OK, I know this is waaaay late. Many many apologies.

Excuses:

1) Real life. Damn real life!

2) I hate it when I get really into a fic, and then it just stops. So I don't start writing one until I have most of it in my head already, at least the conflict, tension and resolution. The problem was, in my head, this chapter looked pretty simple: BIG BATTLE à last two scenes. I didn't realize until I got to it how friggin' hard it is to write a big battle. No, seriously! You try it! Anyway, hope it doesn't suck too badly. If it does, skip to the last two scenes.

Thank you for the awesome reviews!

Not mine.

Chapter 8

Fire

Ignore the ancient ballads; forget the sagas. Battles cannot be written down. If a hundred man army platoon takes on an army a thousand strong, that's 1,100 stories to be told: some of heroism, some of atrocity, most of confusion, all of madness. Many alarmingly brief.

The battles of the dead, it turns out, are no different.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Vierro looked out over the battle, his long spiky fingers dripping with shinigami blood. He breathed in the scent of carnage; he savored the roar pressing in on all sides. His own blood was high, singing in his veins. At the same time, the tall arrancar was aware of a petulance within himself -- a dissatisfaction. That last one had put up a good struggle, but it had been over too quickly, far too quickly. Vierro bared his teeth. He wanted something a little more ... lingering.

That's why he was so excited to spot his next prey: a teenager, all in white, standing on the wind. With his pure white hair, the shinigami looked rather frail, and vaguely familiar. Vierro licked his lips and purred with delight. Finally, he thought, something beautiful to destroy.

Forgetting their instructions, he hailed the enemy. "Espada Numero Cinco, Cruedado Vierro" he called, dropping into a low bow. "Pleased to make your... kkt "

It took half a second for the ice to travel from his chest to his brain, freezing Vierro's face in an astonished expression. The shinigami pulled his katana out, causing the suddenly statue-like body to crack, crumble, and fall to earth. "Histugaya Toushirou," the young man said shortly. "We've met."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

The rain had stopped abruptly, as if the sky itself paused to take a breath. The moon slipped out behind ragged clouds, but its light was obscured. Fires had broken out around the Seireitei, and black smoke spilled into the suddenly still air.

The one remaining pool of serenity was the fourth division garden, which Unohana had tended -- leaf by leaf and pebble by pebble -- for over a thousand years. No matter how deadly the conflict, no matter how many wounded she had under her care, the healer could always retreat to this place, to this calm.

At the moment, however, the fourth division had no leisure to enjoy the garden. The damaged and the dying were pouring in; there were far more patients than beds, or healers. Captain Unohana could not be found.

Suddenly a scream rose from the hospital, not a cry of pain but of fright. A young nurse had dropped her instruments and was pointing out the round window. White forms were scuttling over the walls like a swarm of ants. Two-, four-, nine- legged creatures of every nightmarish description, gleaming white and gold as they passed through moonlight and firelight. They charged, howling and shrieking, across the pebble beds, crushing ponds and small trees without ever noticing that they were there.

The poor tender fourth squad didn't stand a chance. Some had scattered early, intending to act as battlefield medics for other divisions. A few had run later, for their own skins. Most had remained in the hospital, to treat the wounded as they were brought in. They had not expected, had never imagined, an attack on their own headquarters.

Twenty of so shinigami ran out to meet the invaders, ignoring Lieutenant Koetsu's frantic orders to retreat. Who knows what they were thinking? Possibly they moved out of habit. I'm sorry, sirs, their body language seemed to say -- visiting hours are over; please come back later. Possibly they were impelled by the latent nobility of the medic, the compulsion to save their patients at any cost. Regardless, they were cut down with scarcely more considerations that the shrubs and ornamental pots. Then they were trampled underfoot.

Koetsu swore, something she had hardly attempted before. "Get everyone out!" she yelled at the third seat. "I'll buy you as much time as I can!"

The young woman stood shaking on the wooden walkway, katana drawn. This was where she had sat so often with her Captain, taking a quiet cup of tea. This is where she came when she woke from a nightmare. Now fifty half-masked monsters stared at her, eyes darker than the darkness. This is where she was going to die.

Then she felt a presence beside her -- no, it was two. She didn't dare look at them until she felt their reiatsu as well. "Captain Komammura!" she gasped, "Captain Kuchiki!" Her knees almost collapsed with relief; she had completely forgotten that the two had been brought in for treatment earlier that day.

Neither had completely recovered, but neither particularly seemed to care. Komammura bayed with anger. "Vandals!" he roared. "Barbarians! How dare you violate a sacred place of healing!"

Byakuya merely sniffed. He had never understood why his fellow captains felt the need to posture or rant or (in Kyouraku's case) to babble during a confrontation. A fight is no place for words, Byakuya thought, as the garden filled with glimmering steel petals. A good fight is about the violence.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

"I'm just saying," Kyouranku shouted over the din, "arrancar have no manners, these days!!" He spun, bringing his twin blades down on two opponents at once. He and Ukitake were fighting back to back in the great training grounds; their powers were best suited to open spaces. "No sense of drama!" Many of the enemy, unfortunately, apparently felt the same way. There seemed no end of them. Already the two were fighting on a pile of bodies. "No repartee!"

The man ducked, as a great boar-like arrancar leapt at him. Then he hissed as another, scorpion-shaped, lashed out and caught him across the back. Kyouraku kept his wits, however. Instead of stumbling forward into yet a third enemy, he leapt up, flipped, and landed behind the scorpion, lopping off the murderous tail with one stroke. The arrancar gave a high-pitched insect screech, and scrambled away.

Kyouraku pulled himself up. The wound on his back felt a little numb. Dammit, he thought. Poison. "Here!" he wheezed at Ukitake, brushing the matter aside, "I'll prove it. You!" he bellowed at the wounded insect. "Can't think of a stinging retort, can you?"

For a moment the arrancar blinked, truly appalled. Even a few of its fellows paused in their attack, gaping at the flamboyant shinigami. As they did so, the Captain of the Thirteenth ran them through.

"Shunsui," Ukitake panted. "I speak as a friend and a brother-in-arms." The white-haired man turned into an oncoming attack, parrying four thrusts, then closing on the last when the arrancar overextended. "Shut up. And. Fight."

They couldn't keep this up much longer, Ukitake thought, diving again into the fray. Already his arms were a little heavier, his feet a little slower. There were more arrancar now than when they had started.

An explosion of reiatsu burst out to the east. Sparing a glance, the two captains saw Komamurra's giant samurai looming over the city. Encouraging, of course, though they could already see the enemy swarming up its arms and legs. "I think," Kyouraku said, having carved out a moment to breathe, "that we're going to have to step it up, too."

"Just a minute," Ukitake said. He had stopped and was looking up at the sky. Amazingly, the arrancar did as well.

Everyone could feel the pulse of power above, and soon they could see it -- a brilliant white light suspended over the city. The air seemed to swirl around it, forming storm clouds. If you looked very closely, you would see those clouds coil into a giant, translucent, lightning-filled dragon.

"Ah," thought Ukitake. "So that's where all the rain went."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

There is rain, and rain can be dangerous. Snow is worse, of course -- death by hypothermia is not pleasant. Sleet and freezing rain will do the job quicker, and hail can knock the brains out of a man if he's not careful.

Nothing quite beats icicles, though. Ten-pound, razor-sharp, reiatsu-filled icicles, hurled down from a hundred feet with unerring accuracy.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Unohana pushed her opponent off her blade; he was heavy, and it took some effort. The arrancar was already dead -- a healer knows exactly where to strike. She paused a moment to breathe, trying to assess her situation. She had somehow been separated from the others and forced down a small ally. Corpses from both armies littered the streets and the rooftops, dangerous obstacles in the darkness.

She stiffened. Two ... no, three arrancar were advancing down the alley. Another four were approaching the other way. One of them seemed stronger than the others -- an Espada, she was sure. Unohana lowered herself to a fighting stance. She could take them, she thought. But she found herself wishing that she had put aside more time for combat practice these last few hundred years.

In the end, she didn't have to prove anything. A huge mass landed on the Espada, grinding its face into the cobblestones. Within seconds, Zaraki had thrown its three companions into -- and through -- the surrounding walls. Yachiru descended on the other group. Unohana didn't quite catch how they died, only that it looked painful. And pink.

"Don't wander off, woman!" Zaraki snapped, turning to her.

The Captain of the Fourth carried no feminist chip on her shoulder, but she had her limits. "I am perfectly capable of..."

"Oi." All three shinigami stopped in their tracks and looked up. Hitsugaya was perched on the overhang above them, squatting near the edge of the roof. He spoke clearly and deliberately, though his voice was still not over-loud. "You're running around without a plan, Zaraki."

"Tch." Zaraki snorted, piqued. "Brat just remembers how to talk, and already he's bossing folk about."

"You seem to have taken out quite a few of the invaders." Unohana smiled up at him.

"Mmm," the teenager stood and stretched a little, trying to work out something in his shoulder. "Not enough. What's happening at the great hall?"

Zaraki frowned at this apparent non-sequitor. "I could see the whole city from above," Hitsugaya said. He pointed up towards the building in question. "Most of the rank and file shinigami are retreating there. Why? They'll be trapped."

Unohana leapt up to the rooftop next to the young man. "That's Operation Oblation," she said, her eyes fixed on the great hall. She sounded unexpectedly grim. "It is better that we do not interfere."

"Oblation? What's that?" The question came not from Hitsugaya, but from Zaraki. "A hells butterfly was twittering about it earlier."

The healer stared down at the giant, aghast. "Do you never pay attention at meetings?"

Hitsugaya cut shot Zaraki's answer. "I'll assume that Yamamoto has that situation under control," he said, as businesslike as he had ever been. "That leaves two major offenses to be countered. One is close, in the shopping district," he pointed, "Three hundred strong, and unopposed. Kira was overrun."

The Captain of the 11th landed on the roof next to them, with all the grace of a 700-pound gorilla. "I'll take 'em," he said, glee on his face. "You can come watch, if you like." This last was directed at Unohana, who blushed as if he had handed her a bunch of roses. Then, without waiting for an answer, he bounded across the rooftops, breaking tile as he went. Not two hundred yards from them, he jumped into the street again, smack in the middle of looting arrancar.

Zaraki was a straightforward soul. So, it seemed, was his zanpaktou. "Fight!" he roared, "Rakujin!"

Unohana moved to follow him, when she felt a hand on her elbow. "He's achieved shikai?" Hitsugaya murmured.

She smiled. "Yes. It does not change the form of his zanpakutou, and though it augments his reiatsu, the increase is not too significant."

This was received by an expression of green-eyed incredulity. "Then what..."

Her eyes were dreamy as she listened to the howls and wails that suddenly rose from the shopping district. "It gives him joy. You are tired, Hitsugaya-taichou." He looked away. "I am tired. But that man will never weary in battle, not if he fights a hundred years at a stretch."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

When Unohana was left, Hitsugaya turned to Yachiru. The child was looking strangely disgruntled -- she was not sure she liked Ken-chan being Doctor-lady's boytoy.

"There's another two hundred arrancar between us and the West Gate and Hisagi," he said casually. "I'd better be going."

Yachiru crossed her arms and pouted. "You think you're so smart!" she said. "There's a bunch up at that big hill, ya know! Maybe I'll take care of that!"

"Matsumoto has it covered," he answered, unconcerned. As if to confirm this, they heard a hissing roar from that direction. A great tawny grey tiger materialized on the Soukyoku, its coat bristling with running flames. Then it seemed to disintegrate, to melt into a massive wave of sand that crashed down upon the city. At the same time the Baboon King Zabimaru reared up from the buildings, its eerie shriek clawing through the night air.

"Hmph," Yachiru stuck her hands in her pockets. "Might as well go with you, I guess. Should warn ya, though -- you won't get to kill much, with me along."

Hitsugaya twitched one white eyebrow. "You don't really think you can outfight me, do you," he asked, "little girl?"

Yachiru rocked where she stood, and nearly unleashed her full bezerker fury. But then she caught his arrogant half smile, and the murderous gleam in his eyes. She knew that gleam very, very well. Huh, she thought. He's a big kid and all, almost a grown-up. But I guess he still knows how to play.

"Oh, you're on, Snowball," she grinned in return. "Don't go crying when I beat ya to the gate."

He glanced sideways at her. "I still have ban kai, you know."

The girl's smile only broadened. "Yeah, yeah," she said. "So do I."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Ichigo mopped his face, breathing hard. The fire had spread to the buildings around them. The air was full of sparks; it was hard to breathe.

Dammit, he thought wearily. Rukia stood across the way, in front of a blazing entryway. Her face was scratched and burned, and her shoulders heaved a little. She was just as exhausted as he was.

It felt like they had been fighting for hours, neither gaining any ground. We're too evenly matched, Ichigo thought, grinding his teeth. He couldn't let this drag on -- the more tired he became, the more likely he was to really hurt her.

"Give up, idiot!" Rukia screamed at him. "The city has fallen!"

At the word 'fallen', something cracked in the building behind her. She turned her head, but too slow -- the door frame had come loose and was toppling down towards her.

"Look out!" Ichigo's body moved without his volition, knocking the small woman out of the way. He had not bothered either with direction or momentum; they rolled headfirst into the burning building.

"You ... moron!" she cried, kicking him off with a solid blow to the stomach. Ichigo stumbled back. Trying to ignore the flames all around, he raised zangetsu once more. The two lunged at each other, their blades clashing madly. Then they fell apart, heaving for breath. The heat was unbearable, and the building unsound. If they didn't get out of here soon they would be burned and buried alive.

Rukia, Ichigo thought. It felt like the heat was penetrating into his soul, giving him fever dreams. I don't know if I loved you, before I lost you, or even if I love you now. But I know I won't lose you again. He blinked, stepped forward, and dropped his sword.

The arrancar stared at the blade for a moment, her brow knotting itself into a mask of fury. "What?" she hissed. "Laying down your life? Appealing to my true, good self?" she laughed harshly, almost hysterically. "You don't get it, Ichigo! You don't know me; you don't know the things I've done!" Her black eyes lifted to his, and he was startled to see tears glitter in them. Then she drew herself up. "Defenseless or not," she spat, lifting her katana, "I am going to gut you like the puppy you are, and leave you to roast in this hell."

Ichigo sighed. Not exactly a profession of undying love, he thought wryly. But she had hesitated. That was enough.

Fighting is all about distance. The greatest master in the world cannot stab a four-foot sword into an opponent less than a foot away. As Rukia swung her zanpakutou up, still ranting, Ichigo flashstepped into her guard, close enough to grab her shoulder. With the other hand, he punched her hard in the jaw.

For just an instant Rukia looked startled, then fell limp to the ground. Ichigo picked her up, gently, and carried her outside. "Sorry," he murmured. "I'm just not that nice a person."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Ulquiorra walked calmly through the huge doors of the great hall, his hands, as always, stuffed into his pockets. Things were going more or less according to plan. They had taken heavier losses than had been expected -- Hitsugaya had apparently made more than a full recovery, and some of the other captains had shown unanticipated improvement. No matter.

The majority of the remaining shinigami had decided to take a last stand in this place. A foolish choice, he thought. Certainly they had a temporary advantage of position and cover. The building was enormous and complex; a clever shinigami could defend the many narrow back corridors for quite a while. But now fully half of the arrancar army had entered the complex. The elite of Soul Society had nowhere else to go.

He approached the high dais. The Soutaichou was sitting there apparently untroubled, while his lieutenants fought desperately around him. For just a second, Ulquiorra thought that he saw the ancient eyes glance towards him.

The Espada commander turned cold. "Everyone," he shouted, "Pull ba..."

Too quickly to be seen, Yamamoto stood. Then he rapped his cane on the floor three times. It did not look like he had used much force, but the marble cracked beneath the blow. Boom. Boom. Boom. The sound rattled through the building, traveling in and through the enormous stone walls.

As that signal, the shinigami disappeared. All of them. They flashstepped away and out. Before their befuddled opponents could turn to chase them, they had closed the massive door. Every door of the compound slammed shut with ominous finality.

Ulquiorra held his breath. He didn't bother to check the entranceways; he was sure they were securely locked. There was only a long row of tiny square windows, running along the edge of the ceiling, too small for an escape. The arrancar shuddered. They reminded him of the breathing holes in a wood stove.

He turned his mind back to the Commander, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Five seconds ago, the shinigami were trapped with half of the arrancar army. Now the arrancar army was trapped with Yamamoto Genryuusai.

The old man closed his eyes, as if in a moment of prayer. Then he lifted his hands. Whatever evil I have committed, he thought, I have done so for my people. Perhaps this last act may purge away my sin. "Ryuujin Jakka," he rasped, "Let all of creation burn."

TBC

Reviews welcome, as always!

By the by ... I wasn't going to name Zaraki's zanpakutou, since that can get overwritten in canon (though, of course, all of this will. Oh well) But then someone said they wanted to know what it was, so I added a shameless self-insert. "Rakujin" is how I think my Chinese name would be pronounced in Japanese. In Chinese, it means "joyful one." (The 'raku' is the same character as in Kyouraku). Here's hoping it doesn't mean something dirty in Japanese. Though, I guess that would fit Zaraki's character as well :)