Some live in the shadows of death, trapped in the abyss of their despair. They wander aimlessly in search of a light in the darkness, but all they ever find is a barren void.

Those who have been driven mad by agonizing pain want to find a reason to live; a reason to fight for another day.

They do not know that there is no true reason to go on. That is the harsh reality of life. No matter how persevering you are, you will never achieve your ambitions. Inevitably, you will fall short of perfection.

Go ahead and create plans for tomorrow. Set goals for yourself that you hope to achieve in the future. You will accomplish nothing.

Nothing at all.

Many poor souls believe in God and destiny. They may be able to hold onto the false promise of salvation, but that is simply an illusion. Consequently, the truth is that no ideal existence exists. No one ever finds happiness, for it does not exist.

The only thing that awaits us at the end of the path that we call life is nothingness.

Thus, Ulquiorra finds himself at peace in the void. Amidst darkness and silence, he can simply cease to exist. But, even in this blissful state, he cannot help wondering how he ended up here again.

Fuzzy images of the Soul Reaper preparing to attack him flash through his mind. It seems so long ago now. Did that trash manage to kill him? Well. . . he feels no pain, therefore, he must have died.

Yet, something changed since the last time he was here.

Nothing is supposed to exist in this place . . . So, how is he self-aware? His thoughts are coherent. He can hear the steady beat of his heart, the blood rushing through his ears. His body still functions. How does this make any sense?

This is not death. This is something else entirely. It is not a void, nor is it an afterlife. A few possible explanations run through his head. Perhaps he is asleep or in some sort of coma.

However, this place is not a peaceful dream world.

This is a nightmare. A horrid hallucination brought forth from the depths of his subconscious mind. To be aware of one's own non-existence is a contradiction. It is a tortuous paradox that cannot occur in this realm of reality. Yet, here he stands, completely lucid.

Ulquiorra lets out a sigh and tries to shake off the disturbing thoughts tormenting his mind.

The concept of time does not apply in this dimension. By now, it feels like hours have passed — maybe even days.

"Awake, O sleeper,"

Curious about whether he remains attached to his body, Ulquiorra concentrates on moving. If his suspicions are correct, he will be able to feel himself stir.

His fingers twitch as he flexes them. They are rigid as if steel had somehow replaced his bones. Nevertheless, they are alive.

Then, an intense wave of pain courses through his head. All he can manage is to squeeze his eyes shut, his eyebrows knitting together as he winces.

"And arise from the dead,"

He reaches out with both hands, not expecting to feel anything. Much to his surprise, his fingers brush against something silky. It feels like fabric, but it is far too flimsy to be clothing.

Bed sheets?

Unease settles in his gut. As if the situation couldn't be any more uncomfortable, there is someone else there with him. Their whispers reverberate through the room. The voice sounds oddly familiar, but he cannot quite put a name to it.

With all his remaining strength, he tries to open his eyes. Suddenly, light floods his vision, forcing him to squint. He abruptly sits up and grabs the side of his head, desperate to find some relief from the pain.

After his eyes adjust to the brightness, he surveys his surroundings. He finds himself in a room with white walls and tatami mats, hallmarks of a traditional Japanese home.

Then, his eyes land on the woman seated on the floor beside him. She watches him carefully, her elbows resting upon her knees as she holds herself upright. Her brown skin is covered in freckles, which accentuates the roundness of her face. Her nose is slightly aquiline and her lips are full, but not overly so. Some female Arrancars back in Hueco Mundo look similar to her—though she has a certain innocence that differentiates her from them.

"You're awake," she says with a smile. "I'm glad."

His mind is still fuzzy from sleep. He doesn't remember ever coming here—wherever this place may be. Growing irate, he tries to stand, but the pain in his head makes him groan.

"You shouldn't get up yet," the woman says, her tone placid yet authoritative. She leans closer, her fragrance clinging to the brown waves of hair that fall on her shoulder.

A distinct floral fragrance— lavender —an aroma that soothes and calms the senses. It almost quells the rage bubbling within Ulquiorra's blood. But then, it comes flooding back when he recalls where he last smelled it.

This is the Soul Reaper, the one who chased him through the city.

She looks at him intently through her long lashes, her expression serious. "Be patient. It's dangerous to move after being unconscious for so long. You need to take care of yourself and allow your body and soul to rest until you heal."

He wants to object, but the words do not come out of his mouth. Instead, he closes his eyes, straining to block out her presence.

She did not need to save his life and bring him to this strange place. None of it makes sense and, frankly, it enrages him. Weaklings such as himself deserve to die when defeated. How dare she interfere with the natural order of things?

"Why did you do this?" he demands, opening his eyes to look directly into her eyes. "Why are you doing this to me? What are you planning?"

In response to his skepticism, the woman raises an eyebrow. It seems like she is unruffled by the cold tone of his voice.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she says calmly.

Ulquiorra's irritation intensifies. Why is she acting so aloof? Does she believe he's an imbecile? He is not going to play along with this ridiculous game anymore.

Keeping his temper in check, he lets out a deep breath. "You have been following me ever since I came into the city. Why?" he asks, glaring at her. "What are you after, Soul Reaper?"

"It's a simple matter of duty," she says, averting her eyes.

Rather than responding to her, he focuses on her mannerisms. At first glance, she appears calm. But, after taking a closer look, he notes that her body is quite stiff. It seems as though she is struggling to keep her countenance.

Is she afraid?

"Do you know who I am?" he finally asks, rubbing his palm against his forehead.

She pauses before answering, as though unsure of herself. "Yes, Ulquiorra. I know who you are," she replies. "Kisuke Urahara told me a little about you. We're actually in his shop right now."

Furrowing a brow, Ulquiorra lets his hand drop down to his lap and stares at her. He allows himself a slight measure of satisfaction as she flinches in response to his scrutiny.

"That man gave you my name?" he ponders aloud.

"Kisuke didn't say much, other than that you were a powerful Arrancar."

Miffed, Ulquiorra looks away, his features darkening. For years upon years, he was forced to hear Aizen's tirades about the former 12th Division captain. He would describe Kisuke Urahara as a cowardly, useless backstabber.

Of course, Ulquiorra can't help believing some of the things that spewed out of his former master's mouth. Even now that he is free from his control, he still can't seem to shake that bias. For all he knows, Kisuke might actually be a snake in the grass.

For the time being, though, he will wait before making any rash judgments. There are more important things to deal with right now, such as the strange Soul Reaper sitting before him.

"Tell me who you are," Ulquiorra demands. "Speak plainly with me. Explain the reasoning behind your actions."

"My name is Itzel Okino," she answers, keeping her eyes locked on him.

". . .Itzel? That's your name?" he asks, furrowing a brow. That is a foreign name, to say the least. Most, if not all, of the Soul Reapers he has stumbled upon have had Japanese names.

His confusion must show on his face because she frowns.

"Yep," she says, fidgeting with a lock of her hair.

"Why did you chase after me?" he snaps, not wanting to focus too much on silly things such as this girl's name and why it isn't one that would belong to a Japanese person. "Why didn't you kill me when you first caught up with me?"

"Kill you? You don't remember, huh?" she asks, tucking her hair neatly behind her ear.

Suppressing the urge to scoff at her question, Ulquiorra shakes his head. "I remember you unsheathing your zanpakuto and attempting to strike me."

Itzel nods, her lips curving into a small smile. "Well, I wasn't attacking you. Honestly, I was curious. I wanted to see how an Arrancar ended up in the World of the Living. But before I could muster up the nerve to say something, a Hollow came out of thin air and attacked you. I killed it before something worse could happen."

He glares at her incredulously, struggling to make sense of her explanation. Having no choice but to take her word for it, he sighs.

"I don't understand why you saved my life," he mutters.

"I told you, I was curious about you," Itzel says, shrugging. "Plus I couldn't just let someone get attacked in front of me without trying to help."

Ludicrous. How can she feel pity for a creature such as himself?

"The smart thing to do would've been to kill me, you foolish woman," he sneers.

"Anyway," she resumes, blatantly ignoring his snide remark. "Your head injury looked pretty serious, so I brought you here. Kisuke is good at taking care of people like us, and I figured he would be able to help you out."

Us? Did she just compare herself to him?

For a moment, Ulquiorra considers telling her to buzz off and never bother him again. But, for now, he chooses to humor her. This is just too strange of a situation not to investigate further.

"Why are you helping me?" he asks, straightening out his back with some effort.

"I don't know. I just want to. Is that okay?"

The answer is so candid that it takes a second or two for Ulquiorra to process it. Usually, such ambiguous answers annoy him, but he finds himself fascinated by this one. Is her kindness sincere? Or is it simply a facade?

"But why?" he asks, hoping for a more concrete answer this time.

Itzel cocks her head, a sweet smile spreading across her face. "Why not?" she asks, seemingly daring him to argue.

He silently mulls over her words, wondering if it is worth continuing this conversation. Despite his inquisitiveness, he is not willing to press her further than he already has. No matter how he words the question, her response will likely remain the same.

"Now please, rest while you can. You'll need to recover before you even think about doing anything else," Itzel says, leaning back on her palms and gazing at him.

Scowling at her words, he refuses to acknowledge her concern. The sincerity behind her offer intrigues him but also angers him. It makes him want to lash out at her like a feral animal backed into a corner. But when she continues looking at him with such an unwavering gaze, Ulquiorra cannot find a reason to do so.

Unaware of his inner turmoil, Itzel tears her eyes away from his and picks at something on her jeans. Maybe a piece of lint or a loose thread. Whatever it is, she drops her guard as she absentmindedly rolls it between her fingers. She looks utterly peaceful and carefree—like someone completely oblivious to the world around them. Like someone who isn't in the same room as an Arrancar with the potential to tear their soul apart.

Something inside him wants her. He can't fathom why, nor does he try to understand it. All he knows is that he feels strangely attracted to this woman who he barely even knows.

He is a monster, a soulless abomination of death and despair. Such trivialities should mean absolutely nothing to him. Yet, he cannot lose this warm sensation deep within his chest.

Curse these unnecessary biological functions! Physical attraction only has one purpose: to reproduce, and there is no way in hell he would ever do that. These carnal urges rarely plague him, but when they do, it never fails to enrage him.

Stifling a groan, he forces his eyes away from her and stares straight ahead. All the self-discipline he has built up over the centuries is now being tried by her presence. While she isn't the first woman to have captured his attention in this way, none of the others were Soul Reapers. They were all Arrancars. Being of a different race puts Itzel in a whole new category, one that he never thought plausible.

No, no.

Absolutely not.

There is simply no time to indulge in his curiosity, especially not on a Soul Reaper. He needs to find his counterpart and leave this cursed world, away from humans and Soul Reapers alike.

With a loud sigh, Itzel stands up from her place on the floor, snapping Ulquiorra out of his reverie.

"Okay, I'm going to go find Kisuke. He's been dying to talk to you," she says, stretching her arms out above her head.

Their gazes meet once again, his green eyes finding her brown ones. Again, he searches for any sign of fear or uncertainty.

There isn't any.

If anything, she appears to have grown bolder during this encounter. Her features brighten as she flashes him another smile, making him wonder what sort of absurdity goes on inside that strange mind of hers.

Before he can question her further, she is already stepping towards the exit. She falters at the threshold, glancing over at him. "Try to stay awake until he comes."

And with that, she leaves the room.

Ulquiorra stares after her, unable to tear his eyes away from her small form.

Once she is out of sight, he has nothing to do except wait. So, like usual, he retreats to the depths of his psyche.


Kisuke stands silently in front of Ulquiorra, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches him sitting on the bed. Although the shopkeeper's striped hat obscures his eyes, it is obvious that his gaze is intense.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he asks, not taking his eyes off Ulquiorra.

"I do remember you," Ulquiorra says, staring back blankly. "However, I must admit that I am surprised you remember me."

Kisuke taps his bicep with his fan and smiles slightly. "I haven't met many people who could ward off my Benihime with their bare hands."

Ah, that's right.

Three years ago, Ulquiorra thwarted an attack from Kisuke's zanpakuto. His memory of that day is a bit nebulous, but he does recall Kisuke and Yoruichi coming to Ichigo's rescue.

Hmph.

If Yammy had come to that park alone, the two Soul Reapers would have easily dispatched him. The brute was lucky that Ulquiorra didn't desert him there.

So much has changed since that day. While Ulquiorra's hierro might still be formidable, his spiritual pressure is markedly weaker. If Kisuke wanted to, he could kill Ulquiorra without so much as breaking a sweat. Yet, the former captain doesn't appear interested in that. He stands there with a goofy grin spread across his face as if taking delight in the opportunity to chat with a former adversary.

His strange conduct only makes him appear more suspect. Ulquiorra can tell Kisuke knows more than he lets off.

Cunning bastard.

"Why am I here?" Ulquiorra asks, eyeing the shopkeeper with a considerable amount of apprehension.

Flipping his fan open, Kisuke lets out an amused snort. "It's simple. You were hurt and I was curious. Coming back from the dead is quite a feat, y'know. I just thought it would be interesting to hear your story."

"That's all?"

"Eh? Well, don't you think it's weird?"

"No, not particularly."

"Huh." Kisuke tilts his head, appearing to ponder this. Fiddling with the brim of his hat, he continues, "Well, it is what it is. My only other question would be why you're still alive and not in Hell. But, well. . . I guess that's something for another day."

Before Ulquiorra even has a chance to answer, Kisuke holds a finger up. "Oh, hey! One more thing: what are you doing in the World of the Living? You're not supposed to be here. Are you on some sort of mission?"

What a scatterbrain, Ulquiorra thinks to himself with a sigh.

He wonders how much he should reveal. The truth? Or. . .

"It is none of your concern," Ulquiorra decides to say, completely aware of how arrogant he sounds.

"No? But I think it is," Kisuke retorts with a cheeky smirk. "I mean, I let you recover here, didn't I? Honestly, I think that was very charitable of me. Not many people would have done the same."

Ulquiorra scoffs. This is exactly why he would rather die than have anyone help him. People always expect something as a token of thanks, which never seems to end well for him.

"I don't care about you, Kisuke Urahara. I resent both you and Itzel for even allowing me to live in the first place. I would have preferred to rot in Hell."

"I see," Kisuke says wearily, leaning against the wall. He looks down at the floor, the brim of his hat covering his eyes even more than before. After a moment or two, he glances back up at Ulquiorra. "Well, that's not how things worked out. Can't blame us for wanting to do the right thing."

"The right thing?" Ulquiorra repeats, looking at the shopkeeper quizzically. "You and I both know the right thing would be to finish me off and forget about this."

"Maybe so, but that isn't the point. You're alive because we allowed you to be," Kisuke says with a small shrug. "And as for Itzel, well, she's the one who found you. I wouldn't dare expect anything less from her."

Compassionate, soft, and sweet, that's Itzel's image.

Weak, useless, and subservient.

All traits that Ulquiorra finds farcical. People like her, beautiful or not, almost always die a fool's death.

"I don't want to hear anything about her. She is not even worth the air I breathe," he proclaims, wanting to push her image far away from his mind.

"Well, I'd say she's worth more than you want to believe," Kisuke mutters, fluttering his fan lazily before his face. "But I think you already knew that."

"Shut up."

"Uh-huh. I'll take that as a yes."

Ulquiorra narrows his eyes. He is being toyed with; one of his ultimate pet peeves.

Straightening his back, he focuses on his breathing in an attempt to quell the anger threatening to take hold of him. "What are you talking about?" he asks, maintaining his impassive visage.

"You heard me. She's not useless," Kisuke says with a sly smirk. "I don't believe in coincidences, you know."

"Enough with the mind games. They will not work on me."

Chuckling, Kisuke sits cross-legged on the floor. "No, no! Of course not. You're a smart guy, aren't you? That's why I'm surprised you haven't figured it out yet."

"Figured out what?" Ulquiorra snarls. "I told you to cease your attempts at distracting me."

"Ah, you're really not one for the small talk, huh?" Kisuke muses, closing his eyes. "Fine, let's start with the obvious. You want to regain your strength, and you came to the World of the Living to do that. Either that or you wanna get even with Ichigo, which I highly doubt. You don't seem like the type to waste time on revenge."

Not willing to confirm or deny the shopkeeper's assumption, Ulquiorra says nothing. Instead, he merely stares at Kisuke with his standard blank expression.

"I'm assuming you heard about what Baraggan did to grow strong again," Kisuke continues, unperturbed by Ulquiorra's silence. "So, if I had to guess, I'd say you came to this world to find a solution. Or maybe you were sent by Harribel herself? That would make sense. She could definitely use your help with whatever's going on in Hueco Mundo."

Who the hell is telling him these things? Sure, a few Arrancars are loose-lipped. . . But Ulquiorra didn't think they would stoop so low as to tell a Soul Reaper about the impending peril looming above all of them.

The politics of Hueco Mundo always remain buried deep within its walls. Hollows do not want or need Soul Reapers meddling in their affairs, nor do they want to risk an uprising between the two races.

The last time that happened was a complete disaster.

As if he is some sort of psychic, Kisuke clicks his tongue, continuing, "I should probably explain myself. Harribel told me all about what happened with Baraggan, so I combed through some of Aizen's reports and found out a little more. It's not much, but I figured you guys might be interested in hearing me out."

"Harribel told you? When?" Ulquiorra asks, searching for any traces of dishonesty in the shopkeeper's voice.

"Maybe a month or two ago," Kisuke answers, reaching up to scratch his cheek. "That means you haven't been resurrected for long, huh?"

Ulquiorra notices the faint gleam of excitement dancing in Kisuke's eyes. It's the same way someone might look when they stumble upon a precious trinket at the flea market.

Pressing his lips together, Ulquiorra shoves his hands into his pockets. "It hardly matters, just hurry and tell me what you discovered."

"Okay, okay, hold your horses," Kisuke says with a slight wave of his hand. "Don't you worry! I'll tell you everything you need to understand."

Instinct screams at Ulquiorra not to trust this Soul Reaper. The fact that he knows so much about their situation irks him. But, he reminds himself that Harribel is a perceptive Arrancar who would not divulge such things to anyone not worthy of her trust.

And so, with this in mind, he rolls his eyes and gestures for Kisuke to continue with a quick nod of his head. He does not need to squander any more time than he already has.

"Alright, so first, I know that every natural Arrancar has a counterpart. They're bound in a way that lets them transfer their power to one another under the right circumstances," Kisuke explains. "Assuming that you're looking around for your other half, you won't have to look for long."

Ulquiorra scoffs loudly before asking, "I won't? What are you saying?"

"I'll get to that in a sec," Kisuke says, clasping his hands on top of his lap. "I just want to make one thing abundantly clear before we go any further. I'll tell you who your counterpart is if you vow not to hurt them. Deal?"

What a damn farce! That is not the point of this mission. Ulquiorra is expected to find his counterpart, kill them, and grow stronger. Simple.

"Why should I care whether they live or die?" Ulquiorra asks, not bothering to hide his aggravation anymore.

"Well, I could bring up morals and human decency, but you've already made it apparent that you don't give a damn about any of that," Kisuke says with a wry smile. "So I'll cut the crap and get right to what actually matters. If you kill your counterpart, you won't grow as strong as you would otherwise. Oh, and let's not forget that it's never a good idea to kill the person who's your only bet at regaining your strength."

"Baraggan killed his counterpart with no issue," Ulquiorra points out matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, well, Baraggan is a bonehead."

Even though this comment baffles Ulquiorra, he allows Kisuke to keep speaking.

"Seriously, it's true!" Kisuke insists, chuckling at his own words. "He would have been pretty much indestructible if he had just let his poor counterpart live. From what I've heard through the grapevine, he is about as strong as the Cero Espada was; maybe even a little less. I reckon his stupidity is a blessing in disguise for you. You can surpass that, I'm sure of it. So, don't make the same mistake."

"How do you know that any of this is the truth, Soul Reaper?"

Fanning himself, Kisuke looks up and gives him a reassuring smile. "I have my sources. . . Plus, I have all of Aizen's files. As I mentioned before, I read through them thoroughly. If you don't believe me, just use that big brain of yours and think about this for a second:

"There's a reason he allowed Starrk's counterpart to live, right? If Lilynette died, Aizen's precious Primera Espada wouldn't have been as strong as he was."

Ulquiorra stays silent.

He always wondered why Aizen permitted that lazy bastard to keep his partner alive. The brat was not worth keeping around—not really. Whatever strength she possessed came only because of her connection to Starrk.

Ulquiorra always assumed that simply killing and absorbing the girl would be the most effective way for Starrk to increase his power. Figuring she was spared out of the kindness of Aizen's blackened heart, he never outwardly questioned it. It never occurred to him that there might be a more complex answer.

But now, he is starting to see things differently. He wonders how many of his comrades would have grown stronger if their counterparts stuck around. There were a handful of others that were naturally occurring Arrancars such as himself, yet he cannot recall any of them having counterparts. So, either they were killed or separated from one another in some way.

Hm.

Maybe keeping this promise to Kisuke is the most practical way to go about this.

"Fine. I will not harm my counterpart, and you will help me find them," Ulquiorra says, looking into the shopkeeper's eyes.

"I knew you'd see it my way," Kisuke says with a bright smile. "As I said, you won't have to look for long. Their identity is quite obvious if you think about it."

"Just tell me who it is."

"Okay, okay! Remember how I said Itzel isn't as useless as you thought? There's a very good reason for that."

. . .

How troublesome. How very, very troublesome.

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