A/N: It's here - the next chapter! Be aware of timeskips, flashbacks...
Thanks to those of you who're reading! And those of you who reviewed, I luff you :3
Full moon blazed, white, white. All white.
With the night sky such flat, endless black, to him the pristine celestial figure was serenity and strangely enough, reassurance. Reassurance that everything else is a single bad dream. Such pure brightness surely wouldn't be co-existing with ugliness?
Off-white dunes of sand stretched out in front of him, darkening gradually as they blended into the horizon. Thin-branched, leafless gray trees stood at irregular intervals, jagged, crystalline lines glinting in the moonlight.
Hueco Mundo - where desolation and dread clung to its very atmosphere in spite of the life he knew it was teeming with just below its surface, hiding mere inches below the misleading appearance.
But he wasn't feeling desolate, wasn't feeling the dread - not this time. Moonlight soaked into the core of his bones, heading straight for his heart. He welcomed its presence, eager to be enveloped in the peace the action brought.
His soul brimmed with energy - raw, barely restrained power that made him feel invincible.
But more importantly, he wasn't alone.
The calmness and the power vanished as soon as the presence abruptly pulled itself out of him. His knees buckled and he cried out, reached up at the lone gleaming disk in the expanse of darkness, questioning why he was let go all too soon. Too soon. He already craved the sense of capability, camaraderie even more so. His chest felt tight, every breath a struggle.
As if pitying his desperation, presence flashed within him again, his essence of power re-lit. But it scattered out of him as soon as it came.
Teeth clenched, he stared forlornly at the circle of light, pondering if such pure being as it was gaining pleasure out of his pain. His wretched look switched to one of disbelief as several droplets of crimson splattered across it, marring its perfection.
The semi-thick dots of liquid began to trail downwards.
Before he could comprehend the significance of the happening, ground quaked. He strained to stay upright as his vision blurred and the blacks and whites of the scene distorted.
When the landscape had stilled itself and his vision cleared, he shuddered at the unnaturalness of his surroundings. Inverted world. Sand dunes of deep black, nearly indistinguishable outline of branches upon it. Pale, colorless white sky glaring at him.
Full white moon no longer blazed. Not full, not full. No white, no white.
In its place was an inky black waning crescent that offered none of the serenity and reassurance its color-invert counterpart did. It exuded power fit to be handled only by the devil, something he had no desire to grasp control of. Its aura was excruciatingly bleak, heartbreakingly sinister.
He desired for a way out, willing not to be crushed by the reiatsu. He glanced about and found none.
As if to stroke him to submission, a surprisingly soft breeze caressed his cheek, playfully rippling his hair and shihakusho. A disembodied, teasing, vaguely familiar voice whispered-
"Shh."
The breeze stopped, whisper faded. The particles of air itself abandoned motion. But the black crescent moon still radiated its foreboding power. Leering down at him.
He still desired for a way out, becoming fidgety as a chill trickled down his spine.
Soft laughter echoed all around.
Powerful pressure ripped through the air, exploding up from ground up. He scrunched his eyes shut and raised his arms up to shield himself from the whirlwind of sand that sure was to come after - except it never came. Slitting his eyes open, he could see that the black sand dunes remained unaffected by the outburst of energy.
White sky slashed open as if knifed, black moon injured at the center of the strike.
He howled in agony and collapsed as pain ripped across his torso, hip to shoulder. Wetness splattered onto his hands.
He rolled onto his back and through his now tear-filled eyes, witnessed another slash crossing the previous one.
Waves of pain pulsated through his entire being. Again. And again.
His eyes had blacked out from the torture long ago, but merciless torment of the invisible blades refused to cease.
No... He couldn't die now, he couldn't die when-
Ichigo jolted up with both hands clutching his throat, entire body impossibly taut from a silent scream he was choking back.
Unbelievably, the bloody nightmare hadn't been the worst part of his morning.
As he got ready to head to his office, he found that he had misplaced his substitute shinigami badge. He was incredulous as to how he lost it, since he made it top-priority have it with him at all times after he came to Seireitei. If he remembered correctly, it had been lying on top of his bedroom's dresser, at an arm's length of the bed in case of emergencies.
No idea HOW it would be able to help him in case someone chose to treat him like a pincushion for swords, but that aside... the little slab of wood felt as much a part of him as his own zanpakuto.
Speaking of Zangetsu, that spirit might as well have DIED in there, for all he knew. He still had no idea what he had done wrong to deserve such a childish silent treatment.
He plopped himself down on the living room couch and dedicated a few moments to glare at the said unresponsive piece of metal on his lap before he had to bolt. Then his eyes fell on the badge he was looking for - bathed in pastel orange light of sunrise, on the corner the coffee table. Tiny black eyes of the skull innocently bore into him.
Feeling like a failure for not having spotted it earlier, Ichigo snatched it up, heaved himself and his sword off the couch and proceeded out of the house.
"-which translates to a conclusion that Captain Soi Fon of the 2nd division is in full support for the capital punishment, Vice-Captain Omaeda alike. Captain Otoribashi of the 3rd division had been absent from the conference, though from his vice-captain's statement and Central 46's deduction from his previous standings in matters, it is widely speculated he would be avidly opposed of the punishment. However, as for Captain Unohana of the fourth division- "
Ichigo found himself tuning out the spoken report the Nakade shinigami in the middle of giving. Again.
He was currently seated behind the large desk in the middle Kladias's office, ironically being reported on the office's owner's state of legal - life and death - matters.
It wasn't that the information wasn't critical, nor the said officer was responsible for boring him; in fact, Ichigo had been impressed with the shinigami's ability to articulate the tone of his voice on the very brink of colorless professionalism and excitement, voice that would be more than capable of capturing attention of large groups of shinigamis for any given length of time.
It was just that Ichigo couldn't get himself to stop replaying the series of yesterday's events in his head. He had half the mind to shoo away his subordinate, bury his head in his hands and pour all his brainpower to try to see reason behind every single factor that was going wrong in his world.
Or both of his worlds, since it's take him more than few day's neglect to give up on Zangetsu - but he was afraid that another attempt to meditate into communication would fast-forward his time again. First time it had happened, it had been two hours, second time, five. According to all damn maths he had learned in school, no valid pattern could be extracted from first two numbers of the sequence, but his gut - which had saved LIVES in multiple occasions, which he trusted far more than cold-fact calculations - told him that every attempt would sap away more time than one before it did.
"-and thereby concludes the evidence that Captain Komamura of the 7th Division is in full support of the capital punishment. On the other hand, Captain Kyouraku of the 8th Division- "
First course of action Ichigo took was to shove Hisagi into a wall by the front of shihakusho, pinning the startled vice-captain down with his full body weight-
"The HELL you mean by 'yes?' They can't do that! Unless, unless Rukia's-" he stuttered,
"unless she's-"
His next breath came out as nothing, strange buzz filling the inside of his ears as implication of the capital punishment began to dawn onto him-
Rukia... died?
Pair of wide gray eyes in front of him narrowed slightly in puzzlement, followed by re-widening in realization, shock and other flickers of emotions Ichigo couldn't get himself to care at that moment-
Hisagi cried, "For heaven's sake - NO, Kurosaki. She's not dead- Kuchiki-san is NOT DEAD, Kurosaki-san! She's alive! Now calm down! Please calm down, we can't have you going into a fit of rage now."
Ichigo blinked. He felt his shoulders slump a little, a strange tingle in his hands - blood had begun to flow back into them - as he unwittingly relaxed. As meaning of Hisagi's words fully sank in, the loud buzz in his ears fell back to a quieter, mechanical buzz of the light fixtures above.
Hisagi gently nudged him back, a base of palm on shoulder, and Ichigo complied, stumbling for a fraction of a second before he righted himself. His fingers felt stiff and awkward as he let go of the fellow officer's shihakusho.
Feeling the vice-captain's cautious gaze on him, Ichigo willed himself not to fidget, willing not to show how embarrassed he was of the instability displayed just seconds ago. He bore back into the clear, steely orbs with what he was hoping was unshakable determination he knew he was so well known for.
Relief flooded into Ichigo as Hisagi gave a minuscule nod of what positively was an approval - relief turned to bewilderment as another look crossed over the vice-captain's face- sorrow, disappointment?
At what?
Before Ichigo could fully figure out, Hisagi swiveled around on one heel, gestured for Ichigo to follow as he jogged back over to the corner he initially came from. He spoke,
"The conference hasn't ended yet - if we hurry, we might be able to slip in to hear last part."
Definitely intrigued, Ichigo caught up swiftly as Hisagi launched into a series of consecutive, evenly spaced shunpos. Colors of the surroundings at first distorted, then blended into one another as the two of them sped through the deserted hallway.
"Lieutenant-Colonel- Lieutenent-Colonal Kurosaki?"
"Huh?"
Caught off-guard, Ichigo jerked up - when did he start slouching? He found himself staring into the Nakade shinigami's face of almost-successfully-concealed disapproval.
Damn. He wouldn't like it either if his superior zoned out on him.
The shinigami blankly stared back and held up an inch-thick bundle of folders and spoke evenly,
"Sir, may I suggest that I leave the written records for you to read instead?"
Ichigo silently fumed, feeling for certain that he'd let an incapable part of him shine through by failing to concentrate on the spoken report. To keep his shorter-now-than-ever temper from boiling over, he had to remind himself that it was not Nakade shinigami's fault. He gestured at coffee table in front of the sofa and replied,
"Yeah, just leave it along with-" he deflated as his eyes fell to a messy, foot-high stack of paperwork already there, "-the rest." then he hastily added, instead of an apology, "Thanks, Officer Azutora."
The shinigami seemed to stiffen slightly before loosening back up. Though unsmiling, he gave a nod, "At your service, Lieutenant-Colonel Kurosaki."
He dropped off the said paperwork to top of the pile and left, sliding shut the door behind him.
Ichigo was left free to let his head fall to the desk with a thud.
I'd appreciate it if I kept getting the feedbacks - I definitely get motivated to write more if there's evidence that people ARE reading the fanfic.
It took me 19 chapters, 45k words to finally bring myself in terms with that. Go screw yourself now, denial, that I'm fine all on my own.
/end providing you with unnecessary, self-deprecating mumbles
