DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN BLEACH.

A/N: I am not going to assure that the story will be great but I will try to write the best I can.. Any Ideas on how to improve the story are welcome..

Chapter 3:

The Man in the Mirror:

1.

Rukia drove fast. She stepped on the accelerator with alarming force. The car swirled at the u-turn. As Rukia slammed on the brakes it came to a screeching halt in front of Karakura High school. The students standing near the entrance gaped at the petit form of the short haired woman as she forced the door open and stormed out of the car, her eyes darting back and forth in search of someone. She was late. Damn it! She cursed under her breath and continued her search. Her niece Orihime Inoue was nowhere to be found within the premises. She began to worry and fidget. Just then she caught sight of a tall wavy haired Mexican guy whose curls covered his eyes. She remembered him as one of Orihime's new classmates. She had seen his face when she had barged into their class earlier that morning. She approached him hastily.

"Hey you!" she yelled. Chad turned around hoping to catch sight of the caller. He found no one.

"Down here." A voice commanded. He obeyed the voice and bent down to find an elfin form staring at his mammoth figure.

"Are you Orihime's classmate" she enquired just to be sure. The gentle giant did not reply. He simply nodded his head in the affirmative.

"Where is she?" she asked. The tall Mexican seemed to consider the question. Then slowly with the swiftness of a turtle he raised his hands and pointed at the road.

"She left with Kurosaki Ichigo a few minutes ago. Tatsuki said he was walking her home." he replied, hand still stretched in the direction of the narrow road.

"Damn it!" she cursed again. Then her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and she replayed Chad's reply in her mind.

"What did you say the boy's name was?" she asked just to be certain she had heard right.

"Kurosaki Ichigo" the giant replied, his features impassive.

"Kurosaki?" she thought to herself. "Is it possible?" she wondered in disbelief bringing a finger to her chin in contemplation. "It wasn't," she told herself. She shook her head to rid herself of the thought and ran into her car. She slammed the door once inside and stepped on the accelerator again mercilessly. The car zoomed out of sight. Chad watched the car shrink in size and slowly vanish out of sight. He resumed his walk home.

2.

The albino was grinning in amusement.

"Surprised to see me?" he laughed in mock delight, his voice carrying far.

Orihime was lying on the ground temporarily abandoned by the demon that had previously assaulted her. Both the intruders were gaping at the albino with doubt. Was he a mere hallucination or a trick of the light? The long haired man craned his neck to search for Ichigo's body on the ground. He did not see the orange haired teen anywhere. He remembered the name Kurosaki. A shiver ran down his spine. It couldn't be. Could it? How was it possible? They had thought the clan had ceased to exist two thousand years ago, like the Yagami's. But now he wasn't so sure.

The spiky haired man approached the new comer with great caution, his sickle gripped firmly in his hands. He took long strides as he walked, always keeping the distance between the albino and himself constant. The long hired man knew it was time. He materialized before Orihime. The albino's eyes fixed on him. He hissed under his breath as a warning. Trying his best to ignore the hiss, the demon yanked Orihime's hair and placed a knife at her throat. The albino's eyes narrowed dangerously. With great agility and zero hesitation the demon slit a shallow wound on Orihime's neck and let the blood drip. The cut was not too deep because he needed her alive for the blood to work its magic. Orihime flinched and her body began to shudder in pain. The long haired man let the blood fall in drops into a transparent pear shaped glass container.

The white Ichigo lost his wits.

"Get your filthy hands off her." He stormed to Orihime's side. But the spiky haired man stopped him by putting himself in front of Orihime and his partner. White Ichigo growled angrily.

"I see you have a death wish." The long haired man with Orihime's blood merely laughed,

"Finish him Fang. I will be waiting," he ordered before his solid form melted into a hazy nebulous black and rose into the sky like smoke. His laugh echoed in the sky like the distance sound of a war siren. Then, mysteriously he was gone.

White Ichigo was watching the black rise against a grey sky when a sharp metal grazed past his cheeks leaving behind a thin trail of red blood. His eyes fell on the short haired man before him. He was smirking. White Ichigo growled.

"My name is Bishamonten Fang from the Bishamonten clan. Introduce yourself beast." In his hand was clutched a martial arts weapon that resembled a sickle. The albino spread out his fist and stared at his bare palm. His hands were empty. He vaguely remembered wielding a weapon in a battle before. The memory felt centuries ago. The loss of the weapon made him feel limbless.

Fang grew impatient at the lack of response and hurled his weapon at white Ichigo again. The weapon swirled around white Ichigo, missing him by inches. White Ichigo laughed in mockery. He had hardly attempted to dodge it and yet it missed him by inches.

"You are a million years too early to fight me," he snickered in ill-amusement at his opponent. But the demon merely waited patiently, almost expectantly. White Ichigo's laughter was cut short when the weapon boomerang-like swirled into sight once again grazed past his arm, tearing his clothes, drawing blood. He snarled.

3.

Rukia was speeding past larger and smaller vehicles, indiscriminately. They horned at her, some yelled, while others chose to express themselves in colorful hand gestures. But she would not be deterred. She soon reached a narrow stretch of road, isolated from the rest of the traffic. She slowed down considerably. The road was bordered on both sides by trees. There was not a sole in sight. She squirted her eyes in search of the teens. Just when she thought that there was no sign of Orihime on the road, she caught sight of two full fledged demons fighting a full battle. One she recognized as Fang from the Bishamonten clan. Panic struck her. She feared for the safety of Orihime. The other demon she could not place. She looked closer. She took in his white hair and pale white skin. Unexpectedly, in the thrill of battle his eyes gleamed, a golden topaz. Rukia froze.

"Impossible" she muttered under her breath.

She opened the door and ran out of her car to get a closer look while still remaining undetected. On the other side, Orihime lay on the ground, her eyes transfixed on the albino. She seemed mesmerized by him. Rukia noticed blood drip from a cut in her neck. She began to dread. Have they taken her blood already? What will she do now?

4.

Fang jumped out of the way as an enraged white Ichigo lunged at him. Fang sneered. The albino was not weak. He was merely disoriented. He knew he was weaponless. He was crippled and the battle was not as easy as it otherwise would have been. The loss rendered him handicapped and clumsy in executing certain moves. The demon sensed his unease and sneered at him. This hurt the albino's pride, enraging him further. And anger clouded his proper sense of combat. Rukia watched dumbfounded.

The sickle twirled past him in frenzy, cutting him haphazardly. It flew back and forth, like a pendulum without a moments rest. White Ichigo noticed that the demon exercised some sort of telepathic control over his weapon. It obeyed his thoughts in the way it struck its opponent. Once again, fang swirled the weapon towards the albino. But this time, the albino dived forward and caught the sickle in a death grip, never letting it go. The weapon vibrated in his palms, sensing he was a stranger, seeking the warmth and the familiar hold of its master's grip. But white Ichigo refused to let it go. Fang panicked. He knew he was in danger now. He extended his arm, hoping the weapon would flow back into his clutches but it did not. Now he was weaponless. His eyes darted randomly, in search of an escape. He ran towards Orihime hoping to use her as a human shield. But predicting his movement, white Ichigo materialized before him, stopping him dead on his tracks. Now it was his time to sneer. He caught Fang's neck in a death grip.

"Let's see you laugh now," he mocked. Fang whimpered like a wounded puppy. White Ichigo raised the sickle high in the air and without the slightest hesitation or a trace of sympathy, brought it down on the neck of the demon. A blood chilling scream shot through the air, panicking Orihime and Rukia. Blood splattered everywhere. But the albino merely laughed. Fang was decapitated. The albino's flawless white complexion was blotted with traces of blood and gore. The red spots stood out distinctly against his porcelain skin.

He smirked diabolically at his victory. His demonic crackle reverberated through the night scaring the crows out of their nest. Fang's body disintegrated in his arms. The wind carried the ashes high into the dark sky.

5.

Orihime watched the albino walk towards her in a mingled sensation of fear and awe. She was still on the ground and too scared to move. The albino cast the weapon aside and settled on the ground next to her, inspecting his battle wounds and ignoring her. Orihime began to hyperventilate. Her breathing grew heavy in fear, her chest rising up and down in rhythmic motion. The sound aroused his interest. He turned to watch her eyes fix on his. Fear flickered in her pupils.

"Ku-Ku-Ku-Ku," she stammered, unable to finish. He watched her, first amused, then annoyed.

"Spill it out," he demanded. She swallowed the rest and began to tremble and sweat. His gaze fell on her dry lips. She licked them wet. She began to panic when his focus was shifted to observing her. Was he going to murder her also? And where was Kurosaki Kun? Was it really him? Did he or could he at all identify her? She wondered in fear. He seemed to notice the blood on her neck. His eyes narrowed into a fine line. He leaned forward, his neck bent. Orihime froze. His mouth reached for her neck and carefully, softly he licked her wound. His tongue was hot, like it was fresh out of an oven. The heat melted her. She closed her eyes and let the heat sizzle her into submission. He moved, placing both his arms on either side of her. Though their bodies were not touching, Orihime could feel the warmth emanating from his body. His mouth cupped her neck, swallowing most of the skin, while his tongue continued to lick and brush against her wound. Unable to hold back, Orihime moaned in ecstasy. She placed a hand on his shoulder and clutched him tight. Without a warning, the albino collapsed on top of Orihime. She shrieked and flailed her arms helplessly. But the albino was stock-still. She watched the color of his hair grow from a pale white to the brightest shade of Orange, the color of the sun. His skin seemed to tan in a matter of seconds. And before she knew it, he was Kurosaki Ichigo again. She breathed a sigh of relief. She tried to push him off, without success. She heard footsteps. Rukia was standing in front of her, hands on her hip.

"Rukia Chan," Orihime cried in delight. But Rukia was not so eager. Her features were solemn.

6.

The figure of Genji lay on the ground, unmoving. Hikaru approached him. She gazed at the form of her dear lover, marveling at his sharp features. His orange hair never ceased to fascinate her, or put a smile on her face. His scowl made him, child-like in her eyes. She brought a hand to her heart. She wondered how it was possible to love someone so much; with every fiber of her being that it hurt somewhere inside of her chest, as if unable to contain such a strong emotion. She bent down, placing both her hands on either side of his face. Her body hovered above his, without making the slightest of contacts. When he did not move, she assumed he was sleeping. She let her knuckles graze against his cheeks. The warmth of his skin comforted her. Bowing down, she carefully kissed him on his forehead. The kiss was soft like the gentle brush of feather. She kissed his nose. Her breath fanned his skin. She moved further down and kissed his lips, giggling into his mouth. Her soft hair, silk-like hair, swept the sides of his face, tickling him. She touched her cheek to his and nuzzled her face into the curve of his collar. Her eye lashes stroked the side of his neck, like soft butterfly wings brushing against smooth skin. Genji's scowl broke into a smile.

"Is that all?" he whispered into her ears. She shirked and then giggled.

"I thought you were asleep." She raised her head and was above to remove herself from him when Genji caught her and pulled her into his chest. She fell on top of him, her hands holding on to his for support. He cupped her face with both his hands and clashed his lips against hers. Their mouths moved together deepening the kiss. Her mouth was both warm and wet and she tasted sweet. His tongue plunged deeper, taking everything she had to offer and giving everything he had in return. They broke apart, each gasping for air.

"Hikaru," he whispered. She blushed. At the sound of her name, from his lips, her face broke into a shy smile and her pearl-like skin glowed brighter than the sun. How he loved her!

Ichigo woke up, his head throbbing in sync with his heartbeat. The pain was so excruciatingly agonizing he wanted to bang his head against the wall to numb the pain. But he knew it was a bad idea, in practice. He looked around and his frown deepened when he realized he was not home. He vaguely recalled the events from last night. It felt like a bad horror movie.

Ichigo scratched his scalp in confusion. He remembered being struck down by man infinite times more powerful than him. He had watched on helplessly as another assaulted Orihime. Last he could summon to memory was a man with yellow-gold eyes beheading Fang. He had observed the slaughter like a spectator, from somewhere inside his mind. He had watched his hands hold the weapon and execute the finishing blow, but he had gazed on as a mere puppet, with no control over his limbs, as the albino puppeteer dictated the moves. Was it all a dream, a nightmare? And yet it had all felt so real. And where was he now?

"Orihime" he spoke in an undertone, mostly to himself. But a rough voice answered.

"She's fine king, no thanks to you," Ichigo whipped his head to the side, trying to trace the source of the noise. He found no one. He brought a hand to his temple and rubbed it gently, trying to ease the pain. But it would not subside. He glared at his hands and shoulders and was surprised to find no gashes.

"What the hell," he muttered under his breath.

"They healed," the voice offered. Ichigo looked around once again. As expected, he found no one. Ichigo shook his head. Was he suffering from auditory hallucination? He wondered.

Ichigo noticed that he was in a room that was not his own. He had been sleeping on a canopy bed with a multitude of colorful pillows and cushions such as gold, red, maroon and brown. The bed did not have four posts on each corner. And it was not square but rather round. It was draped on all sides with fabric that stretched towards the top and met exactly at the same spot on the ceiling. It was like a tent. He removed the fabric that clouded his vision of the rest of the room. The room, he discovered, was huge but it was painted a dark brown which made it seem cozy and smaller than it really was. The walls were decorated with paintings of people he has never seen or encountered. As he looked around his eyes fell on a full-length free-standing floor mirror at the very centre of the room. The wooden panel was embellished with intricate designs. The mirror was placed behind a fainting couch made of mahogany and maroon cushions. It was arranged so that one could sit or lie on it on it while staring into their reflection on the mirror. But what attracted Ichigo was not the elegant finish of the mirror or the beauty of its design. What drew him to it was the person in the mirror, his supposed reflection.

Ichigo must have looked at his reflection a million times in the past sixteen years of this life. For the most part he hated it. His loud orange hair would scream at him and he would be forced to look away. If asked what he thought of his reflection he would have said "Mirror cracking material". But today try as he may, he could not look away. He could only stare in disbelief and incredulity.

He missed his own orange hair as he stared at the white hair of the man in the mirror. He double checked his hands and confirmed it as tan as he looked at the pale white-as-tusk skin of his reflection. Was it his reflection? How could it be?

"What are you looking at punk," the voice remarked as Ichigo continued to eye the stranger in the mirror. As they assessed each other the albino's eyes began to gleam a golden topaz and Ichigo recalled his own eyes as being chocolate brown.

"Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to stare?"

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To be continued……….