-Bleach: The Sanguine Espada, Revised-
Chapter 5: Arrancar
"Before I continue, there are a few... options, at your disposal." The being, what Sangre could only assume to be a Vasto Lorde of some sort, explained. Gesturing to the strange object floating in its palm, it continued. "I'll keep the terms simple, for brevity's sake. Would you like to trade your rapid regeneration for raw power?"
To Sangre, it wasn't even a question.
"No."
"Hell yeah!"
He shot a questioning glance at Grimmjow, who was similarly kneeling before the mighty creature. His companion met his gazed with narrowed eyes.
"Fuck off, it's my choice."
"Hm." The being audibly mused, instantly silencing the two. "How intriguing. Tell me, Vacio, was it? I'm quite curious, why are you opposed to becoming even stronger?"
Sangre scowled. "That is not strength."
It was silent for a while after he said that, eyeing him with an expression he couldn't decipher.
"Acceptance." It finally spoke, much to Sangre's confusion. Then, it eyed Grimmjow. "Destruction."
It turned to look back at its companion. "Gin, if you would."
The other came forward, handing over a strange, purple stone. The item, upon crossing over to the leader's possession, began to hover ominously in its palm.
And then Sangre felt it. A piercing, yet ice-cold sensation crackling through his body. Pain, unlike any he had ever endured, lanced its way from the tips of his fingers directly into his core. The sound of his own agonized howls, amplified by Grimmjow's, barely reached him as he fell to his back, thrashing about in the sand in a desperate, instinctive, yet fruitless bid to be rid of the source.
Time lost consistency, his eyes wrenched shut as his initial howls subsided into strained growling.
Names... ones he knew yet had never heard spoken aloud.
"Ukitake"
"Kurotsuchi"
"Zaraki"
"Hitsugaya"
"Kyoraku"
"Komamura"
"Kuchiki"
"Unohana"
"Soi-Fon"
"Yamamoto"
Their faces, their personalities, their strengths, their techniques, their weaknesses, all of it flashed in his mind with vivid clarity, each burning itself into his memory like a searing iron.
And then, last of them all, the image of a boy with unkempt, blazing orange hair and amber eyes that exuded determination in a league of its own.
"Ichigo Kurosaki"
Reality flooded back to him at last, the eternal pain fading as quickly as it had set in. When he picked himself up from the sand, it only took a moment to realize something had changed.
I'm... smaller?
A quick glance at his cl-... hands, only furthered his confusion.
I look like a Shinigami. The term came to him like he'd always known it.
He looked over to where the being was still standing, a pleased smile on its face.
Next, he turned to face Grimmjow, who was similarly inspecting his own body in puzzled interest.
"Heh, this sure as hell beats walkin' on all fours!" He exclaimed, "And what's this thing here?" Lifting the strange, cylindrical object fastened to his hip, the being was quick to answer.
"The blade you'll soon wield in my name." Those words drew a venomous glare from Grimmjow, who's back straightened sharply in a distinct show of aggression.
"Oh, now there's a fuckin' string attached!?" It turned its head but did not speak. It didn't need to.
With just that gaze, Grimmjow's chin cracked against the already compacted sand below, fracturing the almost cement-like surface. His hands attempted to prop him up, but the bones in his forearm simply crumpled and split apart. Feral, strained growls escaped through clenched teeth, while the being responsible simply walked up to him, its smile having never shifted in the slightest.
"Perhaps I failed to clarify. This is no mere charity, I'm afraid. I have allowed you the privilege of freedom. From your hunger. From your fear. From your pain."
It leaned down, but not enough for Grimmjow to be able to meet its eyes.
"I understand your hesitance. Indeed I, too, share such a drive. To stand alone, above it all, and I will soon see to its fruition. If you remain adamant in resistance, I will simply kill you and find another." The weight vanished again, and Grimmjow was left in a bloody mess beside him. Breathing, but barely. The man turned away from them, gesturing casually to his companion.
"I will return in time." He declared, as a strange split in the air opened up before him like the maw of some horrific beast. "When that time comes, you will fight for me." Without another word, the two walked into the amorphous void, which closed behind them and left no traces behind.
...
Grimmjow's frantic panting was harsh in Sangre's ears.
"T-thadh..." He mumbled, his shattered jaw doing him no favors. He realized it, then let out a pathetic, tired, yet ferocious roar.
"Have you lost your regeneration altogether, Grimmjow?" The Hollow cut its howl short and glared at him with wide, wild eyes before closing them for a moment.
Sangre watched closely, and noticed the mess that remained of Grimmjow's hand begin to shift.
Blue eyes relaxed, then he shook his head 'no'.
"Good. Do not rush." He didn't like how feathery his voice had become. How... clean.
Grimmjow's blood smells different now. Sweeter.
The fact should have left him licking his lips in hunger, but instead it was merely that. A fact. That bothered him.
I should be drooling right now. Instead, I just feel... inert. Empty. Complacent. Bored. And yet, I am full. This new power coursing through me... it is strange. It comes with knowledge I have no wish for. It seals away my voices and imposes the will of another into my mind. But, do I dislike it?
Consumption was life, in this place. To starve was to regress, and to regress was to be consumed.
Hunt. Fight. Kill. Eat.
And once the eating was done, one was engulfed in the fullness of the meal. That heady, electric feeling as new strength swept into you. It was the reward of patience and prowess, and the pains of battle were hardly a price. To say nothing of the satisfaction from filling your stomach, either.
He stared deep into his palm.
I cannot take part in that cycle any longer. I will never starve, never regress.
The realization hit Sangre in a flash.
There is nothing. No desire, no destination, no motivation. The causality of my existence has been chopped in two, the other half tossed aside.
"I am all that remains." He whispered.
A feeling came over him. It wasn't hunger, or fear, or adrenaline, no. It was like a knot drawing tight within his chest, freezing cold and spreading out to swallow him whole. His breathing hitched while he clutched at the hole where his right lung would have been.
"What is this?" He asked the air, placid in spite of his shivering voice.
The hissing winds gave no reply.
