Howdy! Work on the story is still going on, but at random intervals and slowly. However, thanks to a recent unit on Psychopathy in one of my courses, I was able to find the inspiration to work out a kink that's been holding this chapter up for a while.

Unfortunately, I have three research papers at the same time this semester, so I can guarantee this will be the last update for a while, since most of it was already written, and I refuse to post if I have less than 15 pages worth of material for a given chapter.

Additionally, I have begun to design and work on the shikai and Bankai for Nemu, and the bankai for other lieutenants as well. However, because I don't know Japanese nor their grammar structure (and don't get me started on the kanji), things are going very slowly. If there's anyone who reads this who would be willing to simply check my grammar and word usage, I would be very appreciative.

That said, here it is.

-W

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The trio stopped at the rail of the balcony, looking down into the gardened courtyard that made the 1st Division barracks, enjoying the quiet of the fountains. None of the other Lieutenants were in sight, choosing (wisely) to vanish from the General's location given his cranky mood. Silence reigned for a time.

"That was somewhat faster than I anticipated." Iba shifted his arms into his sleeves.

"It would appear so. Nonetheless, I am happy for Renji-kun." Kira actually smiled.

"Never really figured he'd be the first of us to get it." Iba started to scratch his stomach, as he was prone to do when thinking. Shuuhei crossed his arms, not feeling particularly peaceful, given that he had been forced to air his dirty laundry in front of his friends and superiors.

They were still for a moment, black statues above the quiet tittering of the fountains. He felt Iba's gaze turn to him from behind those damned shades, but kept his focus on the many fountains below.

"So . . . I would imagine my friend's Zanpakuto trying to kill him every month since before I met him something worth sharing, right Kira?" Hisagi glared at the Yakuza-wannabe from the corner of his eye.

"Mine didn't begin to start actually trying to kill me until I started giving Isane more attention than her. Yours has always tried to kill you, and we had to pry every fact about it out of you, Iba. Mind your damn tongue, hypocrite."

Just a reminder, Shu, dear: You have to call her Kotetsu-Fukutaicho from know on. He could practically hear her turn her nose up.

Kotetsu.

Kotetsu-Fukutaicho.

Kotetsu.

Kotetsu-san.

Kotetsu, and I won't use –chan.

. . . Fine, you have a deal. Better honor it, though. And the earlier one, too!

You did your part, I will do mine. Not now though; tonight. Be patient.

"Maybe so, but even then, mine hasn't repeatedly put me in the 4th division every month just for shits an' giggles." Kira looked out over the courtyard once more, his arm coming to rest on the pommel of his blade, his obi shifting with the weight.

"We all keep secrets, Iba-kun. I think Hisagi-kun is more embarrassed over the fact that he had to explain before everyone why his relationship with Isane-san has failed when he couldn't bring himself to discuss it before." Hisagi's glare turned on Kira.

"Gee, thanks Izuru. I really appreciate you rubbing it in; it does absolute wonders for my temperament. Have I mentioned lately how much I admire your incredible sense of tact?" Kira grinned slyly and shared a look with Iba.

"Well, I only mentioned it so I could ask why you wouldn't look at Kotetsu-Fukutaicho during your dressing down. It was like something out of Hinamori-kun's soap operas, except I was actually breathless in anticipation. Her reactions to your words, what you yourself said- it was like watching a tragic play. I half expected her to shout out your name in sympathy, have you turn around, do the same, throw yourselves at each other, and get busy in the middle of the room while a romantic strings piece came to a crescendo in the background." The romanticism of Kira Izuru, everyone.

Iba's snide remark over Kira's choice of words was lost to him as his attention was suddenly – and a bit violently - forced elsewhere.

Don't ask Shuuhei. Please, don't ask. It will waver your resolve, and then we will be right back where we started, and all of our progress today will be lost. Please, Shu. Please, don't ask. Maybe later, but please, please, not now, not when we've just started to cooperate. Her voice became smaller, like a little girl begging her parents to stop fighting, but afraid to do so.

Please, Shuuhei, I couldn't stand it if we started to fix things only to be dropped again. It would kill me, Shu. Please don't ask. Please?Please! He looked at the other two, watching him for a reaction; He took a deep breath; the frantic desperation and fear coming from her in waves left him no choice – which was probably for the best, really.

"If either of you so much as hints at what she was looking like, doing, or likely thinking, then any hope I have of making progress with Kazeshini will be lost, possibly forever." Kira and Iba's faces went wide with shock and horror, sharing a quick glance before looking back to him, solemn.

They nodded, and he felt a wave of appreciation, tinted with non-violent affection (a phenomenon only twice previously experienced), course through him from his blade. He ignored the tremble that seemed to have a hold over her at the moment, and decided to overlook the fact that she actually begged him for something.

"You won't hear nothin' from us, Hisagi." He nodded and stretched, eyeing the courtyard and the blood-red setting sun.

How fortunate he didn't put stock in omens.

"I have to go to the market and pickup a polishing cloth before they close. I'll see you two tomorrow sometime, alright?" They grunted an affirmation, and with a burst of shunpo, he was gone. Iba looked to the west, where Hisagi's reiatsu was rapidly heading.

"Ya know, back in th' academy, my favorite stories were th' ones where th' hero lost the girl, his home, his family, his status, and everythin' else for th' sake of his honor." He heard Kira turn to look at him, and he met his gaze. "But now that I see it goin' on in front of my own two eyes, I can't think of a story I hate more." Kira nodded grimly.

"Well, at least in this story, the friends are there. The sidekicks may die in most stories, but then again, in most stories, the sidekicks are weak, aren't they?" Kira's smile was both grim and violent, one he wore only in a fight, if ever. Iba returned it.

"Very true, Kira. Very true."

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Oo~oh yes! Harder, Shuuhei, harder! Oh, faster, you magnificent bastard, faster! YES!

Shuuhei Hisagi was very uncomfortable, at the moment, and feeling more than a little bit dirty.

As he had promised, he had bought a nice, new polishing rag and a ridiculously expensive polish, along with a treating compound. He was presently in the tiny study of his suite in the small home provided and attached to the 9th Division barracks where no one would see him. True to his word, he had removed Kazeshini and polished her, treated her, and shined her.

After this, he had cut his thumb, and at her request, was rubbing his blood into the blade, which, disturbingly enough, seemed to shine even brighter as it absorbed the crimson fluid into itself.

The purring and appreciative humming she had made during her polishing and treatment he was able to tolerate. The ecstatic moans she made when he bled on her and rubbed it in . . . not nearly as much.

No, forget dirty. Filthy. That was a much better word.

"Would you please stop that? It's not possible for you to enjoy this that much."

Shu~kun, I was only partially there for all your late night romps and rendezvous' with Kanisawa-chan. This . . . is pure ecstasy. Let me enjoy it, boy; you've had your fun without my interference, now let me have mine! His hands stilled, and he ignored her whine of disapproval, weakened by her panting and mewling.

"You . . . you were . . . there?" Oh merciful gods above, please, no . . .

Oh, I wasn't there when you were putting your back into it, Shu. More like a hazy dream than anything else. She giggled. After all the shit I gave you over Kotetsu, you don't think it odd that I never once mocked you about being a virgin? Tsk, tsk, Shu~kun.

She paused, thinking, then resumed moaning as he put more blood into his sweeps of her length, if only to not think about the fact that he was essentially masturbating his weapon, or the suddenly morose mood that struck him inexplicably. Stupid word of honor . . .

You shouldn't grieve for her, anymore, Shu. She loved you, and died to save you. You realize that, yes? Mmmm, yes . . . She had to choose, in an instant, whether to protect Aoga or you. She picked you without hesitation, and that is why the hollow killed her and not you. Not once in all your romps did I ever interfere, because I could tell, Shuuhei. She loved you, and you know what else? She heard me before you did. She spoke to me, talked to me.

Shuuhei stilled at that; speaking to the Zanpakuto of another was the second-most intimate thing one shinigami could do to another, and it was either a sign of utter dedication or utter betrayal to do so without the owner's permission.

He would save the consideration that she knew his emotions better than he did for later – and preferably, never.

"What . . ." He swallowed slowly and began to move his thumb once more, squeezing it to keep the cut from clotting. Minutes passed as she purred, mewed, groaned, and moaned in his hands, his mind distracted sufficiently to ignore the sounds. "What about?"

Mostly asking me to be strong, keep you strong. Protect you, keep you grounded. Most importantly, if she died, to make sure her replacement was worthy. Aching longing, sorrow, and anger suddenly erupted in his gut, each fighting to become dominant.

I told her she wouldn't – Oh, oh right there, lower, yes THERE, yes, oh that's it –she wouldn't have survived her first night with you if I hadn't approved of your choice. She was silent for a time, save for her humming appreciation. As he held her aloft, and saw no blemishes on her, he sheathed her and returned her to his belt. Kazeshini gave off an odd vibe, pondering something as he put the materials away. When she eventually spoke, her voice was quiet, soft, and as calm as she ever was.

It is time, Shuuhei. Place your emotions for her to rest, just like with Kanisawa. It must be done if we are to fight Captains, succeed, and stand a chance at Bankai.

He rose from his seat and made his way around the desk, moving a set of books to reveal a depression underneath. He pulled out a beautiful mahogany box, and entered the combination.

It was small, and so were its contents: his two failed entrance exam results to the Academy, the first paycheck he had received from the 9th division, and the choker that Kanisawa had bought for him after their second date. He took each object out, admired them silently, and then, after he was done looking, placed them back in the box.

Take your time, Shu. Do it right.

Gently, his fingers rose to the well-worn choker on his neck and undid it. He turned it in his hands, looking at it, admiring the feel, remembering the blush on Isane's face when she presented it to him.

He thought of the teasing she received when he showed up to the Lieutenant's meeting ten minutes after she gave it to him, wearing it like it had always been there. Their dates, their conversations, her nightmares, their frenzied lip wrestling in the infamous 4th Division linen closet; their fights. He sighed, turning it around again in his hands.

They were over now; the final break was clean, and it occurred to him – in the distant corner of his mind that was prone to pondering - that perhaps he would eventually overcome this one, since she was still alive. He would not mind the scar this one would leave, though it left him feeling hollow. He fought down the surge of regret on how they ended, the wave of desire he felt at the thought of her, and the fear that things were broken forever.

The last was easiest to fight down: one should not fear what is certain, nor what is already done. Even a battlefield can be left behind, if you walk far enough. Pain? Take it like a man and walk it off. Weakness is a sin to be left behind closed doors in the shower and still, lonely moments when there's no alcohol to be had.

A weak warrior is a dead warrior; that much they had learned in the academy and from Aizen just days before. It occurred to him that if it were not for his earlier friendship with Yumichika, he would have died on the roof where they had fought as his Captain turned traitor. There was a lesson there, but his mind was wandering from the task at hand.

With a quick, gentle kiss to the item, he placed it in the box, locked it, and replaced it and the books without any more hesitation. The task complete, he reached into his desk and pulled out one of the armbands he had Akon make for him.

Lengthening it, he placed it around his neck. Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the office to work on a little left over paperwork. Taking a seat, he got to work on a tiny little stack, and just as he finished it, she spoke again. Her tone was that of a woman ready to start an argument but hoping to avoid it. He was not encouraged by this.

Does this mean you are willing to give me your undivided attention until we reach our goal? Hmm, right answer, or obviously wrong answer?

Perhaps.

No Kotetsu, no drinking, no Men's Association, no Seireitei Times, and no damn paperwork? Just you, me, our opponent, and their blood?

There is ALWAYS time for drinking. A brief pause followed.

Do I have to strike to kill every time? He felt her hold back a sigh.

Yes. Yes you do. I cannot give everything away, for you will one day still have to master me, but I will tell you the first secret. The first secret is: Death is the last and most poignant form of artistic expression in the world. Animals, plants, even, in a way, inanimate objects are capable of inflicting death in multiple ways. A new picture from the same materials, no two completely and exactly alike, if only for the blood-spatter's unique pattern. This is art, is it not?

That is easily the most disturbing metaphor I have ever heard. She laughed.

That's irrelevant. You will be fighting Captains from here on out, and some of them, like Soi Fon or Kuchiki, will do their best to kill you because they see you as a loose end that needs tying up. They are strong enough that any of my killing blows will incapacitate, not kill them. This is good, because you still have this weird conscientiousness thing you have to get over. Again, for now, just use my shikai from the start, and just try to hurt them. It will be enough. In the future, we will discuss trusting me, but we need to get the baby steps down first.

The talking stopped there, and she was silent for the remainder of the evening as he thought things over, and prepared for bed.

When he finally did get to bed that night, he missed Kanisawa more than he ever had before. Aoga, a bit, too, despite the fact that the jealous bastard spent weeks trying to come between Kanisawa and himself. With a sigh, he banished all though of her smiling face and Aoga's ugly one, and let sleep take him, the winds in his minds' eye whispering of change, promise . . . and carnage.

If Kazeshini knew his dreams were of Isane and himself, she gave no indication in the morning.

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"You have GOT to be shitting me! A weeklong disappearance and you show up covered in tattoos? I knew things were hittin' ya hard, Shu', but gods above and below, what the fuck is that?" Hisagi just glared at Ikkaku and Ayasegawa.

"Training." He spat acerbically, moving past them down the street towards the market district.

His initial reaction to Kazeshini's second demand had been similar. More tattoos? The first two hurt enough, thank you. Of course, when she reminded him the other two were there to honor his home district and to honor his lost subordinates, he really didn't have an option to not honor her.

So he filled out a report and sent it to the old man for a weeklong vacation – paid, of course, given that it was work oriented. It took 14 god-damned hours of arguing, but he had won it.

So he had gone to the man who had done his earlier tats and explained it: two Kusarigama with blades crossed on his shoulders, chains going down his arms, around his wrists, and crossing back up around his neck and shoulders before joining the hilts of the weapons he hoped to not become famous for. Add a week to allow the work to be done, and the artist had been shocked, to say the least.

But if there was one thing Hisagi knew how to do, it was stand silently, aggressively, and look scary as hell; and so, in six days, he had it drawn and inked and colored. Oh, the man had warned him of too much toxicity, the danger of too much ink too fast, that such a tat would be permanent well into unlife.

He told the man he would pay him a little extra if he shut up about it, mo-ricky-tic.

True to form, they were quite a sight to behold; the very likeness of his shikai, colored and pressed into his back for all to see, and red in irritation like it was going out of style.

It was hard not to gloat that he got the Division to cover the expense for it, but he managed.

"Now Ikkaku, if Hisagi-kun wants to make himself out like a tomato, who are we to judge? After all, tattoos are unseemly, and he was obviously too far gone with the scars and other ink, so why not indulge a little, ne?"

He ignored Ikkaku's chuckling and continued on his way to his favorite noodle shop. They were fast, blunt to the point of offensive, and didn't dick around when you placed your order. Piss them off, and they'd throw your food at you when it was done.

If he could get his squad half like them, he would be in great shape.

Of course, the two idiots followed him inside to continue their merry game. He ignored them for the most part, until he felt the flicker of Kira's reiatsu – panicked and beaten, from the feel of it – briefly pass by. He turned to look at the other two, who had stopped to sense it as well.

"Either of you know what the hell's going on with Kira?" They shared a grin before Yumichika went into gossip mode, and Shuuhei readied himself to leave if the man forgot when to stop.

"Well, you wouldn't have known it, since you took a week off to accessorize, but the General started Kira-kun's training the second day you were gone. Soi Fon Taicho ambushes him at some point in the day and doesn't stop until he's a beaten, crippled mess. Kira makes his way to the 4th division – usually someone who finds him lying broken in the street - where the tenth through twentieth seats all work on him to get him in shape before the process starts over a few hours later."

Hisagi winced – he knew Kira was tough and could take a helluva lot, despite being originally placed in the 4th, but Soi Fon had this thing about men, and-

She's not a lesbian.

What?

She's not a lesbian. Yes, men piss her off, but so did that Yoruwhatsherface. Her idol ditched her, and now she's just one of two female captains. She feels pissed, alone, and threatened.

"In any case, Kira-kun's been running all over the Seireitei trying to give himself space to maneuver. Soi Fon taicho is a master at keeping her reiatsu hidden, so she just beats the crap out of him all day."

"More like beatin' the fuck out of'm, really." Ayasegawa glared at Ikkaku for interrupting his story.

"Such ugly language, Ikkaku, I really don't kn-aah!' In mid spat, the trio ducked as Kira's body flew through the wall behind them across the room over their heads and through the wall separating the main room from the kitchens, accompanied by the sounds of crashing pots, spilled water, enriched flames, and more than a few screams. Hisagi rushed over to the hole in the wall and looked in.

Cooks were running everywhere trying to put out several kitchen fires that had broken out, while Kira was crawling underfoot, drenched in boiling water and noodles. Hisagi hopped the counter and made his way into the steamy, heated room, pulling Kira up and out of the way of the enraged cooks, ignoring the puddles of boiling water and the painful steam encompassing the room.

"Thanks." Hisagi brushed the noodles off Kira as Yumi and Ikkaku peered through the hole.

"You don't look so good, Kira-kun. Rough day?" Kira snorted, and stood upright, his right arm close to his body.

"You could say -oof!" He was interrupted mid-sentence by the sudden appearance of Soi Fon Taicho, who promptly sucker punched him in the gut twice and the chin once before using a roundhouse kick to expedite his departure through a new hole in the back of the kitchen. In another flash of shunpo, she was gone; Shuuhei felt nothing more than the breeze made from her blows, standing only six inches away.

On second thought, let's wait a bit before we fuck her up, shall we?

Agreed.

"Should we . . . I dunno, help him?" Yumi shook his head.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ikkaku. General's orders say no one is allowed to help him until Soi Fon Taicho's done beating him senseless."

"Number seven, no soy sauce, extra ginger! UUUUUUUP!" The angry ring of a bell sounded, and Hisagi moved back out to the front and paid before waving goodbye and returning to his office, the manager's angry shouts at the idiot pair ringing like music in his ears.

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He'd been at the paperwork for a little over four hours before his door opened and Iba let himself in, plopping down in the seat across from him and learning back, the small chair creaking under his large frame as the arms disappeared beneath his sleeves.

"Hear ya' saw Kira's training today."

"Mm." Hisagi finished the page he was on and moved onto the next, not looking up.

"Hear ya got another tat'." Hisagi got out his stamp with his name and position on it – a gift from Rangiku's 23rd trip to Karakura – and began to furiously stamp the appropriate signatures for the next month's Mess Hall budget.

He was not happy; they were going to have to switch to Ramen instead of Udon for the next month to stay within the budget. Damned bunch of pansy-ass-

"Oi, Hisagi, I'm talking' to ya, ya ass!" Iba promptly used a free paperweight from Hisagi's desk to clock him in the chest. It bounced off onto the floor somewhere, and Hisagi spared him a glance.

"I need to make these reports on time, Iba. I'm listening." Iba grunted, mollified, and leaned back into the chair again.

"So, Soi Fon Taicho's been whuppin' Kira's ass every day all over the Seireitei. First two days, Yumi an' 'Kakku, then me, then Renji, then me, then Renji, an' today's me too, but you're helpin', from here on. Next week, its' me, you, me, you, an' Renji gets Saturday. Then it's you, Renji, you, Renji, an' I get Saturday."

"And we're responsible for getting him to the 4th on those days?" Iba nodded grimly.

"Yeah, an' you have to watch his reiatsu, too. Twice already, Fon Taicho's left him half dead in a ditch."

What a cu-

Don't. Don't even think it. She huffed. Hisagi ignored her and reached out; it'd been hours since he saw Kira getting the shit kicked out of him, and it was pretty late.

He frowned, and reached out further. Still nothing.

So he focused harder, and stretched out further. Still nothing. That was bad.

He reached out once more, pushing his senses.

Found him. Rukongai, 104th district. And he's not alone. Hisagi's eyes shot open and he grabbed Kazeshini before running out of the room, Iba shouting in alarm and taking off after him. He had gone several hundred feet in just a few shunpo before Iba caught up and shouted at him.

"Where the fuck we goin' in such a hurry?" Hisagi eyed him, not bothering to hide his fury.

"Kira's dying. I felt Hollows."

Iba didn't complain when he picked up the pace.

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Get up.

…Multiple compound fractures of the left…left…. Oh fuckitall… the whatsit...tibia! Yes, the tibia. Internal bleeding in one, possibly both kidneys; high probability of rupture….

Get up.

…Four fractured ribs causing internal bleeding of the lower left lung…

Get up.

…Five broken ribs on the right…

Get up, Kira.

…One pressing uncomfortably on the diaphragm, making breathing difficult; mind possibility of puncture, which would make breathing impossible…

Get up.

…Damage to the brain causes swelling, which can lead to a concussion, coma, or possible loss of memory or mental faculties. Damage to the occipital lobe would be fatal if delivered through the brainstem; loss of sight…

Get up. Die on your feet if you must die, but GET UP, KIRA!

…Loss of sight in left eye likely a result of implosion due to force and traumatic damage to fovea; lack of profuse bleeding indicates the optic nerve has not been damaged nor removed from the socket…..

Die like a man, Kira. Get up.

Shattered kneecaps are difficult to treat as they have no direct blood flow, and cartilage does not renew between the patella and the…the…..scapula?...

GET UP, KIRA! THE ENEMY APPROACHES!

Making no noise besides the wet, sloshing sounds of his shattered, broken body as it adjusted to the shifting weight, Kira Izuru forced his still functioning right hand into the ground, heaving himself up and onto his broken right foot as best he could with a dislocated shoulder.

The shattered bone in his left leg and knee would have made him cry out, had he the breath to do so. He did not, so his breath - short, haggard, and wet – merely hitched.

As it was, there was simply the wet pattering of blood upon the dirt path that passed as a road this far out in the Rukongai, and the light chink of the tsuba as his one good hand attached to his horribly bruised and dislocated arm held itself relatively steady, Wabisuke's deadly curved hook glinting in the moonlight.

Much better… for a limp-wristed pansy.

Had his mental acuity not been so badly affected by the three fractures in his cranium, Kira would have found pride in the knowledge that Soi Fon Taicho had been forced to seek the 4th division Captain to regain use of her right arm; such progress in a mere week was substantial.

For the moment, however, he reacted to the gash opening on his lower left side by rolling with the blow, forcing himself to land almost on his neck, but with enough twist to land hard on his dislocated shoulder, jarring the bone back into place with an audible crack.

Swinging Wabisuke to the right as he rolled backwards, he caught the Hollow in the shin, spraying blood into the puddle he had already left. It howled, and died on the reverse stroke he made as he used the momentum to turn and block the fangs of another Hollow. He couldn't make out the shape and since something was wrong with his head, a headbutt was out so…..

"Hadō number eleven: Tsuzuri Raiden." Electricity coursed through his blade and into the beast's teeth, forcing it to throw Kira and his blade through a building further down the street, wood and splinters flying about as a cloud of dust obscured the moonlight.

To Kira, he may as well have had Komamura Taicho use his Bankai to pop him in the head. He was paralyzed; the agony was unlike anything he had ever felt, and a part of his mind distractedly noticed that such a level of pain should have forced unconsciousness by now, but at least he wasn't screaming. But why was he still conscious…?

I cannot allow that. You must heed my words, and die fighting, Pain is necessary. Get up.

Kira would have made a mental note to tell Unohana Taicho how a Zanpakuto could force their bearer to remain conscious in case of extreme trauma, but the Hollow about to crush him underfoot took precedence. No way he was getting up that quick, and no footing for shunpo…..

"Hadō fiftyeight: Tenran." A massive conical gust of wind threw the Hollow – and others, from the sound of it – with the rest of the building. Kira rolled to his feet and swung on instinct; his blade struck true through a mask but another blow sent him flying down the street.

He bounced thrice, each hit jarring him from toe to head and back, leaving him propped on his half-good leg, hunched over somewhere in the street; all the dust and blood made the double vision worse to see through.

A Hollow struck at him from the right and he blocked it with his blade, flicking his wrist repeatedly, tapping the flat of the blade against the beast's teeth once, twice, a third time; the effect activated and the Hollow shrieked, falling into the earth hard, unable to lift its head. He finished it with a weak blow, before swinging low and to the right to block the blow from a tail that had penetrated his guard.

He missed.

The strike landed against his shattered ribs and fully punctured his diaphragm, making breathing impossible as he felt his body fly through the night air as though by shunpo.

It was a pitiful death, and futile rage flashed through him even as his heart quailed at the thought of such a meaningless end, waiting for the hard impact his head would soon make with the ground.

Hands caught him and the landing was ridiculously softer than it should have been. He heard a voice, but as though from far away, and with an odd strain in it that Kira hadn't heard before.

"I gotcha, Kira. Hang in there, buddy. I gotcha, you're gonna be okay. Hang in there, alright?"

Hehehe….what kind of asshole wore sunglasses in the moonlight? Hehehehe…

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Tetsuzaemon Iba was no stranger to shame, or fear, or sadness. Anger, bitterness, disappointment, and melancholy were old friends to him.

So the rage coursing through his veins and distancing him from Kagekoroshiya's voice was off-putting only in that he was not nearly as familiar with it.

More than a hundred Hollows had been in the area, and Kira's last blast had taken about a dozen of them out; the streets were lined with smashed debris around a massive pile of blood that had heavy traces of Kira's reiatsu around it. He hadn't expected to have to catch the poor bastard, or that he'd have three cracks in the skull and feel like everything was broken.

The bloody eye socket was a little nauseating though; and the rage was starting to pound against his skull as the Hollows surrounded them quickly, Hisagi seemingly in a trance. Kira tried to speak, but aside from an attempt to move his glazing eyes, no sound came from him, no rise and fall of his chest – though the hole in his stomach might have something to do with it. Tetsuzaemon felt fear climb its way up to coil around his throat, but his mind pushed the blame and recriminations away.

"Hisagi, he's dyin' on us." They were surrounded by close to a hundred Hollows strong enough to keep pace with a Lieutenant. Iba could get away; it was night, and he knew how to utilize his shikai to its fullest. Hisagi, though….

"Go. Come back when you can." Iba grunted and activated his shikai without a second of hesitation, melting into the shadows cast by the buildings before racing along the inky black of night for the 4th division grounds and Unohana Taicho's reiatsu with all the speed he could muster.

Shuuhei didn't need to watch Iba as he retreated with their fallen friend; his reiatsu showed his determination to get Kira to the 4th as easily as it told of his fear and rage.

Will he live?

…

Kazeshini, will he live? He felt rage begin to pool within her, tight, controlled, coiled, and ready for directed release, a far cry from the wild strain for chaotic destruction she usually preferred.

I cannot hear Wabisuke; He is lost to me. I imagine Kira-kun shan't be far behind.

He gripped her handle tightly as the hollows began to circle around him, as though they could prevent his escape with their sluggish movements.

Shuuhei, we are not Kenpachi. We will not use our rage to thrash and wail about.

No?

No. We could, were we so inclined, but directed rage communicates hate much better. Use me, Shuuhei. Strike them without mercy. Use every blow to maim, to slay, to let them reap what they have sown. Hurt them, Shuuhei. Make them bleed.

He took a deep breath, and blinked slowly; when his lids came up again, there was nothing but death in his eyes.

I am useless without you, Shuuhei. Release me on our enemies. Avenge Kira. Show them your strength. Use me, Shuuhei.

"Reap, Kazeshini." His hands were both full, and her blades gleamed with unrestrained menace as the hollows cried out and began their attack.

Combat and Death are forms of art, Shuuhei. Show me your artistry.

He smiled, and let the blood flow.

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