Title: The Devil's Plaything, Chapter 11 - Monster

Warnings: AU, het (IchiHime, lots of other pairings eventually), blood, guts, testosterone, ANGST

Disclaimer: These characters belong to a lot of Japanese people, namely people like Tite Kubo and Shonen Jump. You'll notice how none of those are me. This will probably (never) be updated weekly, until I eventually drop it like every other project ever. Not responsible for epileptic seizures or allergic reactions. May contain eye-and-brain-bleeding levels of radioactive ANGST and/or peanut products. Please sit a reasonable distance from your computer screen.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for their kind reviews and thoughts on this story! I'm pleased to get another chapter out so soon. Since this fic has broken 100 reviews, I'm going to do another special chapter, but it won't be for another few chapters yet. It will also be smut, so look forward to that!


It was cold.

Of course, it was cold because it was winter, so that was nothing shocking. Even more so because it was early morning, and that time of day had always held a special chill for her. But this morning was different. It was colder than when she had gone to sleep, colder than usual.

The thin blonde girl sat up, looking around her sparsely furnished hovel with sleepy eyes and taking in everything she could see in the pre-dawn light. There were the cinder blocks and clapboard they used for a table (when they had food), there was the cup full of early snowdrops he'd stolen from someone's garden for her, there were the cushions of the torn and battered chair they'd retrieved from a garbage dump, here were the straw mats and moth-worn blanket they slept upon.

The young girl usually huddled beneath the thin blanket with her companion for warmth at night. But now, no matter where she looked in their tiny shack, he was not there. Oh, she was used to him wandering off to find food or follow someone interesting or play with a stray dog or whatnot, but he had never wandered off in the middle of the night before. He had never even let her go to get up to go to the bathroom or stretch before. Instinctively, she knew he was gone for good - just like pretty much everyone else that had ever been in her short life.

"Gin?"

"Rangiku-san?"

Rangiku snapped out of her reverie and blinked, forcing her mouth to turn up in a pretty, forced smile.

"Yes, Rukia-chan?"

"Your ice cream is going to drip," the black-haired girl pointed out, a small trace of concern showing in her voice. Rangiku started, scrupulously licking up any of the confection that had escaped its cone. She simultaneously patted her generous chest to make sure none of it had dripped there, either.

"Oh no!" she chirped, "I was afraid it might have dripped into my little valley!"

Of course, it was a diversion. Rangiku was actually desperately hoping that neither girl realized exactly how disturbed her emotions were at the moment. Ever since Shuuhei had driven them to that god-awful run-down neighborhood, she had felt icy fingers walking down her spine. Just the sight of the lean-to shacks and shanties that she used to occupy as a child made her stomach turn. Worse, it made her heart ache when she thought back to her encounter with Gin in the hallway of Kuchiki manor; the sweet boy with whom she'd spent so many cold nights no longer existed, of this she was absolutely sure.

As she finished licking the traces of ice cream off her fingers, though, Rangiku noticed the other girl that was with her and Rukia. Orihime sat staring at her ice cream, a mixture of worry and confusion evident on her face. Every so often, she'd bring it to her mouth and bite off a piece or lick a stray drop off the side, but other than that, she looked absolutely miserable. Rangiku decided to ignore her own discomfort, instead focusing on the redhead in front of her.

"Do you not like that flavor, Orihime-chan?" she asked lightly, certain that wasn't the case, "Should we get you another?" Orihime looked up as though she were startled. So the house had bothered her, too?

"It's... It's not that!" Orihime replied, smiling brightly, "I was just thinking!" Rangiku quirked an eyebrow at this.

"About what?" she asked openly, genuinely curious.

"O-Oh!" Orihime said, her smile wide enough to cause lines to form around the corners of her mouth, "About the kinds of experiments aliens would perform on you if they abducted you! I hear sometimes they implant these chips in people's skin that track them wherever they go and listens in on all their conversations, but I thought that might be better technology for the Men in Black or a spy organization, so then I wondered if they were helping each other out! But then I couldn't figure out what the spies would have to offer the aliens and got stumped..."

Rangiku honestly couldn't tell if that was really what Orihime had looked so confounded about, or if she'd made it all up on the spot. Either way, it looked like the girl didn't want to talk about what was bothering her, either. Just this once, Rangiku decided to try a different approach.

"What about you, Rukia-chan?" she asked lightly, "Why did you want to stay at that horrible house, anyway? Were you worried about Renji-kun~?" She figured if she couldn't get Orihime to talk, she might have better luck teasing Rukia.

"Wh-What?" the black-haired girl stammered, nearly dropping her ice cream cone, "Who would worry about that baboon? I just wanted to see what he was hiding." She nearly mumbled that last part, a slight blush on her face. This was definitely a topic that interested Rangiku.

"Hiding?" she asked, hoping to lead the smaller girl into the topic.

"We've known each other since we were children," Rukia said thoughtfully, studying her fingernails as though they were quite interesting, "But... there were a few years before he joined his original house where we were separated completely. He refuses to talk about them at all. I wanted to see why he keeps it a secret." Rangiku perked up at this bit of gossip, her earlier consternation forgotten.

"Ooh," she hummed, "I bet he's embarrassed! A pack of hoodlums probably lives there and he doesn't want you to know he was associated with them!" Rukia looked up, startled.

"D-Don't be crazy, Rangiku-san!" she said, her cheeks burning, "Renji is not that easily embarrassed!" Before the teasing could continue, though, Orihime quietly spoke up from behind her ice cream cone.

"That house," she said meekly, "It's a scary place. I think he didn't want you to go inside because there's something bad in there."


The two demons ran through the wood and paper-paneled hallway, their feet resounding as they struck the floor. The taller, black-haired one was practically dragging his younger, red-headed charge at this point. Finally, the redhead dug his heels in, stopping short of the end of the hallway.

"What the hell did you do that for?!" Ichigo demanded, jerking his wrist free of Shuuhei's grip. The older demon turned to fix him with a stony glare.

"First of all," he replied, "You should let Sado-kun fight his own battles. You're insulting him by doubting him." Ichigo sputtered, red-faced.

"Are you serious?!" he squawked, "That guy is a monster! He could get killed!" Shuuhei allowed a bit of exasperation to creep into his gaze.

"That's a part of battle. He's a Wraith, too, you know," he reminded Ichigo, "Just like you. And just like you, he's been training his ass off. Have some confidence in him." Ichigo looked disquieted, but said nothing past a small grumble.

"Besides," Shuuhei continued hesitantly, looking down the hallway, "I recognize that guy." Ichigo's head perked up at this.

"You know him?" he asked, "From where?" Shuuhei began to look distinctly uncomfortable.

"When I was still a trainee a couple of years ago," he started, "My mentor and his didn't get along at all. I heard about this place then - it was started by a guy the nobility considered a dangerous liability and expelled. He was a Wraith, but he was so blood-crazy that even his own house didn't want him. That guy - he's the one you should really worry about."

"Zaraki-taichou, you mean."

"Yeah, that was his--" Shuuhei stopped short, realizing that it wasn't Ichigo who'd said it. Slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder towards the end of the hallway. There at the end, a few meters from them in the spot they'd just been dashing towards, stood a thin man in a flowery kimono. He leaned leisurely against the wall, arms folded over his chest and a small, content smile on his pleasant face. His straight black hair framed his high cheekbones, terminating in an immaculate line a few centimeters above his shoulders. The strangest thing, Ichigo thought, was the pair of feathers attached to his right eyebrow and eyelashes. And below that, on his graceful neck, there was also a scar - just like Ikkaku's.

"The boy is welcome to go back and see him," the slender man said, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against, "I believe he's been expecting him." Ichigo and Shuuhei stood frozen for a second, matching puzzled expressions on their faces. Ichigo stared blankly for a second at the letter in his hand, wondering exactly what Urahara had gotten him into.

"What's the catch?" Ichigo asked suspiciously. The effeminate man tsk'd and unfolded his arms.

"So suspicious!" he chided, shaking his head, "There's no catch. But you might want to take that quaint thing off your wrist before you go back there. Zaraki-taichou won't go easy on you if you're not ready."

The 'quaint thing' was, of course, Ichigo's limiter. Cautiously, not removing his eyes from the demon at the end of the hallway, he latched a finger beneath the leather and pulled the snaps open. Instantly, a wave of black and red energy washed over him, leaving him dressed in his long, tattered coat and holding his black nodachi in his right hand. His eyes instantly adjusted to the dimness of the hallway, slit pupils widening to let more light in past his red irises.

"Very good!" the slender man said, clapping slowly, "Now, be on your way. You really shouldn't linger in other people's hallways. It's rude." Ichigo cast one skeptical look back at Shuuhei, who nodded to him, and then began to follow the hallway past the man in the kimono.

As soon as Shuuhei took a step forward, however, the man stepped over to block the hallway.

"Oh no no - not you," he said, smiling a thin, sharp smile, "You're going to stay here and entertain me." Shuuhei dropped into a defensive stance immediately, watching the other demon materialize a rake-like four-pronged sword cleanly from thin air. The blades reminded Shuuhei instinctively of a cat's claws, almost making him wonder what Rangiku would have made of this. More than that, though, he realized that the other man seemed to be waiting for something.

"Well?" he asked expectantly, "Aren't you going to take that unsightly thing off your neck?"

Shuuhei leveled his stoic gaze at his opponent, reaching up to latch a finger beneath the black railroad track of a choker that was pulled tightly around his neck. How had this man instinctively known that was his limiter, anyway? Either way, the thin black strips snapped apart; a pair of scythes appeared in Shuuhei's hands, connected by a long black chain.

"Oh my," his opponent said, raising his feathered eyebrow, "That's certainly a scary-looking weapon." Shuuhei's stern gaze didn't waver.

"It's not meant to be comforting," he said evenly, "Weapons like these are meant to kill. That's what it means to draw a sword." The elegant man smiled.

"So harsh!" he chided, "You seem very serious about this. But death isn't always the end result of battle. Sometimes it's just for fun."

"There's nothing fun about it," Shuuhei replied, discomfited by this man's nonchalant attitude. It didn't sit right with him that someone could be so easy-going about possibly killing another person, let alone another demon. Baring a sword was something one should only do when intending to kill; he found it disturbing that this man could do it without much thought at all.

"What's your name, Serious-san?" he asked lightly, twirling the four-pronged sword in his hand.

"Hisagi," he answered stiffly, not breaking his stance, "Hisagi Shuuhei, Master-at-Arms of Wrath House."

"Ayasegawa Yumichika," the other man introduced himself, "You're the first Wraith I've ever heard of who didn't like to fight."

"That's because I'm not a Wraith," Shuuhei said plainly, clearly waiting for the attack he knew was to come.

"Oh, good!" Yumichika replied, the tines of his sword beginning to shimmer in an eerie way as his smile turned predatory, "Don't tell the others here, but... neither am I!"


Ichigo practically flew down the hallway as fast as his feet would carry him. Although his body was propelling itself along the passageway, his mind was back with Chad and Hisagi. Were they really alright? He assumed Hisagi had more combat experience than both of them put together - he was a Master-at-Arms, after all - but what about Chad?

Ichigo knew his friend trained just as hard as he did. He also knew he had a strong, good heart, and that it was in the right place. He trusted Chad implicitly, in a way that he knew he didn't quite trust anyone else. They always had each other's backs at school; even now Chad was throwing himself in harm's way to watch Ichigo's back. At the same time, though, he would never forgive himself if something happened to him.

This brought his thoughts full-circle back to Urahara. It was painfully obvious that the shopkeeper knew this would happen; that was obviously why he'd told Ichigo to take Chad with him. He knew he'd need help in this place, with the two psychos he'd already passed. Maybe he figured Ichigo and Chad could double-team them, or take one apiece. Either way, he was secretly kind of glad they'd brought Hisagi along; Renji was certainly no help. Either way, he had the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the earlier two demons were just a warm up.

After turning another corner, though, he felt it.

It was stifling, hot, and oppressive, almost as if the air had become too thick for Ichigo to move. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, trying to suppress the bile that had risen in his throat. It was almost, he realized, as though the sharp tip of a sword were leveled at that exact spot.

Even worse, he could feel something stirring in his own blood; his heart began to beat faster, pounding against his chest as though it were screaming to be let out. His muscles tensed, ready to spring at the slightest provocation. Adrenaline, he realized. His body was telling him what it wanted - to fight, to claw, to bite, to kill. He hadn't felt that tension since the night in the alley. Training at Wrath House or with Urahara felt nothing like this. It was the exhilaration of a real fight.

Of course, when he lifted his head, he found himself staring right at a sliding door. Whatever was behind it was giving off that aura, thick and dark and heavy and nearly overwhelming. Ichigo knew with dead certainty that when he slid that door back, he'd be fighting for his life. A grin spread across his lips as he reached one trembling hand towards the handle of the door.

When he drew it back, however, what he saw startled him. Instead of some kind of oni or mythical creature, he saw a tiny girl. She was no older than five or six, with short-cropped pink hair and wide, red eyes. She was in a child's yukata, decorated with stars and flowers, staring openly at Ichigo as her mouth formed a small 'o'. Another demon, clearly - but she couldn't be the one generating that aura. Could she?

Slowly, her face stretched into a toothy grin as Ichigo took a startled step back. Then the little girl called over her shoulder into the dimly lit room behind her.

"Ken-chan!" she chirped, "It's here! It came!"

Dumbfounded, Ichigo watched as the cheerful child snatched the envelope from his hands and skipped into the room. The room itself was much like the other rooms in the house; large and clean, with polished wooden floors and sparse furnishings, a few weapons for decoration here or there. His eyes followed the little girl as she went, though, and eventually landed on the source of the terrifying aura.

There, on a mat at the other end of the room, was a large man no older than his own father wearing a dark yukata with bare feet. The exposed skin that Ichigo could see was marred with scars, some criss-crossing, some completely random, but with more than enough to make Ichigo's eyes widen in awe. He had a rough, angular face, a scar running the length of the entire left side, even down over the dark, sharp eye. More noticeable than this, however, his black hair was slicked back into several tall spikes, each one with a glinting piece of metal adorning the end.

That was not the only glint Ichigo noticed, either. Resting against the man's leg was a battered sword, the edge nicked and pitted as though it had been through several wars. In fact, as Ichigo began to openly stare at the blade, he marveled that it hadn't broken yet. Even more impressively, the edge still seemed keen and sharp, as though the chips taken out of it hadn't dulled it in the least.

"It's about damn time," he grumbled, his voice as rough as his appearance, "Took him long enough." 'Ken-chan' took the envelope from the small girl and slid his thumb under the flap on the end. Turning the envelope on its head, he shook out the contents: a leather eyepatch with tiny-linked chains attached, and a letter. Ignoring the slip of paper for the moment (which Ichigo assumed to be an invoice of some sort), he slid the leather over his face and latched the chains in place. Ichigo watched him, furrowing his eyebrows; there was nothing wrong with his eye. Why did he need an eyepatch?

As soon as the last chain clicked into place, though, Ichigo felt it. It was as though an oppressive weight had been lifted from his chest. He was able to breathe again, his heart rate slowed, and he felt less agitated overall. He wore the eyepatch as a limiter. Strangely enough, though, the sword by the man's feet didn't disappear. Was it just a regular sword after all? Or was he somehow able to keep it out, just like Ikkaku and Yumichika?

Presently, though, the man's attention turned back to the paper Urahara had sent along with the eyepatch. He picked it up and looked it over, his visible eye squinting in disapproval as he read. After a second or two, he crumpled the paper and tossed it over his shoulder with a sigh.

"He's got to be kidding me," 'Ken-chan' ground out, cracking his neck as he reluctantly pushed himself off the ground, "I'm not in the business of training pups." Seizing the sword and giving it a practice swing in Ichigo's general direction, the scarred man turned his attention to the stunned redhead on the other end of the room.

"I'm Kenpachi," he said curtly, looking at Ichigo expectantly.

"I-Ichigo," Ichigo stammered in response, "Kurosaki Ichigo." Looking down the scarred blade, Ichigo took a defensive stance, both hands on the hilt of his black nodachi as he set it squarely before his hips.

"Nice t'meetcha, Ichigo," Kenpachi replied, his voice sounding thoroughly bored, "Well, let's get this over with. I doubt it'll be worth my time, but maybe I'll break a sweat. If I'm lucky."

Ichigo somehow felt he'd been insulted. Before he could protest, however, the sliding door behind him was snapped shut. Suddenly the large man was smiling, baring his wicked-looking canines. In a flash, he was bearing down on Ichigo, the latter having only raised his sword a split second before being bisected by the older man's blade.

Eyes wide with alarm and blood singing with the desire to fight, Ichigo pressed against the blade. He put the whole weight of his body into pushing the other man back and only just barely managed to slide the other's sword off to the side, sparks flying as the scarred metal grated against the black steel of his own nodachi. Nearly stumbling, Ichigo pitched off to the side, breaking into a run as soon as he'd gotten clear of the grinning madman.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ichigo could hear the sound of splintering wood and tearing paper as that damaged sword ripped right through the thin walls. The arc of the sword glanced his shoulder, taking a piece of his black coat with it. He winced; he knew showing his back to the enemy was dishonorable, but he needed to put some space between the two of them.

"Running away?!" Kenpachi roared, taking another swing, "What the hell is Urahara thinking, training a punk like you? If you're just gonna run, I'll cut you down and go back to my nap!" Ichigo felt his blood surge and turned, bringing his sword up to block this swing. Gritting his teeth, he felt his muscles clench in protest as he deflected the harsh blow.

'I can do this,' he thought, feeling a tiny spark of confidence well within his chest at having successfully diverted one strike, 'I just have to take a chance and strike!' Determination glinting in his eyes, Ichigo did just that; he lunged forward with a howl, aiming his blade right for the man's neck.

Suddenly, though, his momentum ceased. Cinnamon-colored eyes widened as he followed the length of his blade; Kenpachi had stopped the black sword with his bare hand without so much as a scratch and was currently holding it as though it was made of wood. His face held about as much interest as that, too.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked, "Is this thing even sharp?" Before Ichigo could say or do anything, though, Kenpachi's arm flexed, pulling the blade forward with a sharp jerk. And as Ichigo stumbled forward with his sword, he looked down to see Kenpachi's sword enter his own abdomen. A second later, the white hot pain reached his brain as the blade erupted from his back in a shower of blood. As he freed one hand to instinctively reach for the sword, Kenpachi tugged it free, leaving him to clutch only at its ghost.

"Feh," he spat, flicking his sword clean in one long arc, Ichigo's blood painting the paper walls in bright red dots, "That wasn't even a warm up. That bastard Urahara must think I'm getting soft."

As Kenpachi turned away from his opponent, Ichigo slumped to his knees. He could feel hot blood rising in his throat and filling his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned forward, putting his weight on his hands. His breath was coming quicker now, the wound burning as pain overrode his senses.

Before he completely lost consciousness, though, he felt something within break. Not only felt it; there was a noise like the splitting of a tree trunk or the crack of a whip, accompanied by a bright red light.

As Kenpachi turned, his face lit up. Eyes widened with glee and lips stretched back across sharp teeth to form a grin. The redheaded boy had risen, completely healed, two more red slashes on either side of his face to show for his trouble. Best of all, the demon could feel the surge of his aura; it had roughly doubled in strength.

"Looks like you're ready for round two," he said, glee peeking through in his voice.

Ichigo smiled as he leveled his eyes back on Kenpachi.

"Ready when you are," he answered. His voice now spoke confidence and satisfaction, his blood racing as he looked squarely at his opponent. The intoxicating surge of power had left him feeling almost giddy in anticipation of the fight he was about to face.

With a smile on his face, he leveled his sword at his shoulder and rushed the older demon.