I was so slow in uploading this. But seriously had a lot of fun writing it, I love writing fight scenes.

Another huge thank you to my beta-reader, plus a disclaimer stating that I don't own anything.

Chapter 4

-

"Maybe… this was what you were meant to do. I think it is."

"… You are wrong."

-

Expectations: easy to imagine, easy to convey; yet so impossible to meet. Never before did he think that he would ever struggle so badly with any set before him, but now he floundered in the sea of needs and requests, sinking deeper and deeper with each ill-placed step. And all the while, he somehow knew that he could never reach the shore that marked the ends of the everlasting ocean of expectations. In fact, he didn't quite know how to meet them at all.

And then… then there was the question of whom to accept them from.

-

As Orihime stared, her face upturned towards the skyline, the only thing she could think of was how the day had started like any other, and how she had believed it would end like any other. The rip in the sky groaned and widened, pieces of the dimension shifting away to reveal the faces of ten arrancar, bone masks stark against the dark backdrop of chaos. Her hands shook. Even as blood rushed in her ears and her mind screamed at her to run, she stood motionless, rooted to the spot.

Around her, doors burst open and shinigami rushed out into the halls, fear and shock written on their features as they saw the dark blotch in the sky.

The two sides remained motionless for a moment. Then, with a flicker of movement, all hell broke loose.

-

He must have dozed off at some point, but managed to remain upright, silent even as he slept. Through the clearing haze, he felt a change in the air around him. A peculiar warmth was suddenly permeating the air, lifted upon the tepid breaths of the waking world. Slowly, Ulquiorra let his eyes slide open. He blinked.

Dawn was something he had never truly seen before. It was not only in the physical sense of the sun --- something unheard of in the darkness of Hueco Mundo --- but the admiration, the acknowledgement of the existence of something such as light. He found his gaze arrested by the glowing pinprick that turned the treetops into dark candles, its tiny flame waning and spreading until the horizon was set aflame by the sheer brilliance of golden sunlight. It was a paradox, the contradiction of the very foundations of his being eating him alive, yet enamoring him beyond his comprehension.

And then he heard the faint grind of dust under approaching footsteps.

A hand was laid on his shoulder, barely touching the fabric of his somewhat bloodied uniform. He turned at the slight contact and saw the flat eyes of the shinigami captain, Soifon. Her expression was inscrutable as their gazes met; no trace of their conversation from the night before could be seen on her face.

"We're leaving." The short sentence was uttered as a command.

He gave a curt nod and followed her through the barrier back into Soul Society.

What was she to him? Did he actually think anyone, anyone would actually give enough of themselves to care? Foolishness, he thought, it must be affecting me just as it affects the trash around me. It was frightening, not understanding the situation. He had always been so resourceful, but as he watched the shinigami's retreating back, he couldn't help feel the overwhelming fear that came with ignorance. What was this… confusion? Is this… a heart? Familiarity… is that what that woman --- Inoue Orihime --- talked so easily about?

Ulquiorra snorted quietly to himself. He had been naïve to sink this far into the shinigami existence, drawing ever closer to that thing called a 'heart'. But he did not understand. A heart, a heart.

What was a heart?

-

Panic.

Frenzy.

Noise…

Orihime had never seen war. She had never tasted the air, thickened by the blood of countless victims, metallic and salty on her tongue. She had never felt the heaviness of consistent fear weighing down on her shoulders as she scrambled over broken grounds, half-expecting to be killed at any moment. Her entire body tingled as she imagined blades cutting through her, ceroes incinerating the world around her. But nothing, nothing was worse than the screaming, the shrieking of people, Hollows, everyone… as pandemonium raged.

Her breath caught in her throat as she skidded around a corner, running from what, she didn't quite know, running toward what, she didn't quite care.

Oh god, oh god, let me find someone, anyone… I have to help, I have to heal someone, save someone! All the people dying, oh god…

She heard footsteps hard on her heels, the roar of an unseen enemy giving chase. Orihime let a soft sob escape, her heart leaping to her throat. She knew that the arrancar was only toying with her and that death was now imminent. The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning, and she felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she abruptly came to terms with the inexorable brevity of existence.

Ulquiorra, save me.

Her eyes widened in shock stronger than the realization of death. Her first thoughts had always been given towards Ichigo, towards Kurosaki-kun, who had always been the savior who never failed. And her, she had always cried for her nakama, always looked to them for help, for strength. And now, in face of mortal danger, she had cried out for Ulquiorra, of all people.

The thought only served to heighten her panic.

As her breath started to come in gasps and her legs began to drag from the weight of exhaustion, she felt the point of the blade singing towards her. She tried to raise trembling hands to her hairpins, tried to conjure a shield, but her arms were numb, her tired body too shocked by the sudden onslaught of death to respond to her will.

Orihime closed her eyes as the wind rushed past her, the world fading away into silence.

But the blow never came. Regardless, she kept her eyes closed, burying her face in her hands as if waiting for life to end swiftly. She closed her eyes and willed darkness to come, as she had done so many times on the first day of the holidays. Vaguely, she thought Ulquiorra would chide her for being so impractical as to compare two opposites as if they were the same thing.

Please, kill me quickly.

"Inoue."

The voice was taut with strain, but she knew the sound anywhere. Her head snapped up, and she was greeted by Ichigo's warm brown eyes, his sword trembling against the arrancar's.

"Kuro… saki-kun?" her voice was barely a whimper, tears filling her eyes as she realized she was once again only a burden.

A smile shone through the worry, and Ichigo gritted out, "Are you okay?"

It took her a moment to process the question before she nodded yes, but she felt far from it. Instead, she stamped down her inner turmoil and tried to steel herself, willing herself to be strong, for Kurosaki-kun.

"Good." The smile broadened, though still wavering from the effort of holding off the arrancar. "Just hang in there for a bit, I'll make this quick --- "

"I --- I'm sorry."

The words tumbled out in a desperate rush for freedom. Ichigo had frozen save for the trembling in his arms as he tightened his grip on Zangetsu. "What?"

"I'm sorry for everything, Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime wailed, holding out her hand beseechingly.

There was a momentary silence and Ichigo's shoulders relaxed, his rigid demeanor falling away into the warmth she knew so well. He half turned his head again.

"It's okay, Inoue. Now stay back." he said, his voice softer than it had been a minute ago. "I have to take care of this guy first."

-

The first thing he heard were the screams. Ulquiorra allowed himself a small hiss as he was greeted by the sight of the dead, the burning, and the fighting that ran haphazardly across Soul Society. Chaos was the only thing that could describe it, the crumbling buildings, the swarming people trying in vain to escape what he saw as certain death. Flashes of light exploded among the battle, reiatsu spiking and fading all around him.

Chaos.

He heard a soft curse beside him and Soifon disappeared. He watched as she reappeared among the confusion below, sword drawn and flashing. His lips thinned as the rest of the shinigami trash followed, throwing themselves into battle without a second thought. The fools should have planned, should have looked to see where their presence would be most advantageous. Green eyes flickered back and forth among the figures, finding and noting where the white-clad enemy stood among the black uniforms. Finding no place worthy of his attention, he turned his head to the right.

His eyes widened. He spotted the unruly head of orange hair, a mere pinprick of color moving about among the confusion. Kurosaki Ichigo.

The shinigami was holding out badly. From what Ulquiorra could feel, his reiatsu was falling in steady increments, while his opponents only increased with confidence and savage joy. A closer inspection told him that he did not know this arrancar, but he took note of the formidable reiatsu and formed the only conclusions he could.

Aizen had created more Espada.

There was no hesitation involved. Ulquiorra drew Murciélago, the solid hilt secure in his hand. His entire being tensed with the anticipation of a battle, and he allowed a brief moment to still himself, to focus. He inhaled once, exhaled once. Then he moved, darting towards the ground in a sonido, his left hand shooting forwards the catch the blade as the right whipped his sword toward the face of the shocked Espada.

But the surprise only lasted for a moment. The arrancar arched backwards, tearing the blade upwards and out of Ulquiorra's grip. The two leapt apart, surveying each other through wary eyes. The other's reiatsu was high, very high, and Ulquiorra knew that this was an artificial Espada, with power that could rival his own. The thought did not settle well with him, and for the first time since he could remember, he felt the stirrings of anxiety flutter in his chest.

He heard a violent coughing emerge from beside him and he looked down to see the Kurosaki brat, heaving for breath as he struggled to his feet. Ulquiorra immediately disregarded this. Now that Kurosaki's survival was ensured, there was no point in validating the extent of his injuries. As long as he lived, it was enough.

He turned his head and, with a jolt of surprise, saw that the woman was standing there as well, her hands clenched among the folds her uniform. Goddammit that woman was always there at the most inconvenient of times. He did not want a fight that included the protection of two useless 'comrades'.

"Woman." He said, keeping his voice short and clipped, "Heal the shinigami, and be quick about it."

Ulquiorra blinked as the other Espada shifted, broken stone crunching as he adjusted his stance. Green eyes bored into the calculating face, taking in the other's appearance. The arrancar was a good head taller than him, with bleached blond hair that was almost white. Eerie yellow eyes leered back at him, all but glowing with adrenaline and power. The Hollow's mask sat atop his head, curving across to extend down the bridge of his nose. A zanpakuto was clutched in his hand, handle wrapped in tight grey silk, the guard flashing in the light before the shadow of the Espada's hand darkened its surface. Their gazes connected for a brief moment, and in that moment, Ulquiorra saw the calm assurance of power behind the other's eyes, the same kind of assurance that he himself carried so easily with his unshakable aplomb.

There was nothing to be said. The two arrancar clashed again, swords meeting in a flash of sparks. The contact lasted only for a second, and silver streaked through the air as the blades crashed together again and again. As Ulquiorra sidestepped a thrust, he dropped, sweeping low with his zanpakuto, aiming for the temporarily unprotected legs. The enemy leapt, touching down behind him and Ulquiorra continued with his slash, whirling around and lifting his blade just in time to block the sword cutting down towards him.

With a screech, the intersecting blades slid past each other, and their wielders were forced apart, neither stumbling from the sudden change in pressure. It was a dance, a furious dance in which a mistake could and would cost a life. It was strange, Ulquiorra thought has he twisted himself in an attack from above, for such an analogy would have never occurred to him in Hueco Mundo. Something was changing, and he did not like it.

His hand shot out, grazing the other's cheek as they whirled past each other, and he stepped back quickly to avoid a blow he could not block. Blurred steel swept by inches from his face, and he actually saw two strands of dark hair part company with the others and fall to the ground.

This was the closest anyone had come to killing him in a long while.

The mystery Espada's zanpakuto came whipping back up and Ulquiorra's left hand flickered out to block it. The sharp edge dug into his skin, and bright red trickled down the silver side. He jerked his arm to the right and slid himself to the left, behind his opponent. His sword shot forward and finally made contact, stabbing into the other's shoulder even as he turned. Ulquiorra brought his sword out and around just in time to block another sweeping blow, the impact jolting his arms painfully.

Gritting his teeth, he heaved with Murciélago, throwing the arrancar back. He jerked himself to his feet and followed, raising his zanpakuto in anticipation of a retaliatory blow.

Then his eyes widened. The Espada had turned, whipping his sword out towards Orihime, whose eyes widened impossibly further at the sudden attack. In a flash, Ulquiorra had appeared between them, swords crashing together.

There was a brief lull, and then, with a sharp report and an ear-splitting crack, Ulquiorra's zanpakuto broke. Shining fragments of metal hit the ground a second before the blade did, clattering upon the bloody ground with a despairing sense of finality.

The arrancar's yellow eyes remained cold as he swept his own blade down, ripping Ulquiorra open from collarbone to hip. Dark blood welled up, gushing from the wound even as the flesh began to knit itself back together. Ulquiorra felt his fallen zanpakuto's hilt slip from his fingers, but he never heard it hit the ground. His head spun and his spine arched backwards as he collapsed towards the ground. Eyes narrowed in anger and pain as a single word escaped his numb lips.

"Shit."

But before he could reach the ground, a hand was at his throat, jerking him up. He didn't move, hanging limp from the other's grasp as he waited patiently for the wounds to heal themselves. This had been expected; the arrancar's reiatsu had felt even stronger and denser than his own, and Ulquiorra did not think for a moment that he would get out of this battle unscathed. But this did not prevent the predictable shock he felt that came with this swift defeat.

"Oho."

The arrancar's light voice echoed strangely in his ears. He felt himself raised off the ground, a hand still gripping his neck with enough force to cut off his windpipe, but not enough to strangle him. He lowered his gaze to the yellow one, refusing to raise his hands to touch the one holding him.

"So you're the former Fourth Espada, huh?"

The dark mouth curved down slightly. "Former?" Ulquiorra echoed, voice low and cracked, yet firmly unyielding. It was only then that he realized the blow that felled him had torn his shirt as well, and the black number stood out plain as day against his white skin and red blood.

"Of course…" suspicious eyes flickered between the inscrutable face and the four tattooed on Ulquiorra's chest. "If you weren't the former, then how could I be the current?"

Ulquiorra froze, eyes locking in their sockets, his buzzing mind swiftly calculating the only plausible conclusion.

Replaced.

He had been… replaced.

Unnecessary. Superfluous. A deep ache welled up in his chest at the thought, the knowledge that he had been expendable. Something must have crept onto his face, for his opponent smirked, the expression more terrifying than any he had worn thus far. The hand tightened its grip, crushing Ulquiorra's windpipe. Immediately, instinct overwhelmed him and an animalistic panic overtook his mind. Back arched, he gave in to his need for oxygen and whipped his hands up to his throat, gripping the wrist of the Espada. But despite the fear, he fought to keep his expression dispassionate, empty.

The hand tightened further.

"Why are you here?" The new Espada asked, golden eyes narrowed pitilessly. "Why have you betrayed Aizen-sama?"

Ulquiorra snarled and spat in the arrancar's face. Ridiculous, he thought, As if I would humiliate myself further and give him a reason.

The other arrancar made no move to wipe his face, nor did he take his eyes off Ulquiorra. The two remained motionless, not even blinking as they stared each other down, like two hungry predators meeting in the midst of a midnight forest, silent threats unspoken, silent claims untouched. The sounds around them swirled, adding motion where there was none. Slowly, Ulquiorra's vision faded and the pale, angular face before him dimmed until he could barely make anything out save for those malignant yellow eyes.

Then, with a jerk of his arm, the Espada threw Ulquiorra to the ground. He hit the stone with a pathetic, wet-sounding thud, landing in a small heap before the spectators, who had been, up until this point, all but forgotten.

Disdain was written over the fair features as he looked down at the fallen form. "I won't kill you… this time," he said, "But only because I think you still have more to you than what has been demonstrated today." There was a silence in which he stared one last time upon the former Fourth Espada. Then he turned and began to walk away, sheathing his bloodstained zanpakuto as he did.

As he retreated further and further away, he added in a carefree tone, "And because you haven't given me a damn answer."

Without another word, he disappeared.

A:N

Did it work? Yes? No? Yeeeahh?