AN: well, this only took forever to write... Sorry about that, I had most of the chapter written earlier last week, but had to leave to visit family for several days. Needless to say, I didn't get much written while there.
Anyway. (those of you who celebrate it) how was everyone's thanksgiving? Glad to have the brake?
On to the chapter! Enjoy~
"Shiro?"
"Yeah, King?" Pale brows drew together at the strained sound of his copy's voice.
"Why...Why don't you hate me?"
••••••
Panting, Starrk hovered over the body of another wolf as blood pooled below it's limp form, seeping from a dozen wounds caused by teeth and claws. Limbs quivering slightly from exertion, the Alpha male stepped around the corpse of what used to be one of his Pack members. That was the third so far today.
It had been several days since he had chased the traitorous male out of his midst and he was still working on weeding out the rest of those unworthy of his trust. He had known more blood would be shed. The Pack numbers had thinned to a lower count than what had been seen in decades. A few members had fled the den through out the past few days, slipping out once they realized what was happening and not wanting to be caught by Starrk or his chosen enforcers. Others had dared stand up to the Alpha as he purged his ranks. Those few daring wolves didn't last long.
Starrk was not weak. There was a reason he was Alpha, a reason his Pack needed reminded of. He had had enough. No longer was he going to sit by idly and watch the Pack slip through his fingers. He would put any wolf; male or female, original or not, in their place. It was up to them weather they died by his hands or walked away from the encounter. And when he was satisfied that his Pack was truly his again, he could begin rebuilding.
The werewolf Alpha made his way to the entrance of the den and stopped just past the tree line. Taking a deep breath, Starrk closed his eyes and blew out a heavy sigh as he dropped down to sit on a fallen log.
The rain had finally let off and though the air was cool, it was crisp and fresh and smelled earthy and clean. An ever so small smirk flashed briefly across his features when the wind shifted slightly, sending him the scent of his ever present shadow.
When he had asked his second to give him some alone time, he knew it would only be an illusion. The wolf would never leave his side, especially not in rough times like these, when he could actually be in danger. Nnoitra seemed to take canine loyalty to an extreme sometimes, but then, that's what made him perfect for the place as second in command.
"Nnoi" His deep baritone carried on the wind, soft and quiet but with all the command and power one would expect of a werewolf in his position. "There's another in the corridor, mind cleaning up for me?"
A quiet, growled "Tch" was his only reply, but he knew Nnoitra would get the job done. Even if all he did was get some lower ranking member to clean up the Alpha's kill, he would still make sure the body was properly disposed of one way or another.
A different wolf loyal to Starrk was looking after Lilynette while he took care of business. The young she-wolf was behaving impeccably well, much to her older sibling's surprise. Starrk couldn't help but wonder if she was plotting something, but he quickly halted that line of thinking and went back to enjoying the calm of the air around him. It may be his only chance at that for a while, Pack life was anything but calm at the moment.
"Starrk, sir"
The Alpha let out a deep, tired sigh and opened his eyes to look at the wolf standing before him. It was a she-wolf he had placed around the perimeter of the den. Her job, along with a small group of others Starrk knew to be loyal to him, was to scout the territory and keep watch for any signs of trouble.
"Yes?" Starrk asked, standing from the fallen log. So much for his moment of calm.
"The traitor has been spotted. He lives still."
"Where?" He asked the she-wolf scout.
"He's been seen nearer the villages. It seems he may be gathering strays." The scout reported, eyes loyally averted as she stood at attention before her leader.
Starrk's brows drew together in a scowl. It would appear the old male wished to take his rivalry to a new level. The Alpha turned to head back toward the den entrance, leaving the scout to be dismissed and go back to her job without a word.
"Uhh, sir..." The scout called hesitantly. She waited for the Pack leader to halt and face her before continuing. "Myself and a couple others have been trying to decide what he could be up to..."
"And?" Starrk's deep baritone came out almost as a growl.
The she-wolf straightened and her eyes widened slightly at the defensive anger radiating from her normally calm Alpha. "We could only come up with two reasons he may be gathering followers. We think he's building an army..."
Starrk's answering snarl told the scout he understood what her conclusion was. The leader turned on his heal and stormed back toward the entrance of the cave. It appeared he had been too lenient in letting the male live.
••••••
For all Ichigo had done, his beloved twin had never and would never hate him, and the Caster didn't understand. He had killed their family...their mother, father...Karin, Yuzu...he had even been the cause of Shiro's death. He hadn't understood at the time, he didn't realize what had happened. He had been blissfully ignorant of the cause and the reason.
But he knew now...had for a long time now, since they had moved out here to live away from the rest of the village. That had seemed like a life time ago, and he had hated himself for a long time too.
It was strange to think that they had only just turned twenty last week, it seemed like they were so much older than that, with all that they had been through.
"Why...Why don't you hate me?" He whispered, hardly able to force the words out as he laid his head in his twin's lap. His body shivered slightly, cold and upset, but he hardly noticed and even if he had, the stubborn man wouldn't have pulled the blankets over himself. He didn't deserve all the things he had. He didn't deserve the home he had, didn't deserve the few friends he still had, didn't deserve Grimmjow, and he especially didn't deserve Shiro.
"Ya know I'll never think bad a ya, King" Shiro whispered back, gently stroking the side of Ichigo's drawn face. He ran his fingers soothingly through orange locks and wished he knew how to make the man feel better.
The Caster didn't get like this very often anymore, but at least once a year, Ichigo would go into a deep depression at the memory of the accident. So distracted with all that had been happening around them the past few weeks, neither of the two had realized what date it was until the day had actually been upon them.
Shiro had woken up, the last to get up as usual, and wandered down stairs to find Ichigo standing in the kitchen, staring blankly at the wall with tears in his eyes. A very confused Grimmjow had been sitting silently at the table, head tilted to the side and brow scrunched as he watched the Caster. Of course, the look on Ichi's face had told Shiro all he needed to know and he had rushed to his twin, wrapping the orange head in his arms and hugging him close until the unshed tears had spilled over.
The near-albino had sent a pleading look to the werepanther and the man seemed to understand what he meant. Without a word and silent as a cat, he had nodded and stood up, leaving the two alone. Eventually, Shiro had carried Ichigo back up the stairs, where they now sat at the edge of the bed.
"It wasn't yer fault, Ichi" Shiro murmured softly, wiping a tear away from the Caster's cheek with his thumb. He pulled the navy colored sheets further over King's shivering form.
Ichigo hadn't had anyone to teach him to control or how to use his abilities. No one had seen a Caster in generations and young Ichigo was left to curiously explore his blossoming abilities on his own. It was assumed that he was just like most other Casters. It wasn't until after the accident that it was learned that Ichigo was strongest in the dark magics; the arts of Necromancy.
How he had managed to bring Shiro back was still a mystery, Ichigo was still unable to raise the dead, at least not yet, but he had brought his beloved twin back somehow. They both believed it was forced by his emotional trauma at the time. As things were, he was just more adept at dealing damage and less at healing or repairing, but most of the time Ichigo took it in stride and made it work to his liking, even if the very idea of what he could do clashed with his kind personality.
Shiro didn't remember much about the accident, he didn't remember what it was like for the few months he had been...deceased. He only vaguely remembered the weeks after he had been raised, bits and pieces came back to him every now and then, but mostly just feelings and emotions. However, he remembered enough to know that he hadn't been killed by Ichigo, he had been lost sometime in the hours following the loss of their family. He could feel it, knew it to be true. But the Caster insisted he didn't understand how he had died, only that it had been his fault and it wasn't a topic that either of them brought up very often.
"But it was Shiro..." Ichigo said, his voice strained as he pushed words past his sobs. "It was my fault, I killed them...I..."
"Shhh...s'ok, Ichi, s'ok..." Shiro hushed his distraught copy, rocking back and forth as he cradled the crying man in his lap.
"I...I couldn't control it...I didn't mean too..."
"I know...I know..." Shiro said, closing his eyes to hold back his own tears. He couldn't let Ichigo know how much it hurt him to see his copy like this, it would only upset the Caster more. "I know ya didn't..." He leaned forward and kissed away a few more tears that slid down Ichi's cheek.
Ichigo had been exploring his new found abilities unknowingly when it happened. He had been too young to understand what he was doing, or that most people couldn't do the things he could. An unfortunate coincidence had triggered his harmless play into destroying the people he loved.
It had been rather late at night, the moon high in the overcast, midnight sky. Ichigo and Shiro had been playing in the family room, their parents sitting and reading only a few feet away. The twin girls had already been in bed, just toddlers still.
A loud, insistent knock had thrummed through their family home from the front door. Surprised, their mother had stood in a rush, setting her book down and hurrying to answer the door. Shiro and Ichi's father had set his book down as well, removing his reading glasses to place them on top of it and turned toward the hall, waiting for his wife to either come back or begin speaking with their late guest. He was a doctor and it wasn't all that uncommon for people who had emergencies to call on him at odd hours.
When no sounds were heard and no one came back down the hallway, Isshin had bade his children to stay put and went to investigate.
Several seconds had gone by, the boys not hearing anything. Then their mother had screamed and something thumped heavily to the floor. The twins ran down the hall, scared and unsure what was happening. They found two men standing in the entry way, their mother laying on the ground, hand to her face and her eyes wide. Isshin was standing perfectly still, a hooded figure standing behind him, his hand to their father's head.
They hadn't known what was going on, just that their parents were in trouble and something wasn't right. Later, Ichigo would be told the two men had been trying to rob the wealthy village doctor. Ichigo, acting on instinct he hadn't even known he had, cast his still developing magic. The act knocked everyone in the room, including he and his twin, to the ground, stunned but unharmed.
The hooded man with the gun had been the first to react, panicked and not knowing which of the twin children had been the rare Caster, he had simply fired at the closest boy he could; Shiro. Ichigo, screaming as his beloved brother fell to the floor, had lost his tentative control over his casting.
By the time he had realized what was happening, he had been clutching Shiro to his small chest, begging his brother not to stop breathing like mommy and daddy.
Shiro had died a few hours later, his blood covering his brother's clothing and seeping between the cracks in the wooden floor.
He could have been saved had Ichigo known to go and get help.
Ichigo had been found the next morning, still clutching the body of his beloved twin, when Isshin failed to show up at the clinic and his assistant, Renji's mother, had come to fetch him.
"Ichi...ya know I don't blame ya fer what happened, right?" Shiro whispered softly in his distorted voice. He would always be a walking reminder of the accident, but he couldn't change that and he knew Ichigo wouldn't want to.
The Caster nodded, sniffing as a few more tears slid down the side of his face to soak into his twin's pants.
"And ya know I love ya" Shiro continued, still speaking in quiet, soothing tones. "Ya don't need ta beat yerself up anymore..." He tightened his hold on Ichigo as new sobs racked the Caster's frame. Shiro hugged his King tight to his strong chest, not allowing him to see the single tear that managed to slip past his defenses to streak down his ashen cheek.
••••••
Nose held to the sky, grey muzzle twitching as it scented the surrounding forest, the old male wolf growled low in his throat, the sound rough and scratchy. He and his small faction of strays had been treading dangerous territory for hours with no luck. The rain that had persisted through the last few days had finally died down, but it had washed away most scent trails.
"Here kitty, kitty~" one of the strays he had picked up called softly into the cool breeze that filtered through the wilting trees. The air it's self smelled cool, hinting at the snowy season to come.
"Shut it." The male snapped, though he was careful to keep his voice low, noise traveled well in the after math of the cleansing showers, especially when most of the trees had shed their leaves and nothing remained to trap the sound.
True, they were looking for the feline deidad, La Pantera, and they intended to let the cat know of their presence. He had his doubts he would be able to sneak up on the wretched feline anyway, but he didn't want to alert the cat too soon, he wanted he and his group to find the feline before he found them.
"You're sure we're in the right place, Baraggan?" A beast of a man with an old, rusted sword strapped at his hip asked, his deep baritone was gravely and seemingly bored. He pushed passed the stray, ignoring when jaws were snapped his way as if they couldn't harm him.
The older male had never before met a human so relaxed in the company of werewolves. The human would be a nice addition to his new pack and a great connection to the village. The man even knew how to throw his weight around and never backed down from the deadly wolves. Baraggan wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the human was actually a monster of some type or another and not a human at all.
"I'm sure, Kenpachi. This is his territory, he usually comes running whenever something crosses into his land."
Another of his strays, a large, scared up wolf with a missing ear trotted up to Baraggan, his yellow eyes trained on the human in their midst. "A trail has been located, his scent indicates this direction, though the breeze is faint." The wolf pointed before turning to head back in the direction he had come, not waiting to see if his superior would follow.
The older male glanced at the human before following after his subordinate. "Damn strays need to learn some manners." He mumbled, before addressing the human. "Remember, Kenpachi. You are not to step in unless I tell you too."
"Yeah, yeah."
••••••
Sitting on the marble of the front steps, Grimmjow lazily scanned the tree line, not really looking for anything, simply doing it out of habit. He had considered wandering about his territory, but he knew the Caster could sense when something slipped past the barrier, weather going in or out, and he didn't want to disturb whatever was going on between the two men right then.
Grimmjow crossed his arms over his knees and rested his chin upon them. He could only guess what had caused the Caster to become so upset, the man had barely walked in the kitchen, bid him a good morning and then froze. At first it had seemed like he was only deep in thought, but as the minutes had dragged by, the feline had been able to feel the overwhelming emotion of loss wafting from Ichigo.
The emotions still skewed the normal feel of the Caster, but now Shiro's flavor mixed with it. The undead's own emotional state didn't seem too far off a match to his brother's at this point, but he did better at masking it.
The werepanther's curiosity was beginning to get the better of him and he desperately wanted to know what was going on. He didn't like seeing his humans so upset, but still he would give them their space. He could be patient.
Grimmjow stood from his seat on the front stairs and languidly stretched before leaping over the side of the stairs. The grass was damp and cool against his bare feet, but he didn't pay it any mind, being used to walking around barefoot. The refreshing breeze shifted and wrapped around his bared upper body; carrying the familiar scent of his territory and the humans' horses with it.
The werepanther rounded the side of the stables, listening to the way Shiro's stallion snorted and brayed as his scent wafted to the animal. He rolled his blue eyes a little and went back to scanning the tree line while he let his mind continue to wander.
Not a moment later, as the light wind continued to shift, the scent of another predator filled his nostrils and had the feline alert and ready. Anger welled up and bubbled in his gut at the smell of stray mutts lurking his territory, but a second smell held his curiosity. An original followed them, the signature familiar yet not at the same time. It wasn't Starrk or his hulking second in command.
Another curious scent presented it's self for a split second, catching the breeze and several meters away from the wolves. It smelled similar to the wolves, but it wasn't quite right.
As Grimmjow attempted to determine what or who the odd smell belonged to, movement caught his attention. The feline tensed, body automatically responding to the potential threat as he slowly edged toward the tree line on silent feet.
"No sneaking up on you, my friend." A stout, greying wolf stepped from the tree line, not bothering to hide himself from the feline. He looked the blue haired man up and down. There was no mistaking that this man was the feline deidad, but the sight was an odd one to behold. "I've never seen you look so... domesticated."
Grimmjow sneered, baring his teeth at the wolf that would dare address him with anything other than fear or respect. He took another step toward the wolf, bringing himself to stand only a few meters away and knowing that the barrier stood just a few feet in front of him.
"No fear in you either." The older wolf muttered. His sideways glance didn't go undetected by the werepanther.
"What do you want?" Grimmjow asked, his tone clipped and showing that he was in no mood to dance around or deal with mongrels.
"I have a proposition for you."
"I don't make deals with mutts." Grimmjow snarled, his tone giving away his werepanther heritage.
"Hear me out, if you will." The greying wolf continued, hardly bothered by the feline's initial response. He could only imagine the once mighty deidad associating with humans again for one reason; because he was out for power. "I wish to strike up an alliance with you. I can bring you strength, and all I ask is that you help me eliminate Starrk and take the Pack as my own."
Grimmjow was quiet a moment, still processing what this mutt had said to him. Finally, he threw his head back and let wild laughter rack his entire frame. After a few seconds passed, the werepanther regained control of himself and looked back at the werewolf, the smirk gone and a deadly look replacing it.
"No." With that, Grimmjow turned about and began walking back toward the human's home. A cruel smile stretched his lips when the air behind him crackled and a wolf yelped as it was flung to the ground by the protective seal.
••••••
Shiro rubbed his copy's back in slow, soothing circles. Ichigo had finally quit crying, but it was clear the Caster was still distraught. He sat in a half asleep state on Shiro's lap; his legs thrown over his twin's to hang off the side of the bed, his arms wrapped around the man's neck and his face pressed against Shiro's shoulder.
Shiro rested his cheek on the top of Ichigo's head, looking blankly at the wall while he continued to hold the Caster. His mind wandered here and there, but mostly he just concentrated on Ichigo; concentrated on to make him feel better, concentrated on the small sounds he made, on the way he sniffled every so often and how his breathing had finally evened out.
The orange haired man stirred, a slight groaning sound leaving his throat as he scrunched his brows together at the magical catch in the back of his mind. He wiggled about a little, weakly trying to get up but not really wanting to leave the warm, comforting embrace of his twin.
Thinking the Caster was upset again, Shiro cradled the man closer, rocking gently while he continued to rub slow circles against Ichigo's shirt.
"S'alright, King..." Shiro murmured quietly before he let a soft, familiar tune fill the room. He could never remember the words, no matter how hard he tried, but he would never forget the way the song had sounded. So he hummed in a quiet, soothing tone and closed his eyes as he let it fill the silence.
Ichigo, the tug on his mind forgotten as memories took it's place, let a slight smile crease his lips at the wordless song. "You haven't done this in a long time" He whispered, voice a little hoarse and raw from his emotional breakdown.
Shiro paused in his humming. "Nope, it was a song mother used ta sing, right?" He asked in a watery voice just as soft as Ichigo's had been.
The Caster smiled and nodded his head. It was easy to think that Shiro was lucky. The pale twin didn't have to relive all the painful memories that he had to, Shiro couldn't remember most of them. But it was moments like these that Ichigo felt truly sorry of his beloved brother; fore Shiro couldn't remember most of the good memories either, memories that Ichigo wouldn't have traded for the world.
"It was, she used to sing it to us when we were scared" Ichigo answered, not moving from his place and still resting his head on his pale twin's shoulder. "You used to hum it a lot when...when..."
The sentence was unfinished, but they both knew what Ichigo meant. The song, hummed and without the words, had been among the first real sounds Shiro had made after he had been raised and brought back to life. It had taken nearly a month for him to actually form words, and longer still to form complete sentences. But he had picked out the song their mother used to sing after barely a week.
After Ichigo had seemingly gotten over his trauma, he had moved back to his family home, living by himself, though Renji had always made it a point to stop by at least once in a while to make sure he was alright. Eventually, he had broken down, unable to handle what had happened, and Shiro had been brought back.
The Caster had carried him up the stairs and to their old bedroom, placing him in the bed to let him rest while he adjusted and took the time he needed to awaken. Shiro had slept for days, but when he had woken up...
Ichigo would never be able to forget the horrible screaming he had woken up to in the middle of the night...
He had ran up the stairs, taking two and three at a time, as fast as he could, terrified and confused. He had thrown the door open with enough force for the knob to break through the drywall. Shiro was found sitting, huddled with his knees to his chest, on the floor in the corner of the room, his pale skin contrasting starkly against the pale blue of the painted wall, his haunted, gold on black eyes wide and terrified as he screamed.
Ichigo had dropped to his knees beside his terrified twin and did the first thing that came to mind; he had pulled Shiro into his arms, holding him tight while he let the man continue. He had figured being brought back might be hard on him, but he hadn't known how hard.
That first time, Shiro had screamed until he wasn't physically able to any longer, until only whimpers could be forced passed his throat. They had held the same routine for several days. Each day, Shiro's terrified screaming would be a little shorter and a little less scared until one day, it only lasted a few minutes, more of a frightened cry. He had woken up screaming like usual, but it had died down quickly and a soft, broken hum had slipped past his lips as stared blankly at Ichigo with wide, haunted eyes. It took him a few tries, but by the time Ichigo could form words around his astonishment, Shiro had found the tune, perfect and beautiful even though he couldn't sing the words.
Some days, Ichigo would murmur comforting words to his seemingly lost brother, or tell him stories of how they used to play in the park with Karin and Yuzu, or about their mother and father while Shiro hummed the little tune. Other times, he would sing the words for his twin, somehow knowing that Shiro couldn't remember them on his own. Eventually the song had become the pale twin's source of comfort and Ichigo would sing it to him whenever he would wake up frightened and screaming for years to come.
"You still can't remember them, can you?" Ichigo asked quietly, already knowing the answer. Even after all these years, no matter how many times Shiro heard Ichigo sing to his hummed tune, he could never remember the words long enough to sing it himself, but the tune was always perfect, always flawless and beautiful.
Shiro shook his head and Ichigo hugged him tight, but he held onto the apology that wanted to slip out. He would never apologize for that, never for bringing Shiro back. He loved Shiro more than anything, even his own life, and he would never regret bring him back, even when things were rough.
A loud, thunderous crash broke their moment of remembrance and had them both on their feet, hearts slamming against their respective ribcages. They ran out the door, flying down the stairs with Shiro taking the lead, not a word nor look passed between them as they focused on what was going on.
••••••
Growling at the thought of stabbing Starrk in the back, Grimmjow walked away from the greying wolf. He sneered as he cut between the horse stables and the large building he could now call home and walked up the front stairs.
He heard the frustrated, guttural growling and snapping of the old male wolf and a few of his followers as they hovered around the edge of the forest, angered that they couldn't come after him. No doubt angered by his rejection as well. The feeble sun light cast his shadow upon the marble stairs as he ascended them.
The odd smell that he had caught a whiff of earlier caught him off guard and he had just enough time to process that it was human before a larger shadow overlapped his own.
Grimmjow spun around, body automatically tense and fight or flight instincts kicking into over drive. It was a rare thing for something to get so close to him without his knowledge. A hulking beast of a man stood barely a foot in front of him, the man towering over him by at least six inches. An insane smile stretched across angular, tanned and scarred features and the sadistic looking spikes of the man's jet black hair only added to his air of danger.
The werepanther looked up at the man, his lip curling slightly. If he had been in his resurrection, every hair on his body would have been standing on end as he flattened his ears. As he was now, however, Grimmjow squared his stance, balancing on the balls of his bare feet and suddenly glad that he had been borrowing the baggy shorts rather then tight fitting, constricting jeans the Caster had tried to get him to wear. "Can I help you?"
The taller man cocked his head, crazed grin never faltering. "Nah. Ya don't look like much of a monster to me." His deep, graveling voice radiated threat even in the fairly conversational tone he used.
"What the hell do you want? You with the mutts?" Grimmjow growled back at the man, mind working at a frantic pace to figure out what this human could possibly want while he tried to calm his raging instincts. Everything screamed at him to back away.
"You could say that." The man's voice was calm even as he exploded into motion, hand going to a sword belted at his hip but not drawing.
Grimmjow ducked the first strike; a heavy punch aimed at his jaw. He side stepped and brought his own fists up to a guarding position as he backed around and away from the man.
Another shot was thrown his way, almost carelessly and easily dodged as the werepanther dropped off the stairs, landing on the grass and hoping to give himself some room to move. He lowered himself to a crouch, measuring the big human's movements. Something seemed off about the way he swung and followed after the werepanther.
The reason was soon made clear. With stunning speed, the human dropped off the edge of the stairs and threw himself at Grimmjow. The bluenette snarled, ducking below another swing and throwing a one, two combo of his own, still feeling out his opponent.
The text book shots weren't blocked, nor did the human make a move to get out of range. He accepted Grimmjow's punches as the werepanther hit solid muscle, forcing a mere grunt from the man.
The Caster was still working on the seal and while he still couldn't cross it in his resurrection, once inside the barrier he could veer now. It would hurt like hell, but it could be done and the werepanther was starting to consider it.
"You're stronger than you look" The man said as he laughed. "Maybe there was some truth to what the wolves told me." He lunged at Grimmjow again, grabbing hold of the slightly smaller bluenette.
Grimmjow was forced to grapple with the crazed human, growling and baring his teeth as he struggled to keep the man off of him. He brought his elbow down, catching the man across the back of his neck, but it seemed to only anger him and the human wrapped his corded arms around the feline's abdomen before bodily lifting Grimmjow from the ground.
Lifting the struggling werepanther above his head, the human laughed. "You're more fun than I thought you'd be, but I'm looking for a monster to fight"
Grimmjow struggled, his eyes wide as the man lifted him with very little effort and spun back toward the house. He grabbed hold of the man's wrists, twisting and trying to brake free of his grip.
"Show me that beast." In the next instant, the man below him grunted and heaved with all his strength. His crazed laughter reached Grimmjow's ears as he sailed through the air. A hiss tore from the feline's throat just before he collided with the front door of the human home.
Wood splintered and the door was torn from it's hinges with a cacophonous crashing sound that echoed down the quiet hallway. Breath knocked away, Grimmjow landed amid the wreckage of the door, pieces raining down around him as all fell silent again. He lay still a moment, then groaned, forcing oxygen into his stunned lungs as he rolled over.
Running footsteps could be heard faintly coming from the stairwell further down the hall and the werepanther knew the Caster and Shiro had heard. Not wanting his humans to get involved with the dangerous man, Grimmjow staggered back to his feet, bracing a hand against the wall behind where the door used to be, his back to the man. He took a moment to breath before straightening up and turning around to face his opponent.
A crazed grin met his gaze, the human seemingly over ecstatic. "Good, good. On your feet already!"
Teeth bared, Grimmjow let a grin stretch his lips. "Fuck it." He mumbled, and launched at the human as the air around him crackled with unleashed power. He grunted with strain, pushing past the pain and forcing his veer despite the constricting magic that surrounded the twins' home. A yell left his throat, turning to a deep roaring as his human body gave way to his werepanther form.
The human's own insane smile faltered when the blue haired man that had launched at him landed as three hundred pounds of sleek muscle, throwing him from the top of the short flight of stairs to the ground.
••••••
Shiro and Ichigo raced down the spiral stairs, the former sliding down the last curve and stretch of the bannister. He landed on his feet and was instantly sprinting down the hall way toward the front door, the Caster on his heels. A slight groan reached their ears, accompanied by the sound of scraping and panting.
Grimmjow came into sight as he struggled to his feet, his bare torso cut up. What was left of the door lay adjacent to the bluenette, half of it leaning against the wall with the bottom hinge still stubbornly dangling from the frame. As Shiro and Ichigo watched, confused and shocked, the werepanther turned his back to them and took a running step, ignoring the splintered wood he tread upon.
An almost pained, yet enraged yell shattered the pregnant quiet. The bluenette veered mid-air; his tanned, heavily muscled body stretching and forming into his lean, agile werepanther form. The yell became a deep, angered roar as he hit something outside and beyond the twins' line of sight.
The two men ran to the door way, bursting through and sliding to a halt at the top of the short stair case. A sword hissed from a scabbard and maniacal laughter shattered the sky.
"There's the monster!" A stranger's deep, rough voice exclaimed, his glee and joy obvious.
Grimmjow jumped back into the battle as the two brothers watched, his own laughter mixing with the stranger's for a moment. He grasped the swinging blade, halting it's motion and landing a heavy hit upon the man. The stranger staggered back from the blow, yanking the blade from the cat's grasp and initiating his own attack. The mangled edge bit into the flesh of Grimmjow's shoulder as the man spun about.
The werepanther hissed and leapt back, blood welling to the surface to tint his black fur red. The cut stung, of course, but he could feel it begin to knit closed as he sprang at the man again.
Shiro flipped the safety off on his gun, but didn't aim it. He looked to Ichigo, who looked just as curious and confused as he was. Neither recognized the human their werepanther housemate was fighting, but for the man to be able to force Grimmjow into his resurrection while being inside the barrier was certainly something.
As they continued to watch, unsure what to do or if they should step in, Grimmjow blocked a sword strike with his forearm, the middle of the blade cutting into his limb. The panther ignored the blade as his hooked, talon like claws shredded the man's black jacket and ripped through muscled flesh.
The man jumped back, his grin still firmly in place as blood welled to the surface of his abdomen and trickled down his toned stomach. The two traded blows, both drawing blood and abusing the other. Grimmjow growled and stepped inside the range of the biting sword, grabbing the human's sword arm and holding it out of his way as he landed a heavy punch to the man's jaw.
Still, the human only smiled. He jerked his sword arm away and stepped out of the feline's range, using the longer reach to keep Grimmjow from striking. The feline edged around the strike zone of the crude looking sword. He bared his teeth and hissed his frustration, wondering why the man was so relaxed and confident when he had hardly left more than a mark on the feline.
"Here Kitty, kitty." The human chanted, taunting the werepanther. The jagged, damaged edge of his sword didn't seem to do much damage to the cat, but he had a secret. The very tip of his sword was the real danger, at least to a werecreature. He was only biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
Grimmjow growled; a deep, angered sound, and leapt at the man, pushing his wariness aside. He was met with the human's blade, swung by thickly corded arms in an impossibly swift arch.
Ichigo and Shiro watched as the tip of the pitted and rusted blade drew blood in a diagonal slash across the werepanther's chest. It didn't seem to be an overly deep wound, it should have been nothing to the cat, but something was off. Ichigo took a tentative step forward, on to the top step; Shiro standing behind him with his gun still in hand.
The feline had froze, his blue eyes widened fractionally before scrunching closed as his head fell back and a yowling rose from his throat. The yowling wavered and turned to a yelling, almost a scream, as the werepanther dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around his torn chest and abdomen. Blue black fur melted away and Grimmjow curled around his wound, blood pooling below him.
The deranged human laughed and raised his sword above his head, preparing for another, more devastating strike to finish off the injured cat-turned-man.
Ichigo jumped from the stairs, leaping toward Grimmjow where he lay curled on the ground at the stranger's feet. The cat was unmoving, save for the tightening of his muscles and the small, jerky movements associated with someone in great pain. He didn't understand why the seemingly minor cut had hurt the feline so badly, but he could tell Grimmjow was in trouble.
"King!" Shiro raised his gun and fired, but the sword was already on a downward arc, Ichigo standing between it and the bluenette.
A strained growl resounded around the yard, mixing with the echoing gun shot, followed by a surprised yelp from the Caster. Ichigo tumbled to the ground, Grimmjow's blood slicked arm wrapped around his middle. The werepanther pulled the Caster close to his chest, forcing the man to lay on the ground with the cat half laying over top of him as he used his own body to keep Ichigo safe from the deadly blade. The stranger stumbled backward, clutching at the bullet wound in his side as he swung, his sword barely missing it's mark.
Shiro jumped from the stairs to the ground, placing himself between the two downed men and stranger. The crazed man was already running through the yard, disappearing into the forest, his maniacal laughter echoing back to them as he went.
The near-albino spun around, dropping down to his knees beside Grimmjow and Ichigo. "King? Ya ok?" He asked, his lilting voice filled with worry as he looked at the blood smearing his copy's belly.
"Yeah, I'm fine." The Caster said, pulling out of the feline's arms so that he could turn and look at him. Grimmjow was breathing in strained pants, his teeth bared and face contorted with pain. The Caster settled a hand on the bluenette's curled form.
Grimmjow flinched at his light touch, arms wrapped around the stinging, burning wound to his chest.
Looking over his shoulder to make sure the strange man was still out of sight, Shiro edged around to the other side of the injured feline and holstered his gun. He desperately wanted to go after the mad man that had invaded and threatened his small family. But right now, Ichigo and the cat were more important.
"Grimm?" He asked, grabbing the werepanther's arm and carefully prying it away from the cat's abdomen. "Let us see...I'm ganna roll ya over, k?"
Grimmjow gasped as the two men rolled him onto his back, the motion making him grit his teeth. Ichigo pulled his already blood stained shirt off and used the cloth to wipe some of the blood away from the wound.
"It doesn't look that bad, why is there so much blood?" The Caster said, looking at the cut. It certainly wasn't the deepest gash they had seen the panther take, yet it had dropped him almost instantly. Ichigo wiped gently at the weeping cut, taking notice of Grimmjow's strained breathing and tense body. "Grimm? What's going on?"
The werecat pried his eyes open, not remembering when he had squeezed them shut around the pain. The all too familiar, unbearable burning of silver seemed to light his entire abdomen on fire. The sword was gone, the pain and sting should have left with it.
"S...Silver" A pained groan left his throat with the words. Grimmjow pushed the twin's back with shaky, blood soaked hands as he struggled to get to his knees. The two stood still for a moment before realizing what he was doing and pulled him to his feet. Grimmjow staggered toward the tree line, his instincts kicking in and his body automatically carrying him toward the stream that ran through his territory. The stream he had used to clean so many wounds in years past.
"Hey, where ya tryin ta go?" Shiro asked, ashen brows furrowed with confusion. Maybe the cat was delirious. "House is this way." A pale hand wrapped around a thick upper arm as Shiro tugged gently toward the front stairs.
"Shiro" Ichigo half whispered from the bluenette's other side. "I think we should get him inside and cleaned up so we can get a better look."
The pale man nodded and the two half dragged the werepanther toward the house.
••••••
"I assume you got to watch what happened?" The man's deep voice was a little amused, not the slightest hint of uneasiness in it as he spoke to the werewolves surrounding him.
"Of course, but you failed to kill him." Grey ears flattened back as the wolf snarled at the human. "A single sword strike, silver or not, wont stop him!"
"Tch. It's not a silver blade." Kenpachi said, rolling his eyes and taking a seat on a fallen tree. He peeled his shredded, blood soaked jacket away, wincing ever so slightly as the fabric stuck to the lacerated flesh beneath. "It was coated with a kind of liquid made with silver."
The tip of his sword had been dipped in an experimental poison, made with silver that had been ground into a powder like dust and who knew what else, that he was supposed to test out for a business partner of his. It seemed to have done the trick and would be tough to clean out of the wound. Kenpachi knew the werepanther was said to not be as sensitive to the cursed metal as the werewolf race, but if the silver was left to run it's course through his blood stream, it would reach his heart eventually, where it would be fatal. That was if he didn't bleed out first. Kenpachi hadn't stuck around for long, but he had glimpsed quite a lot of blood pooling below the cat's form.
The old male wolf began to retort, but Kenpachi cut him off with a stern look as he stood, his amused tone gone. "My fight was interrupted, maybe if I'd have known I would be shot at I would've been prepared."
"I told you about the humans." The wolf countered, turning to follow after the large human as he pushed passed the surrounding wolves.
"You told me there was a low level Caster to worry about. You didn't tell me about his gun toting ghost." Kenpachi continued to trek through the forest, ignoring or uncaring of the angered and indignant glares the gathered strays were sending his way. He moved his hand and peered down at the bullet wound in his side.
The slug had cracked against his ribs, slicing the flesh and sliding until it lodged somewhere between the bones. He would no doubt require medical attention beyond what he could do himself. He replaced his hand and pressed to help stem the flow of blood.
"Ghost? They were both humans, you knew as much when you agreed." The grey wolf's nostrils flared at the inviting scent of fresh human blood even as he fought not to flee the scent of silver from the bullet still lodged under the flesh. At least, if nothing else, he knew the humans La Pantera had found used silver.
"Yeah, but neither are as you said."
The greying wolf cocked his head to the side, ears perking slightly in curiosity. "What do you mean?"
"One's an Undead. And who do you think raised him?" Kenpachi asked, not bothering to look over at the wolf as they continued heading in the direction of the village. "not only did you ask me to kill a Deidad, but he has powerful allies. I was lucky I didn't get shot at sooner, that Undead must be more human than he looks."
"Either way. You inflicted the damage you needed to on him, yes?" Baraggan asked, pausing as the sounds and smells of the village drew near.
"I did." Kenpachi kept walking. Leaving the wolf behind. He was beginning to doubt that he had delivered a deadly enough wound even with the silver concoction. If the cat lived, he would have to hunt him down for a rematch. A twisted, sadistic grin stretched across his scared face.
But first; he needed to get to his partner's place and get his bullet wound looked at. He edged his way down an ally way, grabbing the long coat he had stashed there before exiting the village to meet up with the werewolf known as Baraggan. He slipped the coat on, careful to pull it tight about his large form and hide the shredded flesh of his abdomen as well as the bullet wound. He pulled the small bells from his hair and let the black strands fall around his face.
Kenpachi exited the ally, ignoring the small woman he bumped into and turned down the main street and further into the center of town. The best place to hide something you didn't want found was in plain sight. Careful to look as casual as he could, Kenpachi walked through the front door of a small shop that dealt in selling low caliber hand guns and blades. The shop boasted being one of the only ones in the area that still sold silver weapons and ammunition and was run by a goofy man that simultaneously put his costumers on edge and made them feel right at home all at the same time.
The injured man nodded to the shop owner as he disappeared behind the counter, towering over the shorter owner. The shop owner tipped his hat and smiled up at him, stepping to the side to make room for the large man and playfully poked his side, seeing the way Kenpachi was holding what was most likely a nasty wound. He chuckled at the well hidden wince he received and shook his head before going back to his day job.
A narrow hallway lead to a short, wooden staircase closed off by double doors in the floor that would take Kenpachi to the lower level, where the real fun took place. He threw the cellar doors open and descended the stairs. A light in the back of the extensive, well hidden space let him know the man he was looking for was still there.
••••••
Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her long skirt, Rukia frowned at the ground as she walked down the street. A giant of a man walked from an ally, brushing passed her but he ignored her and she merely glanced back at him before returning the favor.
Renji had told her about his visit to see Ichigo and his brother. He had also told her what had happened; of how he, Shiro and the monster cat had saved that small family. She had wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of a monster saving people, but she had held herself in check. And she couldn't deny the small welling of pride it had given her, knowing that Renji had helped the family. It even made her want to have faith in Shirosaki; faith that maybe he could be a little more normal than he looked.
Days had passed since the little rescue had taken place, yet the rumors of a goodly creature stalking the forest had hardly died down. The rumors and stories angered her. She refused to believe that a monster could be benevolent. The beast had to have some ulterior motive.
Just earlier that day, word had spread that a couple of young children; teenagers that thought they were being tough, had gone out looking for the cat. Neither had yet to be found and the parents grieved at their loss. For all anyone knew, they had found the feline monster and it had destroyed them like it would Ichigo and Shirosaki and probably Renji too if it was given the chance.
Her finger tips danced along the cool metal of the small gun located in her deep pocket as she ignored the world around her, lost in dark thoughts as she chased after a lesser spoken rumor she had heard. She looked at the buildings around her, hoping that she would be able to spot the location when she found it.
AN: This one wasn't quite as long as the last, but a lot of information was pumped out so I hope that makes up for it ^^;
What did you think? Let me know~