Author's Note: Holy crap, I'm sooo sorry for not updating in some time…I didn't know how to go about writing this chapter and the trilogy, so it had to take some time before I could settle them…gomen…I had a lot of projects to complete too, so everything's been really messed up; I felt like puking while doing those damned projects…almost did, too.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything concerning Bleach.
Scroll 9 – Foe in the Shadows
No one had ever heard of rain descending upon the barely fertile soil of the Zaraki state, especially since it was humid throughout the year, and almost comparable to a desert in the middle of nowhere. Zaraki citizens had to suffer the pain of walking on the steaming soil barefooted, setting up their small but important businesses of selling water and ice, as well as fresh fruits and vegetables, imported from the capital, and return home only to first soak their feet in the ice they purchased, peeling the skin off the soles of their feet. To them, rain was nothing but impossible to get, and something that the children wished for everyday.
Until now, that is.
Had it been a miracle? The answer as clear as day, with the sunlight shining right into their eyes and blinding them; of course it was a miracle. Otherwise, why the heck would it be raining on soil that had been forsaken by the heavens? The soil which could barely host the roots of wilting flowers and crops had allowed the tears of heaven seep into it, breathing life into the plants on their deathbeds. The flowers were blooming right in front of them, stems upright and leaves holding onto the dew as if it were its life.
And of course, one could not deny the existence of the pure white snow replacing the showers soon after, only to melt away into its liquefied state as it descended upon the earth. The tired smiles of men and women dawned upon their faces as they held their hands up and rubbed the white substance in their hands, feeling the mix of rain and snow in their palms and shedding tears of joy to accompany their watery companions; children of no older than five ran around the town and celebrated with a game of catch or two, their smiles and giggles ringing throughout the villages, spreading the good news around.
Only one person in the entire state of Zaraki knew that this was nothing to be joyous about, but rather, it was a time for them to flee before anything ugly came up.
"Oh look, look at what the heavens have given us!"
"Rain…it's true. It's finally raining in Zaraki!"
"It's a miracle…a miracle!"
Ichigo gave a 'che' as he sprinted past the unsuspecting villagers, slipping on the muddy waters and making a hurried trek up the hill of which the peak had held the serpentine clouds of thunder and grayness. He leapt over the edge and landed on his soiled feet, continuing the wet journey up the hill. Cries of ecstasy filled his hometown; he looked down at the poor townspeople, unknowing what were to happen if they knew of the horrible truth behind the source of water, before grinding his teeth and hastening.
Trust me, guys…this ain't a miracle.
--Scroll 09--
"Ne neh…I think I can feel someone headin' our way," the silver-haired fox mentioned the presence of someone trekking up their current hideout. He turned and faced the backs of his companions, perpetual grin widening at the thought of piercing through the sword through the invader's chest; how fun that would be for them all. "Don'cha think we should go an' say hi ta' 'im? I'm sure he'll feel very welcom'd, ya know."
The chestnut-haired man smiled along with his comrade; indeed, someone with true potential was heading their way, moving at quite a speed for someone who had yet to undergo the real training at whatever training academy he was attending. He could tell, that spectacled man, that this person, despite being a complete newbie to dangerous battles, was not to be trifled with. Yet.
Aizen glanced through the opening of their specially allocated office built near the edge of the hill; a blur of black and orange was quickly moving closer and closer towards sight. He motioned to his partners to accompany him, to which they did, and left the room with a sadistic smile. The familiar weight of his spectacles became nil as the glass shattered in his grip, falling to the rocky ground in nothing but millions of pieces.
"We shall welcome him as you say, Gin."
A widening smile dawned upon both of their lips while their silent companion followed their steps towards the peak plainly, expression unchanging throughout their short trip. The brown-haired leader of the group held onto the cool, wet metal handle of the wooden door, pushing it downwards and pushing the door open with a creak, stepping onto the stone tiles. The silent tanned man closed the door behind him, following his partners soon after. Silence, yet batting of raindrops and words of thunder diving into the silence and ripping it apart with their claws, was the mere basic presence in the room.
The grins grew as yet another vocabulary to add to the list of thunder language was spoken; the door behind leaving halves and small pieces of wood sprawled all over the rock tiles; the metallic ring of the handle being restrained to the earth by the force of gravity. A mere creak, and then the spurt of crimson leaving drops all over the tiles as the trail ascended into the air; the perpetrator gave a low growl as he leaned against the stone wall, wiping the trickling blood from his lips with the back of his hand.
A raging cry ripped from his vocal chords echoed in the stone prison as he sprinted towards his enemies and thrust an extremely tense fist towards the brown-haired man, only to have his knuckles slit open by the invasion of a dagger held in the loose, careless grip of the silver-haired man standing next to the (ugly) bastard. Drops of crimson body fluid stained the stone tiles seemingly with polka-dots while the orange-haired trainee stood at his spot, panting and glowering at the allegedly sophisticated person whom he shouldn't care about in the first place. However he was dying to get rid of these three assholes who trapped Toushirou in that hell he wasn't that much of an idiot to realize that he was not about to fulfill his mission's objectives by his anticipated time.
He stole a glance over at the bars, eyeing the darkness with a stiffened arm. No one was taking any action; no one was even looking at what he was doing; no one said a thing at all. Uneasy silence settled in, camouflaging itself with the thunder and pelting rain. There was nothing penetrating from the vast darkness of the cells, nothing standing out in particular. The only living organism from within had been a mere ball of fur scurrying around, squeaking as it scrambled towards the hole dented in the corner. Ichigo glared at the group beside him; those bastards…had they known he was coming?
A tweak in his knuckles sounded as they cracked. He drew out both of his fists and sent them flying towards them just as he realized he had been thrusting nothing but the cool air. Another twitch from his back; no, instead of shivering in the unfamiliar breezes aroused from the rain, he was burning up with searing eyes whenever he blinked. Blackness was eating away at his vision, but he wasn't about to give up the fight just yet. They hadn't even said a single damned thing since he arrived there, and the treasure he was supposed to find at the end of his venture back to his hometown was not where the x on the map had shown, unless the high probability of them hiding the treasure chest which revealed itself had been proved right all along.
He leapt away from the blade that had dug into his flesh for the second time in the row and reached out to grab the bloody knife. Instead of having the weight landing on his palm, sharply searing pain was what he had received. For the third time, he had let his guard down, and he was about to detest himself for being overly careless. This could not go on; he had to know where Toushirou was, otherwise he wouldn't know what the consequences were to be if he had been taken away from him again. All he had knowledge of, would be the fact that it would suck to the depths of hell.
And it was already crappy enough that his enemies at hand seemed to be able to predict every single of his attack.
"Ara, what's wrong, shinigami-trainee-san? Tired, eh?" Ichimaru chuckled, dragging along the tip of the blade of his personal dagger along the orange-haired shinigami-trainee's arm. A fine line of crimson followed the path of the blade before it branched out like rivers of the main river. "Ya must be wonderin' what we must 'ave done ta' ya precious koushi-han."
Ichigo swore under his breath while he dodged the arrowheads aimed by the tanned guy with sunglasses (that made him look a bit like Renji), but it had been a mistake on his part; what welcomed him next was the rain of stalagmites which ripped the back of his shinigami training school uniform and shredded his sleeves into nothing, leaving the wearer at a horrifying disadvantage. Even then, he had doubts about their attack patterns; there had to be a way he could squeeze the answer out of them and escape without having the need to lose the part of the cloth covering his problem area.
He skied across the room, grabbed the unlit torch hung at the side of where the door used to stand, and made a small u-turn, moving against the law of gravity while sticking the end of the torch out. Beneath him just had to be the creepy smiling guy bringing his little but helluva painful dagger up in the air, waving it around continuously as if awaiting to give his stomach a nice, warm hug. Yeah right, like he wanted that in the first place.
Closing his eyes shut, he visualized the two possible outcomes of his actions; one of which had him ecstatic while stabbing the bastards with the torch like some madman on the loose, but not knowing where to head from there since he could get no information from the dead guys (he was just that happy to be able to kill them); another which wasn't exactly what one would call a pleasant experience, or the ending to the fairy tale age he was living in right then. Not like the fox-like guy stab him, have all the arrowheads and stalagmites kissing his body, and start foaming at the mouth while lying on a puddle of his own blood, and then pass that off as the perfect ending to this (retarded) tale. Oh yeah, nice. He was all ready to let that intent to kill burn to five hundred degrees C and stab just about anyone who said 'happily ever after' in front of his face while giving him a gay smile.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
…Speaking of burn, what was this searing sensation in his palms? His wounds caused by that ridiculously short butter knife-like thing? Hmm…well, chances of those hurting were as close to nil. Not like he was bleeding excessively from such small slits anyway. So if it hadn't been the wounds at fault, then how could one explain why he felt like he was holding onto something like a ball of fire burning through his skin? And what were these…horrid screeches ringing in his ears that pierced through the air like the dagger the albino wielded?
An eyelid fluttered open, followed by another. He watched, and stared. It wasn't a ball of fire in his hands; just the same old wooden torch which seemed like a lame excuse for a weapon he grabbed out of his rashness. But three bodies had been sprawled out on the floor, hands to their throats and fingers pressed against the back of their necks; lips dyeing a deep violet hue with a taint of black, and white bubbles flowing out of the edges of those sickening lips of theirs, staining the charred grounds with small patches of white. Ichigo grabbed his chest; the sight, although enlightening to one's soul, was, plainly speaking, horrifying to anyone who had never seen the outcomes of literally setting someone's body on fire.
Despite the fact that their bodies were not charred to the bones, he could tell from personal experience that the burns they were suffering from was the third degree burn, their clothes burned to crisp and parts of their bodies to spots of black. Haemorrhaging of the soles of their feet and, for a few, from where their temples began, as well as the lack of oxygen they were receiving, told him that the burns had already been slightly infected with the dirt present in the smoke. Why he was not being affected, he hadn't a clue, but he had to get those guys – one of those guys, at least – to talk. The one lying the furthest from the rest had been the weird sunglasses dude near the parts of the broken door, and that had been the one he sought.
He tilted the quiet man's head; slight bleeding from the head, most likely due to a concussion. The trainee smudged the blood away from the door and from the casualty's eyes, only to have his wrist tightened by someone's grasp. "…You stop…doing injustice to…the people of this country…" Ichigo blinked confusedly, but ignored the man's words and took them as crap, resuming the wiping of blood. "You do not…need to tend to me…I do not…allow sinners…to wipe the eyes that…see nothing but…the path of justice…"
"…Is that a metaphor or something?"
Ichigo was ignored.
"The prince you are looking for…I will not reveal his…location…" Tousen gasped out, slapping the hand away from his face after a few attempts at swatting at the smoke. "The one who…taught me the ways of justice…had already taken…him to somewhere…where people like you who do…not walk down the path of justice…can never find…"
Ichigo snarled at the dying man, "If you don't tell me where the hell Toushirou is, then I'll leave you here to die."
"Then…so be it…Being able to serve…the man of justice…had been a great honour…to me…" And with the last consonant spoken, at barely above a hushed whisper, Tousen's head hung limply to his side, a crimson fluid trickling from the mouth which spoke of nothing but justice. The orange-haired trainee stared before closing his eyes. He stood with his feet situated firmly to the blackened ground, eyed the two men who had been burned beyond survival, and turned away, pushing the soles of his feet as he made his trip back to the earth below; the tears of heaven were still pouring down mercilessly.
--Scroll 09--
Far from anywhere, he said. Far from the people who were looking for him, he said.
So had the world he had been taken to been originally filled with darkness? Upon his awakening, he remembered, there was barely even the slightest flicker of light he could catch with his vision. Have I gone blind, he wondered to himself while he wandered about in the blackness; there was no definite ground, no definite air. He hadn't the slightest hint of where he was going; it was something within him, which had somehow been triggered upon his awakening in this strange new world, which was leading him towards wherever it intended to bring him to. He had to oblige. For some reason that he himself couldn't explain, he had to. It was like a force was acting on him, telling him that this was where he should be going if he wanted to be let out of his cage and have a taste of the bright world outside.
He had his doubts, of course, of whether he was truly awake or if he was still in his dream – or nightmare. From where, in his recollections, that he had been stopped off, he was in a world of not black, but of white. Pure white descending from the clouds of equal whiteness in the blanket dyed ice blue, gently melting in his hands as he reached out to hold it; a muffler reaching out to pull him by the shoulder, a voice telling him to stop whatever he was doing before fine, dainty lips curled to a faint smile; a distant roar acting as the true mystery of the white world, as well as a nasty awakening. But throughout it all, he had agreed to doing whatever the voices and roars were instructing him to do.
And yet, the roar was telling him, it would not be wise to carry on any further. But his legs wouldn't seem to listen to his heart. A harsh energy forcing him to continue walking was acting as if it was pressing against his entire being, manipulating him to do its bidding until it wanted to stop. It didn't seem like the force was about to stop until it would be able to force him to wherever it wanted him to head towards. At once a ray of light beamed through the shadows; he narrowed his eyes, but did nothing else. The presence was still egging him on, a voice belonging to neither the voice in his dreams nor the roar in the distance telling him to grab at the light, and should he fail to never stop, and continue grabbing for it. Against that voice had been the roar which was soon overpowered, and he knew that he, too, would be overwhelmed by the influence of whatever was behind him.
The young prince bit his lip; he didn't know darkness could hurt.
A/N: And this is the climax of the story. From here on, there wouldn't be as much humour as before, but I'll try to squeeze some in like what I did in this chapter (this chapter wasn't even supposed to be funny). As you can see, this story isn't some ordinary oh-i-am-the-wondrous-knight-who-will-save-the-trapped-princess kinda thing; it's got some fantasy added to the concoction. Ahh. But the most interesting part has yet to come. -smirks at thought-
Next chapter: With three of the captains dead by Ichigo's mysterious flames, Ichigo is branded as a murderer and treated like a fugitive. Ukitake sneaks out of the palace in order to see the homeless adolescent, agreeing to help find out what exactly is wrong with him. And on his way back to the palace…he sees his son lying in the middle of road, unconscious…and horrifically injured beyond restoration. Just who is this cold-blooded man out to assassinate the young prince?