean him up and he had to recognise when everything already ended. He was an idiot. The kid, on the other hand, was mindlessly rubbing his hands in the water. Oblivious to everything around him. Then, Grimmjow stood up, a lot more stable. He stood behind the man who just took him away from the verge of death. He was thankful and there was no other feeling or thought that could change that.

Grimmjow stared at the reflection. Taking in the orange spiky hair, the cleaner and fresher face, with the same deep-set brown eyes. And it stared at him back. The actual man turned in front of him. Grimmjow felt the warm body move on his chest. He felt his arms move to wrap around the kids tapered waist, resting his own hands at the small of his back, right above his rump. He noticed how right it felt to circle his arms round this man. It was just the right size.

Finally, he was looking in those same eyes, in reality. They were browner, a rich colour of decadent nature. The man had looked down at something and the fan of auburn eyelashes swooped down. The frame of long eyelashes made him look surreal, with the sharp edge of his nose and the pouty lips. This creature appealed to Grimmjow, his heart was warm. He stared at the kid's cupid bow and lips, looking so soft. He leaned forward, tilted his own head downwards and a little sideways for a better angle. He just did it without question. He wanted to show affection for the person who saved his life.

The man was shocked and his lips didn't move but Grimmjow didn't move off from him, just continuing. Slowly, the other reciprocated warmly, opening his mouth slightly letting Grimmjow in. Grimmjow was amazed.

The flavours he was getting was practically unworthy of him. The taste of citrus, a little of vegetables, almost a clean mix of mint in there. Grimmjow fell for the feeling. His lips were exactly the way it looked, if not, better. It was soft, almost pillowy, but not too soft like a woman. It was a comfortable feeling and he took everything Grimmjow could give.

The man had wrapped his thinly corded arms around his larger shoulders, both of their bodies wrapped around each other, moving a little closer. The other was playing with the man's nape of the neck which really made Grimmjow happy. After a while, the kid broke away, Grimmjow stopped as well. Not wanting the exchange to get too far. He had wanted to kiss to appreciate and thank the man. He wanted it to mean something.

Weirdly, he heard the other man suddenly sigh and push him away further. He didn't take any meaning from it but he could sense the hint of sadness from the kid. "Get back to your bed. I gotta clean up outside," he walked to his room, going ahead to get some sleep.

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