Chapter 4

For Grimmjow's part, although he hated being ordered around, he had to admit this couldn't be so bad. This 'night elf' looked pretty good now that she'd gotten most of the blood off and out of that armour. It turned out her hair and skin really were the colour he'd seen under the gore earlier – dusky green and purple. The female arrancar uniform suited her strong, buxom form. He wondered if all the girls of her race were as stacked as she was, and found himself grinning at the thought.

It was a long walk to the Espada quarters, and the guest rooms Aizen kept – originally intended, no doubt, to house Vasto Lordes while the ex-captain wooed them into becoming arrancar. Grimmjow considered opening a garganta, but figured the walk might offer him an opportunity to find out more about this … Death Knight. She'd answered Aizen's questions, but he still had a few of his own. Like where the hell her axe went. It was nearly the size of her, damnit! There was no room in an arrancar uniform to hide something like that.

"Hey," he said, looking sideways at the woman keeping pace with him. "What did you do with all your junk? And what's with the swords? Didn't you have an axe?" he asked with his usual boisterous disrespect.

"I have stored my gear in one of my magic bags. I did have an axe. I judged the swords better for close confines." She said. Her voice was still as emotionless as before. What was she, some kind of female Ulquiorra? What a horrible thought. He wondered if he could get a rise out of her. At least she demonstrated some form of strategic thought – Grimmjow agreed that the twin swords would probably be better in the halls of Las Noches than that monster axe. It definitely demonstrated that she hadn't decided to trust them fully yet. He didn't blame her.

"Magic bags, huh. And you fight with more than one weapon? The world you come from must be… real different." He snorted. "I know you talked a bit about it to Aizen, but what the heck are undead really. Are you alive or a spirit being? If you're dead, how did you die?" She didn't smell dead, at least. Grimmjow had a keen sense of smell, keener than he cared to admit to others. He was tired of the catty comments.

"Neither. I am undead. I was killed and brought back to a state somewhere between life and death by Arthas to serve in his army. The undead are perfect soldiers, we do not tire, do not feel pain, do not feel fear, and the living are terrified of us." Same expressionless voice. "I was apparently a priestess in the Argent Dawn, according to others who knew me then. I was killed in action against the Scourge. Arthas and his minions take especial joy in bringing back those who have served the Light. As part of my training, I tortured and slew one of my fellow Priestesses of Elune, as well as countless other beings, both innocent and not." She discussed her own death and the horrific actions she had committed as a nascent Death Knight as though she were discussing which soup to order in a restaurant – without emotion or hesitance.

This Arthas guy sounded like he could give Aizen a run for his money in the Evil Bastard department. Grimmjow was a little impressed. But he wasn't a perfect strategist either, Vellena and a number of other Death Knights had turned against him and vowed to destroy him after he betrayed them – he recalled her story of the Battle for Light's Hope she had related in Aizen's throne room.

"Hn." He said. "So you're undead. You don't eat, you don't feel pain, and all that then?" he asked.

"I can sleep – I do not have to. I enjoy it when I can. When I am damaged, I… feel pain, but not with the immediacy of the living. I ignore it. I can take damage to the point where pain would kill or stun a mortal and keep going. I do not feel fear. I … eat." She paused, and he noticed an expression of her face that reminded him of hungry sharks, a chilling flash of blood thirst in her icy eyes. "All undead… hunger."

Grimmjow was pretty sure right then that he knew what undead hungered for. No wonder they were so terrifying to the living. It seemed there were similarities between hollows and the undead. She had implied that lesser undead were as mindless as lesser hollows. That would make beings like her – Death Knights, analogous to arrancar. Given the fighting prowess and stamina he had witnessed, and the unholy energy she was capable of utilizing, it seemed likely. He felt a certain degree of respect and kinship for this creature beside him.

"It is my turn now, Grimmjow." She stated as she resumed walking. "What is this place, and what are you? And what are Lord Aizen and those other two? You are clearly different."

Ahh, she wasn't stupid, that was for sure. "This is Las Noches, the fortress of the arrancar in Hueco Mundo. This world is one of two places where the living go when they die – the world of hollows. The other is the world of the Shinigami." He began. This was going to be a long story. "I and the others are arrancar – to hollows what you are to the mindless undead that make up the rank and file." She nodded to that after a moment. He continued. "In particular, I am the Sexto Espada." He halted, and she turned to him. He pulled back his jacket, revealing the tattoo on his back.

"I do not understand those terms." Vellena stated. "However I assume they have something to do with that marking, and your rank."

Grimmjow nodded. "Of the ten most powerful arrancar – the Espada – I am numbered six."

"I see." She replied. "Tear-face and spoon-head – they are also Espada?"

Grimmjow had to keep himself from grinding his teeth at the mention of Ulquiorra and Nnoitra. Ulquiorra he could barely stand, and Nnoitra was a hideous pain in the ass. Grimmjow longed for the day he could take his place as Quinto and crush Nnoitra utterly. "Ulquiorra is the Cuatro – the fourth. Nnoitra is the Quinto – fifth." He growled, attempting to bury his animosity. "I recommend you stay clear of the other Espada. Especially Nnoitra."

"What happened to Ulquiorra's eye?"

"Oh he crushed it." The arrancar said lightly. He was a little disappointed to discover no reaction from Vellena. She must truly have lived (unlived?) through some pretty rough shit. "Ulquiorra's eye," his tone expressed dramatic mockery, "sees all. He can replay what he sees by crushing the eye. It grows back in a day or two." Just a nod. Nothing fazed this woman. He wondered if he'd get a reaction if he did something to her, like grabbing her ass. He wondered if she'd even feel it. Oh great, now he was thinking about her ass. It was a good thing they were almost to the rooms. He could pack her safely away in her quarters and go off and try to think about something other than women too damn curvy for their own good, with the emotional range of Ulquiorra.

"What about Lord Aizen and the other two. What are they?"

"Ex-shinigami. All three were captains of the Gotei 13 – the shinigami military. Aizen rebelled, and he brought them with him. Ichimaru Gin – that's the silver haired guy, he was captain of the Third Division. Kaname Tousen – the blind one, he was captain of the Ninth Division. Aizen himself was captain of the Fifth." Grimmjow said.

"And why did they rebel?" Ahhh there's the rub. Grimmjow could see parallels between Arthas and Aizen, and suspected that Aizen would prefer Vellena to draw those parallels between Arthas and Soul Society instead. He wasn't going to lie exactly, but he definitely wouldn't be telling the full truth.

"Seireitei has a long history of bad decisions. They've been responsible for the creation of many monstrous beings, most of which they have left to suffer or exterminated only after causing unspeakable torment. They have betrayed those who served them time and time again. Aizen wants to see that ended." He said, staring straight ahead as he spoke. From the periphery of his vision, he saw her stiffen slightly. He would have smiled if he wasn't sure that she'd notice it. Creating monsters, abandoning and betraying them – he suspected he'd hit all her buttons. All of it true – of course – but not the whole truth. She didn't need to know the whole story.

"I see." She said flatly. "These worlds are not so different from my own." There was anger icing in her voice, hidden beneath her careful control. So she could feel something – she could feel rage at least. He could swear he felt the air temperature around her dropping. He was pleased.

They were arriving at the rooms. He halted her. "These are your rooms." At his gesture, the tall door swung outwards, revealing an austere but comfortably appointed set of rooms. "I'm just down the hall. There's a six on my door." He gestured towards his tattoo. "If you need anything, knock on my door. I'll get it for you. Do you need food or anything?" he asked.

She gazed impassively at him. "I do not require food at this time, thank you. I intend to rest, and afterwards, I would like access to a forge in order to properly repair my armour."

A forge? Well, he'd see what he could do… "I'll find out about that." He said. "Rest well." As she stepped into her rooms, he nodded once and turned towards his own. He intended to catch some sleep himself. Perhaps he'd dream of long-eared, big-chested purple women.