Before anything else; I just want to thank everyone who has read this fic. It's certainly been fun to write and even more fun to read your comments and thoughts, so thank you~ And secondly, I recommend grabbing a box of tissues before you begin...
On to the last chapter~ Enjoy!
...and I'm sorry...
The moon shown high over head, it's chilling light filtering in between the leafless branches of the seemingly dead trees and brightening the churned snow. The air was cold but no one noticed as they fought the hoards of monstrous, stray wolves. The night was alive with the dying screams and pained whimpers of the beasts, with the enraged shouting of those fighting and the deep, rumbling hiss that issued from a feline throat.
All was in chaos, the kind of unpredictable and desperate chaos that always came with a battle for life and death. It hadn't taken long for things to get bloody. As Baraggan's mindless fodder fell at the feet of those fighting in the interest of man kind, more of the strays replaced them, climbing over the bodies of their dead comrades in total disregard. Desperate to do the bidding of their creator, none of the monstrosities passing off as werewolves had the capability to realize they were being thrown at people they had once called friends, family, neighbors and lovers. They saw the humans that they had once claimed kinship with, huddled in their homes and hiding in the shadows of their defenders, as free game, safe to kill and devour and sate their hunger with. And they would do anything to feed and put an end to their hunger. All because Baraggan had told them it was so as he manipulated the hapless and pitiful creatures and used them for his own twisted gain.
As the once white snow stained red and was churned into a muddy, tainted slush, Ichigo threw his arms wide, a breeze that no one else felt lifting the edges of his dark robes and pushing his hair out of his face to whip behind him in flowing orange strands. With a wordless yell, a voicing of the Caster's determination and outrage at what was happening, he sent another spell outward, this one even more powerful than the last. And more taxing.
His magic coursed through his body, riding through his very being before it was forced outward in time with his motions and his defiant, deep voiced yell. Around him, the strays he had purposely allowed to close in on him yelped and snapped their jaws as devastating magic ripped through their bodies. The beasts crumpled to the ground around the Caster, their bodies and limbs twitching and twisting in pained desperation as they tried to force themselves back up and at the human standing before them.
Ichigo bent forward slightly, hands on his knees and panting as he watch with sorrow filled eyes the strays that still clung to life, though the struggle was in vain. The creatures convulsed in the tainted snow, blood trickling from their mouths, noses and even the corners of some of their eyes as his magic worked it's way through their systems with deadly intentions. They kicked at the bodies around them, digging furrows through the snow and the flesh of their dead comrades in their struggle. The beasts hardly even realized they were dying and nothing but hunger induced madness simmered in their yellowed eyes. There was no life to see flickering out behind glassy, fevered orbs, but then, there hadn't been before he had killed them either.
The Caster let his gaze drop away from the horrifying scene before him and to his feet as he panted to catch his breath and fight through the toll his own body was beginning to take from forcing his still developing magic through himself. As he let his eyes slip closed briefly, pulling in a deep and steadying breath, a hand fisted in the back of his robes and jerked with enough force to nearly drag the Caster from his feet.
Ichigo's startled shout was drowned out by the echo of a gun shot that was much too close for comfort. As the Caster stumbled, a pale hand wrapped around his upper arm, keeping him from being dragged to the blood soaked ground before the weight tugging on his robes fell away. The orangette spun around, his eyes wide as he clutched at his twin's supportive arm, to see a mangled wolf laying at his feet, a bullet hole in the side of it's head and the flesh of it's abdomen torn away by what could have only been cat claws. It had been one of the few beasts that managed to stumble away from where Grimmjow was quickly building a mound of bodies.
The twins looked over to where their werepanther companion fought with the grace, precision and fierceness expected of such a creature, of a once deidad that had been worshipped in daily life and in battle. Grimmjow seemed intent on living up to the reputation he still held on to.
Stray after stray fell to the furious feline. Talon like claws hooked deep to rend flesh away from muscle and muscle away from bone. Pained yelps and snarling whines echoed around the large cat as he tore through the mindless mutts that threatened the humans in the village and the humans he had grown to love, the two men he would trade his life for.
Grimmjow let out a deep, threatening hiss that rumbled nearly like a growl as his claws swiped jagged and devastating furrows across a large wolf's muzzle and down the side of it's throat. The beast yelped as it continued to engage the feline, part of it's jowls and lips torn away to show broken teeth that dripped with saliva and blood. It snapped it's vicious jaws closed in an attempt to capture the cat, but Grimmjow was the quicker.
The werepanther utilized his smaller build and ducked under the attack, springing back at the mutt as it retracted it's empty jaws to prepare for another attack. Before the stray had the chance to lash out again, however, the flurry that was Grimmjow landed upon it. The feline used his sharp claws to find purchase even as those claws shredded the beast's torso and scraped along it's ribcage. He latched his own powerful jaws around the surprised mutt's throat, sinking his fangs deep and tasting bitter blood fill his mouth.
From the corner of livid cyan eyes, Grimmjow caught movement as another beast bared it's fangs in his direction. The second monstrous stray, nearly as large as the one Grimmjow was currently tearing into, lunged at the feline's seemingly exposed back.
The werepanther smirked, a wry expression that held no mirth, and retracted his claws, easily disengaging the giant beast. He dropped back to the ground, landing in a low crouch and on his feet as one would expect from a creature of feline heritage. As the second mutt barreled in, the first bent to swat at the smaller werepanther. The two collided as Grimmjow swiftly and easily danced out from between them.
With the two large mongrels suitably distracted with tearing into one another, driven by a hunger they could never hope to sate and hardly realizing it was canine blood that filled their senses, Grimmjow sprinted off to his next target. He didn't have to go far and he pounced as another gun shot split the air. His claws once again sank deep as he hissed and snarled his fury, knowing that he was in no danger of being harmed by the silver bullets his human companions fired.
Yet even as he fought and killed, the once great werepanther couldn't shake the foreboding dread that lurked in the back of his mind. This battle, not so different from the one he nearly hadn't survived all those centuries ago, seemed to weigh heavily upon him. In the hundreds of years he had lived, in the centuries he had willingly fought and happily destroyed his enemies, never had he ever felt such an emotion during one of his battles.
Grimmjow had never feared a battle, not against any creature and certainly not against a werewolf. It was always simple; if he died, he died. If he lived, he would fight again. He had always imagined he would die in battle, and that had always been fine. Even now, he realized it wasn't fear, necessarily, that weighed so heavily upon him. It was something he couldn't quite point out, something that was missing that he was so used to living with. Or perhaps it was something that was no longer missing, that he had grown used to having. Then it hit him; the source and reason for his dread of the on going battle.
He truly had something to live for again. He no longer wished to join the followers he had lost so long ago.
The werepanther grunted as the beast he had been attacking finally managed to dislodge him. The mutt followed him down, it's teeth bared and saliva dripping from it's maw in thick, ropy strands. Grimmjow dropped his ears back and hissed out a snarl between his clenched teeth as the monster tried to pin him. With a renewed fury, Grimmjow tore his already blood stained claws through the beast's thick, mangy fur to sink into the soft flesh of it's exposed belly. The wolf above him snarled a yelp. Unwilling to release the feline, even if it meant the stray's own life, the maddened creature snapped it's jaws at the feline's muzzle, only inches from it's own.
Grimmjow flinched away from the jaws trying to close around him. The beast snapped and snarled at his face and throat like the mongrel it was and the werepanther was quickly finding he didn't like being stuck where he was, pinned beneath it, while other strays lurked about. With a growl to rival the mutt's own, Grimmjow ripped one of his clawed hands away from the creature's stomach and slammed his forearm across the beast's muzzle with enough force to knock it's head aside.
It didn't take the beast long to recover and Grimmjow gave it something to chew on. He bared his teeth and winced as the massive jaws closed around his arm but it gave him the leverage he needed and the werepanther was able to force the beast back as he grasped hold of it's bottom jaw. Using the arm that was in the mutt's mouth, Grimmjow forced it's head back while he twisted it with his other hand.
Sickly yellow eyes burned with a fevered hunger, staring directly into the feline's own blue orbs right before it's face. Grimmjow watched as those eyes rolled back and a muffled pop reached his keen ears before the stray fell limply beside him.
Yanking his torn up limb from the dead creature's maw, Grimmjow climbed back to his feet, his chest rising and falling at a quickened pace as he set off in search of his next victim, not giving himself long enough to register what would turn into burning pain as the mutt's slobber seeped into the bite wound to his arm.
Several meters away and very nearly out of sight, Urahara peered through the scope of his rifle where he lay in wait from his high vantage point. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, nearly inaudible, as he realized the distracted feline wouldn't allow himself to be pinned that easily. He swung his scope in a slow sweep of the battle field, searching for a single target while he offered his stealthy and unseen assistance to his fellow defenders when the need arose.
The feline was the only one he hesitated to assist, seeing that the silver from the shells he shot could be quite potent to the werecreature, not that any bullet wasn't deadly to a human. Even still, Urahara knew Grimmjow would probably get quite upset should he decided to kill the one of cat's targets.
Out in front of and below him, Kenpachi was his own whirlwind of chaos. The giant of a human, seeming as though he had an endless supply of energy, swung his dilapidated sword and hacked through any stray werewolf that was unlucky enough to stumble near by.
A maniacal grin on his face, Kenpachi ripped his jagged and uncared for blade from the chest cavity of a dying wolf. The silver concoction his scientist partner had made bubbled and smoldered along the beast's wound as it howled in agony before finally falling still.
Urahara continued to search for the rogue wolf with greying fur, hoping to find and kill the beast that had caused so much trouble once and for all and hopefully put an end to this battle before it became a war, before it got out of control. Before the strays broke through and into the village.
Before those around him began dying.
••••••
A look of sorrow filled the Alpha's nearly glowing, cloudy eyes as he fought against a wolf he had know for a very long time. It had was another original, one of the few Baraggan had managed to turn against him and as they fought, the wolf refused to meet his gaze or say a word. Starrk sighed before he snarled again and pushed the thoughts from his mind. The creature before him was no longer one of his, but a rogue that had dared go against him and would be dealt with accordingly.
The Alpha snapped his massive jaws shut as the other wolf tried to dodge out of the way. Unsuccessful, Starrk's cruel fangs sank deep into the beast's flesh. It whimpered but bared it's own teeth and pushed against the wolf it once lived beside in the effort to drive Starrk to the ground and keep him from ripping the flesh in his mouth away from the bone. The ploy was only partially successful and as Starrk crashed to the ground, bringing the rogue with him, the thick muscle of his neck strained.
A shrieking yelp rang through the forest as the mongrel's ear and half it's face was shorn from it's skull. Blood, shredded flesh and bits of fur fell from Starrk's jaws as the other wolf continued to desperately fight against the Alpha. His struggle was in vain, the wolf would die, as it had known it would when it threw it's self at the Original it had once called Alpha. But it's new leader had asked it to and the wolf, once one of Starrk's own, whimpered pitifully as Starrk's massive fangs sank deep into the flesh of it's throat. The Alpha werewolf would not show it that pity.
It's eyes darted to the side, once again avoiding Starrk's calm gaze, but they settled on something the Alpha couldn't see from where he was, the reason the rogue wolf had been willing to throw it's life away. Baraggan my have stood shorter than Starrk, but the traitor out weighed the Alpha and true to the older creature's wild heritage, he was as silent as the night as he neared where the Alpha fought with the other.
Starrk's jaws unclamped from the wolf he had been tearing into, a strangled yelp crawling up his throat as Baraggan took advantage of his distraction. Baraggan closed his powerful jaws around the back of the Alpha's neck, slicing flesh and digging into muscle.
An enraged and aggressive snarl curled Starrk's lips as he flashed his fangs. The wolf he had been fighting against crawled off, dragging it's self away from the two battling beasts but it would only live for a few more minutes. Another pained yelp reached it's ears as it lay in the bloodied snow, panting as it's vision blurred while it watched the two creatures clash. The crack of bone disrupted Starrk's snarling and transformed it into keening shriek as Baraggan cruelly used his heavier weight to his advantage.
That shriek was all Starrk's second needed to hear to dismiss the half dead beast Nnoitra had been working on. The second snarled as he flung the mutt away and took off in a swift sprint toward the sounds of fighting, panting and pained whimpering.
Nnoitra weaved between the trees, his black coat shimmering with wet, sticky blood under the moon light. It took him mere seconds to find his Alpha and the towering wolf didn't bother to slow his ground devouring sprint as he neared the fight.
As Starrk struggled against the heavier traitor, only able to get one leg under him, he barred his teeth and lashed out as best he could. He was quickly knocked off balance once again, his shattered leg crumpling below him as Baraggan drove him backward. With a pained grunt, Starrk landed on the cold earth with a harsh thud, Baraggan landing on top of him. The Alpha fought the traitor off, tearing at the mutt with vicious claws and massive fangs but he was severely hindered by his injury and the old male seemed driven to be rid of him once and for all.
Luckily for Starrk, his ever present shadow wouldn't hesitate to throw himself at the traitor for the Alpha's sake, and that's what Nnoitra did. With all the speed and muscle the lanky but massive black wolf possessed, he charged in at the traitor. He collided with the wolf straddling and attacking his leader and both Nnoitra and Baraggan were sent sprawling, a ball of sharp, gleaming fangs, curved claws and angry snarling.
••••••
Still searching the battle field through the scope of his rifle, Urahara panned over just in time to see Starrk fall under the very wolf he had been searching for. He made the effort to line up his shot but the two struggled and lashed about too much for him to get a clear shot in the dark. His rifle was loaded with silver shells and from where he was, he couldn't be sure that he wouldn't harm Starrk in the process.
"Kenpachi." The sword wielding man looked up, turning his back to a dead wolf at his feet to see Urahara standing from his cover, the rifle slung over his shoulder and resting across his back.
The blond said nothing, but pointed in the direction of Starrk and his Pack as he dropped from the roof top carefully but quickly. Kenpachi simply nodded and the two headed off in that direction with all haste. The nearer the Pack they got, the louder the animalistic and primal growling and snarling got as wolf collided and warred with wolf and weapons were discarded in favor of vicious teeth and claws.
As they ran, searching out what Urahara had spotted from his high vantage point, Kenpachi drove his blade through the ribs of a stray as it's opponent, a member of the Alpha's Pack, fell still below it. The beast didn't even whimper as the silver from the human's sword began eating at it's flesh, too preoccupied with ripping chunks of meat from the dead wolf to devour in it's mindless hunger.
Finally Urahara came to a stop, his head whipping back and forth as he scanned the shadowed trees and readied his rifle once again, trying to pick out the sounds of Starrk and the traitor over those of the other battling wolves.
"I know he's here." The blond all but whispered to himself, ignoring the strays that wondered to close to be killed by Kenpachi.
A yelp, followed by a deep voiced and furious growl caught the blond's attention. Urahara searched the shadowed forest for the creatures that had made the sounds, knowing it to be Starrk and the traitor. He crept forward, Kenpachi at his side, carefully scanning the trees and more than a little worried about putting himself and his partner in between the two huge creatures as they fought to kill each other.
Something thumped heavily near by, the weight and force enough to make the ground tremble even with the snow to cushion the impact. The two men jumped back as the two wolves rolled into view, their teeth bared and snapping while claws dug into flesh and blood quickly seeped through the fur of both wolves. Urahara watched as the Alpha desperately tried to scramble upright to gain the leverage he would need to battle against the heavier opponent, but Starrk's injury wouldn't allow it and the Alpha crumpled back to the ground as the traitor rushed in, clenching his massive jaws and grunting his pain.
Not a moment later, as Starrk fought off the wolf on top of him, the massive, black form of Nnoitra sailed passed to collide with the traitor. The impact from the lanky wolf was enough to dislodge the older male and send the two skidding across the snow covered and bloodied ground, sliding and scrambling while they snapped and clawed at each other in true canine, chaotic aggression. The relative quiet was shattered by the creatures' furious snarling and growling.
The blond shopkeeper raised his rifle, the barrel pointed toward the battling wolves. Still, with the speed and chaotic way Nnoitra and the traitor dug into one another, he would never get a clear shot. They needed to separate, if only for a moment, so that the human wouldn't need to worry about hitting the wrong wolf.
Urahara's answer was given as he watched Starrk struggle, panting and bleeding, to get his arms under him and raise his battered body from the snow. Starrk's teeth were bared, slicked with blood tinted saliva, and his roiling grey eyes were locked onto his second and the traitor, a storm evident in their depths as the Alpha desperately tried to rejoin the battle and aid Nnoitra.
"Starrk!" Urahara shouted to the Alpha, still on the ground a few meters away, as he retook aim at the traitorous male. "Get him out of the way, if you would please."
The Pack leader glanced over at the human calling his name. It took him no time at all to realize what the odd blond meant and Starrk growled quietly and nodded before returning his gaze to his second. All it would take was one word.
Nnoitra had no idea how well Starrk was fairing, having only briefly caught a glimpse of his Alpha as he sailed over the prone wolf but he would be damned if he didn't find out and the sooner he dealt with the traitor, the sooner he could aid his leader.
He bit into the older male's shoulder, sinking his massive fangs in deep until he tore through muscle and his bottom teeth caught on the bone of the beast's clavicle. Baraggan couldn't quite stifle his yelp, which only served to spur the black wolf on. Shaking his head in quick, jerking movements, Nnoitra growled through the fur in his mouth as he delivered more damage.
While Nnoitra towered over the older male, Baraggan still nearly matched the lanky werewolf in weight and muscle and he wasn't giving up so easily. Nnoitra was taking his share of damage as well, his thick black coat beginning to shimmer reddish under the moon light. He stifled a yelp as the traitor sent a big fist to his ribcage, nearly strong enough to knock the air from his lungs.
"Nnoi." The deep baritone of his leader had Nnoitra's ears flicking backward toward the origin of the sound even as he continued to fight against the older werewolf. From the centuries they had worked side by side, he recognized Starrk's tone and reluctantly disengaged, but not before lashing out with one last blow that had Baraggan stumbling backward.
As Nnoitra scurried toward his Alpha, the sound of a rifle echoed through the trees and rode on the wind, singing the sweetest melody of the night, the only true victory to be had. With a howl that screamed of rage, pain and indignation, the old male fought against the silver that lodged near his heart but his struggle only lasted seconds before the cursed metal destroyed the monster responsible for all that had happened and all that was to come.
Hours came and went, the villagers staying locked within their homes and huddling together as the vicious sounds of battle and gunshots echoed to them, ringing loudly down alleyways and through the streets. Only a single wolf had managed to get through the defenses of those fighting, killing and even dying in the name of a species that was not their own in most cases. The mutt, a rogue that had once called it's self a member of Starrk's pack, stumbled over the fence that ringed the village and staggered into the center of town only to fall dead on a deserted street as it bled out, shredded and mauled beyond what it's meager healing could repair. It's body would later be burned, the ashes collected and handed over to the injured Alpha of the werewolf Pack with the closing of the battle. The ashes would be left to blow on the chill breeze and scatter about the Pack territory with the rest of Starrk's dead.
Eventually, after what seemed like far longer than a single night, the moon began her cold decent toward the frozen horizon as her warmer sister's first rays began to lighten the opposite skyline. With the coming of the sun, even as the snarling continued, the battle raged on and silver continued to fly, the villagers began braving the streets. Expecting to see a vile mess of blood and dead beast's in the light of early morning, they were met with the clean sheets of pure white snow that blanketed the paths and roads within the village's limits.
It wasn't until a few, either too brave for their own good or just as stupid, crept over or around the gate that served as their borders, did the true devastation reveal it's self. Werewolves, most of them the enemy, the mindless strays created and forged just to be thrown away, but certainly not all, lay in mangled heaps. Bodies, crusted in half dried and half frozen blood littered the ground between the forest's edge and the village's, extending like tendrils to litter the forest beyond. The snow it's self, where it was visible between the dead, was churned and muddied and tainted pink with spattered blood and gore. The sun had risen, but the battle wasn't quite over, it merely shed light upon the carnage.
Yet those standing between the slowly diminished hoards of hunger driven, wolven soldiers and the citizens of a village that had not once before recognized those defenders as anything more than outcasts and murderers, continued fighting. In their midst, two young men worked a deadly dance, a duo that seemed to draw the villagers as much as it did the enemy.
Silver rang out, singing in the air, from twin pistols held in ivory hands. Shirosaki, the once dead twin of Ichigo, hadn't bothered to hide his ghostly features and for once, the few citizens that stared on in horror didn't include him in their nightmares. Shiro stood protectively beside his brother, his shots never faltering nor missing as Ichigo readied his next wave of devastating magic. Dark circles were beginning to show under the Caster's eyes, as much from his magic taxing his energy as it was from battling through the night. He panted though he had hardly moved from where he had started, yet he continued on with an unbreakable will. Neither twin would allow themselves to show weakness, or allow themselves rest until the battle was over and Baraggan's forces were defeated.
The two didn't allow for distractions and though they worried for their companions, they took confidence in their prowess and abilities. It wouldn't do to dwell on such dark thoughts while fighting for one's life. Of course, it help to set their minds at ease that the undeniable link they seemed to have with their less than human lover allowed them to veritably feel the feline's actions and destructive joy as he tore through his hated enemy, drinking deep in the chaos he created, though he too was finally beginning to slow down.
Still, Grimmjow could hardly be stopped. Even as he bled from countless cuts, bites and gashes, they began to knit close and he continued on. Wolf after wolf fell to his ferocity and he carved a bloody path through the now leaderless ranks.
The change in the mindless strays was hardly noticeable at first. Where their hunger had driven them ever forward, seeking out human flesh, it gradually led them to begin turning on one another just as easily. The longer they were left leaderless, the more they began killing and devouring each other with abandon.
It wouldn't be long before the last of the still mobile strays were found and killed, leading themselves to their own deaths in their hunger and desperation to get to the humans.
••••••
Rukia picked her way between the trees as she did between the bodies, sheathing her gore stained, silver sword as she went, the very sword she had brought from her brother's home under the guise to train Renji. She had had reason for taking it, for taking one of the silver swords in particular, and slaying werewolves was only one of those reasons.
The weapon she had stolen from Urahara's shop was slung over her shoulder by a strap, loaded with the single shell it would fire. She had only grabbed just the one, knowing that if she missed her first shot, she wouldn't have time to reload let alone fire off another round. But one was all she needed. She would not miss and while the damage of the shell wouldn't be enough to kill the creature, the consequences of the silver it held would be. She would make sure of it.
The gun weighed heavily upon it's strap, large for her small stature and certainly not practical should she have truly needed it for fighting off the hoards. However, that's what her sword was for. She had come prepared.
As the small woman darted between the trees, a dark cloak wrapped about her frame to help her hide among the shadows, she listened to the one/two pattern of gunfire that could only be made by someone wielding two weapons as one. She followed the echoing sound, knowing that only one person among those using firearms used duel pistols the way Shiro did and knowing that he would lead her to the one she was seeking out.
Within moments, the twins came into view just as Ichigo began preparing another spell, though he hardly spoke his chant out loud and the only clue he was about to release his casting was the look of concentration he held. She could see the weariness in his stance, the way he wavered ever so slightly on his feet, but she knew he wouldn't bow beneath that fatigue, not until he had accomplished his goal.
She watched as Ichigo's colorless copy stood guard over the man that was more than just his brother, his strange, gold on black eyes searching the area. Blood had spattered across one side of his ashen face, smeared through his white hair in drying clumps that the near-albino seemed not to notice. The slowly rising sun glinted from the pale colored hand guns, held level and unwavering in equally as pale hands.
Renji stood not far away, his red mane of thick hair tied up and out of his face, though parts had fallen during the fight and the tail was messy. There was something gleaming in his cinnamon hued eyes, something almost hard that shone beside the normally soft and easily read emotions that swirled in his orbs.
Rukia knew the red head hadn't seen or known death so intimately as the twins had, this battle could only be hard on the man. Even if their opponents weren't human, the majority of them had been at one time and she could only hope Renji was strong enough to pull through the trauma of it. Little did she realize, the events that would take place in the next hour would be far more traumatic to Renji, as well as Ichigo, Shiro and most of those they were fighting along side, then the entire night of fighting, spilling blood and killing could have ever been.
With a silent sigh that whispered of a misplaced regret, regret that things couldn't have been different, regret that Renji had to play the part of a good friend and allow himself to be dragged into this, the small woman brought her stolen weapon around, leaving the shoulder strap in place, and double checked the loaded chamber for at least the sixth time. It was a shame there was no other way to save them.
Rukia took one last look in the direction of the three she used to call friends once upon a time, knowing she could never see them again, before setting off back through the forest's edge. The pained yelps and howling guided her, the sounds accompanied by the occasional hiss and snarl she knew to be from the very monster she was seeking. It couldn't have been far. She knew the creature wouldn't stray too far from the twins, ever protective over what it saw as it's own. She would set them free of it's grasp and blinding spell.
As the small woman crept through the forest, going about undetected to the distracted men she had been watching, she was given a short second to notice crunching in the snow before a monstrous, scared up stray stepped into view. Out of reflex, she very nearly pulled the trigger but she stayed her finger and held her shot, unwilling to waste it on a mindless beast when she had much bigger plans for that single shell.
The wolf snarled at her, it's massive, curved fangs dripping with drool and it's maw stained in gore from whatever it had fed upon. Blood and other bits that had once belonged to a living creature matted it's mangy, brown fur. It's fevered yellow eyes landed on her, nothing but it's hunger and madness drilling into her own.
As the beast crouched, it's tongue peeking between it's crooked teeth to lick at it's gore stained lips, Rukia slowly, carefully let the gun drop to hang at her side by the strap. She reached across her body, feeling a very slight breeze blowing passed her from behind, and grasped the hilt of her silver sword.
As the breeze rolled harmlessly passed her, it slammed into the stray. A terrible yelping screech escaped it's throat as it's body convulsed before it even had a chance to fall to the frozen ground. It's sickly yellow eyes rolled back, it's jaws snapping shut around the lulling tongue to cut the appendage free but the beast was dead before it had the chance to feel it's mistake and the body fell to the ground, twitching at Rukia's feet.
Rukia's eyes widened slightly as she watched the display, knowing whom must have been responsible and wondering if she was preparing to kill the wrong monster. She quickly scolded herself for the thought. After all, Ichigo would have never turned into this thing had it not been for the true monster that hid behind the guise of a friend.
In the distance, a cheering could be heard, the few villagers voicing their support and appreciation for what Ichigo had just done, and their hope that all would be over soon.
Gingerly stepping around the body, Rukia continued on her way, cautious of anything that may have lived through the wave of magic the Caster had just sent out. As the echos of the villagers' cheering died away, the sounds of the feline battling took their place and rang through the forest. She eased her way around a few more trees and stepped to the edge of a snow crusted clearing near the village's perimeter.
Several dead wolves lay scattered in the snow, a few still desperately clinging to life as they snarled and snapped their jaws at the werepanther dancing in the middle, a living wolf lunging toward it. The snow surrounding the battling creatures was trampled and bloodied, the earth below exposed in some places from where one or the other had been thrown down and forced to scramble back to it's feet as it fought the other off.
Rukia, being as quiet as she possibly could even though the chances of either distracted monster noticing her were slim, readied her gun once again. She brought the barrel of the modified shotgun horizontal, pointing toward the werecreatures but she couldn't take the shot now. She knew that if she did now, it wouldn't matter which creature she hit, the other, the one left alive, would kill her. So she bid her time, unable to doubt that the werecat would be the one to survive this battle even though he panted and his fatigue was beginning to slow his graceful movements as wolf claws shredded his front. The woman watched and she waited, her weapon at the ready so that she could take advantage of the precise moment the beast would be vulnerable.
Grimmjow panted as he circled around the enormous mutt. The creature very nearly dwarfed the smaller werepanther and was easily twice his weight but it fought with the same hunger driven anger the rest of Baraggan's mindless beasts had and just like them, it would fall to the feline's deadly arsenal of weapons sooner or later.
As Grimmjow swatted at the mutt's torso, his claws raking across hard muscle and drawing blood in thick lines, the wolf accepted the hit and slammed one of his own into the feline. Grimmjow was knocked back, nearly loosing his footing as he grunted from the hit, grimacing and baring his teeth as bone shifted and caught unnaturally where the creature's big paw had slammed into his ribcage. One arm wrapped protectively and unconsciously around the wound, Grimmjow lowered his frame closer to the ground, his stance wide and sure footed. From his ready crouch, the feline easily evaded as the giant stray lunged in again, it's massive jaws snapping and it's clawed hands reaching for him.
The once deidad pounced as the wolf, over balanced from it's failed attack, tried to correct it's mistake. Grimmjow ignored the sharp pain in his abdomen as he attacked, seeing his chance to end the mongrel's life. He pinned his ears back in rage and aggression and grasped the snapping jaws in one taloned hand. With a roaring growl, Grimmjow ripped the beast's bottom jaw away from it's skull. His next furious strike tore through the soft flesh of trachea and esophagus. Blood sprayed in a crimson shower to coat his hands and dissipate to a mist around him, further reddening the trampled snow.
The massive wolf took a shuddering step toward him. The look in it's eyes as they rolled back into it's head slightly told Grimmjow it couldn't comprehend that it was already dead and the beast stumbled forward again, the incessant need to kill so ingrained that it continued to fight the inevitable even as it's blood fountained from it's ripped arteries and ran down it's front.
The feline's now unoccupied mind instantly ran to Ichigo and Shiro. It had been hours since he had last seen them and though he knew through the link they shared that neither had been killed, he still worried for them and for their state of mind now that the golden light of morning was beginning to show the devastation around them. The werepanther wanted to be with them to insure they were safe and unharmed, to take them home, to climb into their warm, human bed and curl between the two until the next morning.
A deep, metallic thunking sound drew the cat's attention away from the dead wolf and the thoughts that swirled in his mind, seeming to echo ominously even in the noise of the slowly ending battle. He spun around, teeth bared as his stunning blue eyes landed on the source almost immediately.
A small, raven haired human stood before him, her face slack and expressionless, a shotgun in hand as she calmly faced his ferocity. A sword was strapped to her hip, the scabbard made from intricately carved, tarnished silver and stamped with the mark of old royalty. She raised the large firearm, bracing it against her shoulder and pointing it at his midsection, the weight of it enough to make her strain but not enough to shake her aim.
Grimmjow sneered. A mere gun hardly gave him pause, let alone worried him. His body could heal a bullet wound quicker than it could kill him, even fatigued and damaged from the continuous fighting through the night. What kept him from attacking her was the sense of familiarity. He knew this human. Shiro and Ichi knew this human, and Renji too. Especially Renji.
His eyes widened and he tilted his head to the side slightly in feline fashion, his glistening fangs once again hidden behind his blood slicked lips. His ears perked forward as he studied the girl, positive it was her. She hadn't been seen since before the war, disappearing before they had even learned of the werewolves' plans. "Rukia?"
He barely got her name out before she began speaking.
"You made men into monsters. You ruined them; destroyed them. You are a monster, and you infected them. You and Ichi's dead twin." Her tone was soft, innocent even but her words whispered of an unwarranted anger that the feline wasn't sure how to react too. He had never done anything to her, in fact, he had saved her and the man she had been living with from Nnoitra. Now he was fighting for her village, risking himself for reasons that were hardly his own.
He was saved the trouble of coming up with a reply as the small woman smiled at him almost sweetly and pulled the trigger.
The shot rang loud in Grimmjow's ears, the sound echoing loudly in the suddenly silent forest and deafeningly in his sensitive ears before he registered the sting of silver in a hundred different places. A buck shot. The woman had shot him with a silver loaded buck shot.
A high pitched, yowling scream tore from his throat as pain lanced through his feline body. He tore at the small bullet wounds as instinct over rode all else and demanded he relieve himself of the cursed metal, his hands shaking and his mind spinning with the devastating and poisonous effect. He felt more than saw his gore stained fur retreat to be replaced by smooth skin. The pain of his resurrection being forcibly stripped from his body dropped him to his knees as he screamed and his vision blurred, the burn of the silver coursing through his veins and seeming to alight him on fire from within.
Only moments having passed, the massive wolf behind him gave a shuddering groan as it's mind finally caught up to it's dead body. Sickly yellow eyes rolled back and it toppled forward, tongue lolling without the lower jaw to hold it in place, sticky, blood flecked drool dripping from it.
Grimmjow pivoted, his now human body feeling heavy and sluggish, turning to look at the beast as it fell toward him. Blue eyes widened and he desperately tried to scramble out of the way. His screaming had torn his throat raw and he shook and trembled from the forced veering and silver. He struggled against the burning pain caused by the bane of his werecreature heritage as he tried to drag himself out of the way. Everything hurt, it felt like acid seeping into his flesh and writhing beneath his skin and he wasn't fast enough.
The wolf, out weighing him in his human form easily by several hundred pounds, fell to pin him on the blood soaked ground.
Grimmjow gasped and coughed, breath knocked away by the force of the massive wolf carcass. He pushed against the beast with trembling arms, trying to claw his way out from under it's crushing weight, his naked human form unregistering of the cold snow he was pinned against. A whimpering reached his ears as he continued to struggle against the dead wolf and the pain that threatened to consume him. As he continued to writhe pitifully below the body he realized the pathetic whimpering was coming from him.
A figure stepped up to him, looking down at him and casting a shadow across his face in the early morning sun. A sword hissed from a scabbard and Grimmjow bared his teeth up at the woman in a pathetic attempt at aggression and warning. A flash of glinting silver, then the sword was plunged through the dead wolf and into his abdomen, then into the frozen ground below, further pinning him.
His screaming erupted anew as the silver weapon tore at his insides and he desperately tried to clutch at the blade, tried to tear it from his body. But the dead wolf was in the way and the silver was consuming his senses, yet all he could think of was making sure Ichigo and Shiro were ok and insuring Rukia didn't harm his humans as she calmly turned around and walked away.
••••••
Ichigo let out a deep breath, magic flowing from his body in thick waves to ripple across the battle field. As the last of the creatures around him dropped, dead and mangled from the potent casting, he released the spell and dropped to one knee with exhaustion. His body felt drained from the amount of power he had forced out, but it had worked, the village was whole and many lives had been saved. The battle was over, the unnatural werewolf army was decimated and their were no survivors. The mindless beasts had happily ran to their deaths, only hoping for a chance to sate their hunger and not able to recognize the danger they threw themselves at.
Shirosaki trudged up to his side, feet dragging slightly, to stand protectively over him, silver guns in hand, while Ichigo regained his breath. Around them, a few cheers erupted and the albino looked down at King with a genuine smile.
In the distance, howling that could have only came from the Pack's Alpha added an almost happy melody, quickly followed by a few other ghostly howls as the Pack announced their victory, no hint of the leader's injury evident in his deep voice.
Ichigo slowly stood, a matching smile on his face as he looked around at the villagers. Happy, relieved expressions adorned almost every one of them, Ichigo and Shiro no longer being looked at as if they were monsters, but as heros and comrades. Their elation was short lived, the smiles whipped from their faces as something snapped inside their minds simultaneously, leaving the twins dizzy and off balance.
They looked to one another, eyes wide and filled with dread as the link that bound them to each other and their feline companion seared and flared brightly with burning pain for just a moment. "Grimmjow..."
Something was terribly wrong with the werepanther. They both felt it, a hint of pain, a flash of fear. Then nothing.
"Grimmjow!" Ichigo called out, taking off into the sea of mangled bodies, following the direction the presence had come from. He scanned the beasts that lay sprawled across the ground, searching for blue tinted black fur, at once both hoping to find the werecat and hoping that he wasn't there amongst the dead.
Shiro took off as well, splitting away from the Caster. "Grimm!" He called, listening for a reply and searching frantically. Dread crawled through his mind, widening his haunting eyes and threatening to bring tears forth.
Around and behind them, the villagers continued to cheer and celebrate, hardly noticing their saviors' panic. The celebratory howling ceased in the distance, a single wolf drawing out a deep, baritone syllable that took on an edge of sorrow. Among the crowd, a dark haired figured watched for a moment more, then disappeared seamlessly into the sea of people, disappearing again to never be found.
••••••
"Grimm..." the sound was faint. "...Grimmjow..." The werepanther, reduced to his human form, let his head fall weakly to the side. It had been Shiro's voice, lilting and watery and perfect, but tainted somehow.
"Grimm! Where are ya?" Louder this time, more high pitched and wavering than usual. It sounded like the pale man was worried.
Grimmjow smirked a little. Shiro was worried about him. It didn't suit the near-albino.
The voice called his name again and Grimmjow opened his mouth to call back.
"Shiro..." his voice was weak and came out more of a bubbling cough than the shout it was meant to be. But the pale man must have been close, even closer than he had thought for the man to have heard him.
"Grimm? Shit!" Shiro hissed, dropping to his knees beside the trapped man. "KING! I found 'im!" He shouted over his shoulder, then turned back to the werepanther turned man.
Grimmjow attempted to say something, the action only causing him to cough and blood to trickle from the corner of his red stained lips as the silver blade cut at his insides, tearing vital organs and arteries. His breaths came in harsh gasps as he slowly bled out. He weakly raised his hand, again trying to push the wolf off him, but in the back of his mind, he knew it was futile. He didn't have the strength, and even if he had, the silver sword held it in place. A whimper passed his parted lips as the world spun around.
Shiro watched him, his throat beginning to burn as panic welled up in his gut. He shot to his feet and grasped the hilt of the blade. Looking down at Grimmjow, fear and apology in his gold on black eyes, he jerk upward on the blade with all the strength and speed he could muster.
Grimmjow squeezed his eyes shut, writhing as the blade was drawn from his abdomen and out through the wolf. A strangled whimper crawled from his throat before his body stilled and he panted, blue eyes clouded and unfocused. The edges of his vision blurred and faded, the battle field seeming to loose it's color. And for a moment, just a moment, he thought he had seen raised burrows surrounding him.
Ichigo arrived in a swish of robes, nearly running into Shiro in his haste to reach them. He looked down at the creature he and his brother had come to love. His face was pale, his blood stained lips contrasting sickly off his unusual complexion. His usually vibrant blue hair was matted and coated in blood and dirt. His eyes reflected only pain and a look neither had seen before; fear deeper than they could have ever believed would come from Grimmjow.
Ichigo flung the robes from his shoulders, the cloak falling to the muddy earth to be forgotten as it got in his way. Tears prickled at the back of his eyes and, without hesitation, he instantly grabbed hold of the dead monster laying on top of the injured cat. Shiro followed his lead and they yanked on the carcass.
The dead beast was so heavy though, and Grimmjow far too weak to aid them, the feline growing weaker with each passing second as the silver still lodged in his flesh bled his strength and power and made the wounds he already held all the worse.
"Ichi, Shiro! What are you guys doing?" A deep voice called behind them, the tone happy and curious. Renji was overjoyed with how well the battle had went, nothing could have tempered his good mood.
Almost nothing.
Two sets of wide, shock and horror filled eyes turned to pin Renji in place; one of swirling gold, the other a rich brown and both swimming with barely held tears.
"Red..." Shiro choked out, hardly able to force words past the lump of panic in his throat.
"...Help us..." Ichigo finished for his twin. They both swung back to the giant dead weight still sitting atop Grimmjow and renewed their efforts, determination and desperation in their every action.
Renji ran to their sides, eyes wide as he took in the sight before him. Without question, he pushed Ichigo toward where Grimmjow's head lay on the cold, blood churned ground, taking the smaller man's place along the corpse. He and Shiro heaved, straining to budge the dead beast.
Ichigo slipped his arms under Grimmjow's, hooking them under the man's shoulders. As the dead monster was lifted fractionally, he dragged the dying cat from under it. Dropping to his knees, he cradled Grimmjow in his lap, smoothing blue strands away from the man's face.
They had seen the man hurt before, damaged and injured, but he had always held onto his fire with a stubborn ferocity. That flame seemed so small in that moment, flickering precariously in the cold, wintery breeze.
Shiro dropped to his knees beside them. A few unnoticed tears streaking his face as he looked the man over. He was covered in half healed gashes and bite wounds, injuries that he should have healed from quickly. The tell tale, deep brusing of broken bones settled along his ribcage, but still it wasn't a life threatening injury. The marks that held his attention were the small ones. Red and inflamed, turning into a bruised and blackish color almost before their eyes; too many tiny wounds to count. Wounds that could have only been made by the spray of a buck shot; a cruel method used when hunting something large that didn't go down easily or was too hard to hit.
Renji stood behind them, unsure what to do and disbelieving that the powerful werepanther could be so injured. He did all he could in that moment. The red head watched over the three men on the ground, making sure that no one bothered them and no left over monsters found them as they spent what could be their last moments with the man; a man Renji knew his friends loved, a man he had befriended and could no longer see as the monster most others saw.
Grimmjow coughed and gasped as he was shifted, pulled further into Ichigo's lap and off the frozen ground. A whimper left his throat, the sound barely loud enough to reach the twins sitting beside him. Shaky hands instantly started digging at the small bullet wounds that covered his body, running on instinct. The silver from the buck shot was keeping him from healing, keeping his body from being able to recover from wounds that wouldn't usually pose a problem and keeping the sword slash that tore through his more vital regions bleeding and opened.
He bared red stained teeth, body spasming as pain lanced through him and his hands fell to his sides weakly. Chest raising in fast, uneven and shallow breaths, Grimmjow forced his clouded blue eyes to focus on the faces above him.
Shiro's feathery, white locks were streaked with drying blood but it wasn't his own, for which the werepanther was immensely grateful. Ichigo's eyes were shadowed and red rimmed from the fatigue of casting such powerful spells but they shone with an emotional pain that nearly made Grimmjow himself hurt, none of the fatigue showing in their deapths. His humans shouldn't look like this. The once might feline vowed he would make those responsible for making his beloved humans cry pay with something far more sinister than death.
Grimmjow's body was shivering, but he couldn't stop, couldn't control it. He was cold, yet the burn of silver still coursed through his veins, hotter than any fire and just as deadly at this point. His vision wavered, darkening in and out as he fought to hold on to his consciousness. The world steadily grew quieter, a deceptive calm settling around him. Prying dulled cyan eyes open and not remembering when he had closed them, Grimmjow watched as brown eyes streamed with unchecked tears and the Caster's paler than normal features twisted with pain as he spoke; shouted pleas that fell on deaf ears.
As his vision failed him, blurring the familiar faces that hovered over him, Grimmjow's keen ears picked up only the sound of a weakly beating heart, the organ working hard to win an already lost battle. The unsteady beat grew painful for a brief moment that seemed to last a life time, making the earth seem to shake. A blast of blinding color filled his vision; tear streaked faces, wide golden orbs and devastated brown. A pale hand reached out, gently running long fingers through his tangled and blood matted hair, whispered words reached his ears, but he could only make out the comforting tone. It was all he needed. He let his eyes close as he listened. So this is what his dreams, his visions, had been portraying. His humans weren't dying in them, then, he was. The once mighty werepanther, now reduced to the shivering form of a man, was fine with that so long as the men he loved were ok.
He had always known he would die in battle.
Grimmjow bared his red stained teeth, his body convulsing in the Caster's grip as a barely audible whine reached the twins' ears. As the bluenette relaxed, his head falling back into the Ichigo's lap, the Caster shook his head in denial, un-noticing of and unable to stop the tears that freely fell to stain his cheeks.
"No...no no no..." He chanted, looking down into glazed azure. "You can't do this, Grimmjow, you can't!"
Beside the Caster, his Undead twin laced shaking fingers with his brothers where his hand sat between them. Shiro looked down at the feline they had both grown to love and knew the man wouldn't make it through this time. It was a gut feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach, threatening to make him violently ill. He wiped the tears that blurred his vision from his eyes before reaching out to gently thread his fingers through the man's thick, soft blue hair.
His voice cracking slightly at first, he started humming the tune their mother had once sung to he and his brother. The pale man couldn't find the words, he never could, but he knew Grimmjow was beyond being able to understand them anyway, if he could still hear them at all. So he hummed the tune, soft and gentle, reassuringly and lovingly. He didn't notice the tears that streaked down his own face, falling to the cold ground he kneeled on, nor did he hear the Caster's broken sob as the two humans watch their feline companion in his last moments.
The Fallen deidad's lips quirked up into a slight, contented smile, he barest hint of a purr rumbling deep in his throat, before the man fell still and his chest failed to rise.
••••••
The dawn broke over a crimson stained, snow covered battle field. Nothing stirred to break the silence or disturb the stillness. Snow, white and pure, fell lazily from heavy, foreboding grey clouds, covering the blood and frozen bodies but it's cleansing blanket did little to hide the memories and nightmares of the short lived battle.
Starrk, veered into his four legged wolf form for the first time in decades so that he had three legs to roam on rather than one while his shattered limb healed, sat in the snow, his bushy tail wrapped around his feet as he silently watched over the home of his friend's humans. The seal had vanished with the Caster's grief, but the Alpha and his second would insure they were safe for as long as it took them to recover.
Near by and easily within Starrk's line of sight, Lilynette sniffled a bit, her magenta eyes showing her own sorrow as she hoped her new friends would be ok and come out soon. She laid her head on her crossed paws and held nearly motionless, as she had for the past several days, the same as her older sibling had, the same as Nnoitra had. None of the three would leave their posts as the twins hid within their fortress like home.
Days went by, uncounted and unnoticed. The sun brought nothing but another day of his absence, the lack of his commanding presence, wild aura, feral beauty.
Visitors came and went, unacknowledged as they pounded on the heavy, metal front door, the echos hollow and dead as they rang through the still keep. Renji's deep voice shouted and begged through the door, wanting nothing more than to know his friends were still alive. Each day he was ignored, yet each day he came back, tried again. What would he think of the red head if he knew Renji hadn't been there for the twins, his lovers, for the humans he had given his heart and life for?
The days turned to a week, nights giving no relief, darkness only making his absence even more pronounced. The lack of his deep, steady breathing was deafening, the missing beat of a strong, fierce heart enough to drive both men to tears in the quiet of the large fortress that was suddenly so empty.
Ichigo whimpered, curled next to his twin's fitfully sleeping form. The near-albino twitched with his unrelenting dreams, snowy brow creased in distress. His arm's tightened around the slightly smaller form in his grasp, his King held desperately to his chest. Neither had been able to sleep since it had happened; tired and worn, emotionally and physically drained, they had nothing left to give. Not for themselves, not for anyone else. The wounds were raw, bleeding, scared over to be torn open again, if not physically than mentally. It didn't matter.
He was all that mattered.
Hardly able to summon the strength to drag themselves from their bed, a bed that still smelled of him, neither man noticed or cared as they both began to loose weight and the Caster's pallor began to match his twin's. Food tasted of ash and wouldn't stay down, so they didn't bother trying to eat. Sleep wouldn't consume them, giving them reverie from their waking thoughts and emotions and the rare occasions one or the other managed to drift off for more than a few minutes, nothing but haunting images and dulled, blue eyes waited in the darkness behind closed lids.
But he was gone.
The Caster jerked in his own sleep, hands unconsciously clutching at Shirosaki's gaunt form. Blood coated the walls of his mind, screams and the sounds of the dying rang through the trees of his dreamscape. The young man, long orange hair limp and lifeless, shivered and whimpered, the sound nearly inaudible.
A voice called through the forest, the territory familiar, safe, the voice deep, smooth yet rough. The trees were bare, snow coating the branches and the ground. All was still, silent except for the echo of a voice he would never hear again. But the forest remembered, the creatures that lived near by remembered him. Nothing had dared set foot on the once fiercely protected and guarded land, nothing encroached on his territory, his lingering memory enough to protect his forest.
Another echo reached Ichigo's ears, bringing disbelieving tears to his hazy brown eyes.
"Ichigo."
Shiro stirred as the man in his arms gasped with shock, the undercurrent of a single word uttered in the breath, the voice familiar but not quite Ichigo's. The pale twin's mind was too clouded with sorrow and an overwhelming void to distinguish it. It was forgotten as tears slipped from below closed lids to wet his bared chest. He wrapped his arms tighter about Ichigo's slim form, knowing his King to be dreaming. Gold on black eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling. The Undead had never before felt so lifeless as he had in these past few days...this past week...as he had in that moment.
He ran, uncaring that he was barefoot, not noticing the cold that seeped into his nearly naked body nor the snow that still fell, the snow that had hardly stopped falling since it happened, since the first and last battle of a short lived but bloody war had ended. He was alive, he was there and Ichigo searched for his memory, for his comforting weight, for his gorgeous blue eyes and untamable spirit.
"Over here...Ichigo..." The voice was unmistakable, the strange echo making it hard to pin point, but it was there, battle weary and haggard, but it was him.
The Caster sent his senses outward, following the voice with his ears and considerable magic, the magic he had trained and studied so hard to master so that he would be able to protect those he cared about. But he had failed.
He panted as he ran on, searching and shouting the name he had grown so fond of. His words, his pleads and questions made no sound, dying in the cold air before they even left his tongue.
A familiar mound came into view, a single, still growing tree marking the head of the small grave, a crimson leaf splayed atop the fresh snow that should have buried it long ago.
"I'm sorry...Ichigo...this is the best I can manage...for now..."
Somehow, the Caster understood the unspoken words behind what the voice said. He was out of strength, unable to leave wherever he was, trapped and incapable of seeking the Caster out. The temple. Ichigo ran for the grand temple, knowing he would be perched upon his throne of twisted bone, more fitting now than ever.
Shiro grunted weakly as an elbow dug into his ribs, awakening him from the light daze he had managed to slip back under. Ichigo bolted upright, eyes still closed as he nearly tumbled from the bed.
"King?" He asked, his voice quiet yet loud in the deafening silence of their home, the distorted quality more pronounced from what may have been days without speaking. He hadn't been bothered to count.
Ichigo didn't respond, still lost in his tormenting dream. Shaking slightly, whether from cold or lack of strength, the Caster scrambled down the stairs and toward the door. Shiro jumped from the bed and quickly followed after his twin.
"King? King, wake up!"
Tears blurred the orangette's vision but he ran unfaltering through the arched door way, hardly taking the time to realize it wasn't ravaged and worn by time any longer. The beautifully carved columns were polished and moss free, white and flawless. The floor was smooth as marble, the walls solid and perfect, as beautiful as the day it had been constructed. All went unnoticed. All except for the figure on the gorgeous throne.
A slim tail swayed behind the chair's back, the tip flicking in a motion only a feline could manage; slow and sensual but lazy and relaxed. Sleek, blue-black fur shimmered as if by firelight, smooth and silky. Long, powerful legs were splayed before the figure, muscled abdomen unpierced by the horrid silver that had marred it. No wounds touched the perfect flesh, no silver bullets, nor cuts, not even a scratch. There was no evidence to show that the feline deidad had been injured...had bled out in the snow...had died in the Caster's arms.
Ichigo couldn't pull his gaze away from vivid, impossibly blue orbs. Cyan eyes with slitted pupils, eyes that held a sad, apologetic regret, eyes that spoke of immense weariness and fatigue, of pain too deep to heal. Not a physical pain, but an emotional pain, one that only the Caster and his brother could cure, and only if they could pull themselves from the deep abyss that had consumed their waking and sleeping worlds.
"Grimmjow..." The word was broken, coming out as a nearly soundless sob, uttered from a broken man with a damaged, lifeless spirit.
"Grimmjow..." Shiro nearly collapsed as he heard the quiet, broken sob escape his sleep walking twin's lips. Salty tears ran unchecked down ashen, pale cheeks, the dark circles around his eyes all the more pronounced against his lily skin.
The near-albino raced forward, grabbing at Ichigo's wrist as they stumbled through the forest, bare feet crunching through snow. Neither noticed the set of grey, sorrow stricken eyes that followed their moves, nor the violet one that reflected much the same. "King...he ain't out here..." Shiro whispered through his tears, unable to force his wavering voice much louder. "Wake up, King..."
Dark brows seemed to pull together, a slight frown marring the feline's features. Ears fell slightly, loosing their alert quality and making the werepanther look as sad and tired as he felt. Blue eyes swam with barely held tears as they looked down at the Caster almost kneeling at the foot of his throne. Ichigo wasn't meant to bow before him, not for any reason. The Caster and his twin had always been strong, so much stronger than this.
"Ichigo..." Grimmjow's deep voice wrapped around the temple's inner sanctum, forcing the trembling human to wipe his eyes and look up too meet his gaze. "This isn't you...your brother...I am sorry..."
Ichigo understood what the feline was trying to get across. Something whispered in the back of his mind, the link that had ever connected he and the feline and his beloved brother. The Caster shook his head in denial of the apology. Grimmjow had nothing to apologize for, he had done all he could, was still doing all he could. Ichigo realized how much it must hurt him to see Shiro and himself in such a state of waste...weakened and unwilling to even take care of themselves...
A slight smile crossed feline lips, reaching sorrow filled eyes. The werepanther gave an almost imperceptible nod to the Caster's thoughts. He didn't move from his throne as he spoke in a gentle voice, looking worn out, his chest heaving a little harder than it should have been for his lack of motion. The words he spoke cut in and out, as if projected on a bad signal. "It'll take more...harder to kill a deidad...after all..."
"King...please..." Shiro clutched the weakly struggling Caster close to him, sinking to his knees as Ichigo cried against his neck and chest. He didn't understand why Ichigo wouldn't wake up. Hardly noticing the tears that continued to streak his features to mix with the Caster's, Shiro gently rocked Ichigo back and forth where they sat in the snow. He couldn't loose Ichigo too...his King had to be alright...he had to wake up...how could he, the Undead, be the last one left alive? Ichigo needed to wake up.
"I love you...Ichigo...you and Shiro..."
Ichigo choked out another sob, trying to stumble closer to the werepanther perched on the white throne like a true King, a true deity. He tried to reach out to Grimmjow, but his body wouldn't move, wouldn't listen to his commands.
"Tell Shiro...for me..." The werepanther said, a slightly sad tone in his deep, velveteen voice.
Ichigo could feel the pull on his consciousness, he could almost hear the faint, lilting voice of his twin calling his name, desperation evident in the watery cries. It was nearly the same tone he had cried in when first raised and it broke Ichigo's heart just a bit more. He understood what was happening, understood he couldn't stay much longer. Grimmjow knew it too, he could tell by the cat's saddened but excepting and understanding expression.
"I will..." The Caster almost shouted to the fading figure seated on the throne. "I'll tell him...I...we love you too...Grimm..."
Ichigo jerked awake at the foot of the stairs that led to a once grand temple, gasping a name as he fell forward into his brother's chest. "...Grimm..." He breathed, tasting the salt from his own tears as he whispered the name.
He looked up at Shiro's liquid gaze, seeing relief, pain and regret flood the man's eyes. The near full moon cast them in deep shadows, pronouncing the damage that time had worn on the mighty temple and the surrounding grounds, a reminder of how very dead it truly was. The near-albino slowly shook his head, unable to meet his twin's eyes. "No...King...He's not here..."
Ichigo stared up at the pale man, seconds that seemed like eternity ticking by before he surged to his feet. Stumbling through the snow, his legs and feet having gone numb long before he had awakened to realize it, Ichigo climbed the wide staircase. "He is! I saw him...he's here!" He whispered desperately. He burst through the temple's arched, crumbling doorway, his wide, dark ringed brown eyes landing on the throne.
Shiro caught up to him, yanking the trembling Caster into a strong embrace before Ichigo could collapse back to the ground, brown eyes never leaving the throne of twisted bone.
"I'm sorry, King...I'm so sorry..." Shiro quietly sobbed into long, orange hair, uncaring that Ichigo would see how weak he truly was. "...he's gone..."
Ichigo allowed desperate, heart wrenching sobs to finally break him as he trembled in his brother's embrace, staring at the empty throne.
"he's gone..."