There is a poll up on my profile regarding one of my other stories, A Long Road Through Hell. I originally wrote it for a different venue, and the original version has lemons. The poll concerns replacing the current version with the unbowdlerized version, or posting the unbowdlerized version. If you have an opinion, please go vote.

Chapter 16

"Are you related to him?" Vellena asked her escort. She had realized that the blonde arrancar bore more than a passing resemblance to Szayel. They moved in similar ways, their faces had similar structure. It struck her all of a sudden.

Yylfordt apparently didn't need to be told who 'him' was. "He's my younger brother." The fracción said, sounding slightly disgruntled. No love lost there, apparently. Which would explain why he was Grimmjow's fracción rather than Szayel's.

"What is his rank?"

"Octavo Espada. The eighth. Come on, Grimmjow told me to take you back to his quarters when you were finished. The rest of us are there already." So Szayel was an Espada, but lower ranked than Grimmjow. And Yylfordt clearly didn't want to talk about it.

Instead, he asked her some of the questions he'd apparently missed her answers to earlier, when he was fetching food. Not minding the repetition, she answered them again. It passed the time quickly. They arrived at Grimmjow's rooms, the unfamiliar symbol for 'six' painted on the door in the same style as his tattoo. Yylfordt opened the door and gestured for her to precede him.

She stepped inside, and was a little surprised to note that all of his fracción were indeed there, though she shouldn't have been. Yylfordt had said they were all waiting. Seated on couches and chairs, one on a large blue pillow on the floor, and Shawlong standing, they were all there. Grimmjow was sitting cross-legged on a white rug that was trimmed in the same sky blue colour as his hair, his chin in his hand. At her arrival, he looked up.

"Still in one piece, I see. That's good." He commented dryly. Apparently Grimmjow knew what went on in Szayel's lab. "Find a seat."

She knelt on the floor, sitting on her heels with her hands on her thighs. Grimmjow's mouth twitched briefly, and something familiar from earlier in the day flickered through his eyes for just a moment. Just for a moment, though, because apparently he had other things on his mind right now.

"Alright, now we're all here. We're going to the human world, tomorrow night." He said. A few of his fracción rustled, and she noted eagerness, trepidation, and a hint of bloodlust on their faces. Shawlong looked thoughtful, but he already struck her as the most introspective of the lot.

"We're going to kill the kid?" the tall fracción asked.

"Yeah. I don't agree with leaving a guy like that lying around, waiting to get stronger." Grimmjow said. His intense blue gaze shifted, resting on Vellena. "What do you think?"

Well, that was a clear invitation for her input if she'd ever heard one. "I agree. Leaving an enemy like that behind is like leaving a weapon lying around. It will be turned against you. Many a defeat has come from letting an enemy retreat to become stronger." She was quiet for a moment… In a purely strategic sense, Arthas had made the same goof concerning the Knights of the Black Hand, a goof that would come back to destroy him if the Knights had any say in the matter. There were again parallels with her own situation, and she was once again not so sure precisely which side she was on, and which side she should be on. But she still needed to return home somehow, and Aizen's forces were her best bet. She continued. "I do not share Ulquiorra's assessment; after the damage done to his friends, there is no way a hot-blooded youth like that would turn to the faction he viewed as responsible for that damage for an alliance. That leaves only one way for him to continue – as our enemy. And if he gains help controlling himself, he will become a danger."

"Yeah, about what I thought. You're coming with us." Grimmjow said. She had suspected that would be the case – she didn't think he would have included her in this meeting otherwise. This was a bit beyond his duties as a liaison. "We're going to kill anything and everything that might be a threat. Go get some rest."

The Espada rose, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. His fracción, apparently used to this, trickled out of his apartments. She shifted, ready to rise to follow them, but a look from Grimmjow halted her. He held her there with his eyes until the last fracción left, then let her rise as he stood himself. In an instant he was beside her, using that movement technique again.

"I like how you look on your knees. Tomorrow when we come back victorious, I want to see you like that again." He whispered in her ear. She felt the heat rise in her face at the thought. His hand gripped the hair at the back of her head gently before sliding down to touch her neck. She turned her head towards him. Those crazy, intense blue eyes caught hers – she had never witnessed eyes like that, with such a captivating power. Such a far cry from the faintly glowing silver of night elf eyes. At some moments, they seemed to take on a feline cast, with vertical pupils instead of round. Like they had now.

His lips parted, revealing his sharp teeth, the hint of fangs at his eye teeth. He pulled her to his body, hungry mouth on hers. The hand on the back of her head threaded through her hair again, keeping her where he wanted her. His other was in the small of her back. She kissed him back, fairly certain that when his fang got her lip that it was deliberate. Her own hand rose, brushing against the bone fragment on his face, apparently of its own volition. Surprisingly, it was warm to the touch, as warm as his skin, and smooth.

After a few minutes, he broke away with a growl. "Later," he said, giving her a look that promised a repeat of their earlier activities – just not now. He turned away from her, going towards what he assumed was his sleeping room, if his quarters were laid out like hers own. She turned to the exit, and, taking his earlier caution to heart, extended the senses she was learning to develop. After a moment she decided there was no one in the corridor, and she exited. She met no one on the way back to her rooms.

***

The next day, she didn't see Grimmjow at all until it was time to go. She found her way to Szayel's lab, pleased that she did indeed remember how to get there, and got permission to use his forge once more. This day he seemed far more polite, indeed, almost suspiciously so.

With the prospect of what was sure to be a real fight coming up, she wanted her armour and weapons in tip top shape. She repaired the minor damage caused by Nnoitra and Grimmjow, and ensured that her weapons were ready. She checked all of them – the longswords, the axe, the polearm, the heavy, bonecrushing mace, and… the weapon that had started it all. Carefully, she withdrew it from her pack – Sanguiferrous, the wicked, two-handed sword shining; all shades of red from bright, fresh-spilled heart's blood to congealed, dark, old blood.

The blade was huge, more than half a foot wide where it met the cross-guard, and as tall as she was. The riser and ricasso were decorated with depictions of the screaming faces of demons. Each wide, bright red edge of the double-edged bastard sword was etched with runes so dark a red they were nearly black. The quillons were spiked with curving talons, and the pommel had a straight, sharp spike that was perfect for putting through skulls. She should know, she'd used it for exactly that a time or two. Despite its size and weight, the blade was like a feather in her hands, perfectly balanced. She could wield it two-handed or one handed.

Her other weapons were weapons with runes; Sanguiferrous was a Runeblade. Semi-intelligent and willful, it had completed her transformation from what would have been mindless undead to Death Knight. Its bloodthirsty pull was always there. She avoided using it as much as she could; even with the iron will she had gained when she broke free of Arthas' control, it was difficult to keep Sanguiferrous from taking over. Its drive for survival was powerful, however, and it could be a potent asset on the battlefield. The sword would do a lot to keep her alive if it came to that.

The blade didn't need much work – whatever terrifying magic created it made sure of that. But she nevertheless checked it over, ensured it was clean and that there was no dried blood caked in any of the details, or in the deep blood gutters, and giving the edge one last check (the process of which opened her finger effortlessly, but her blood on this blade in small, voluntary amounts only strengthened their bond). Suppressing the feeling of separation, she returned Sanguiferrous to her pack. As the bag closed, the feeling it inspired, like a heady, bloodthirsty whisper in the back of her mind, that was too quiet, too distorted to make out any actual words, subsided. She sighed with relief.

Nightfall was as undetectable in Las Noches, and Hueco Mundo, as daybreak was. It was always night in Hueco Mundo. But she knew, all the same, when the time had come to leave. Some sixth sense of impending battle drew her back to Grimmjow's quarters in time to encounter the rest of his gathering fracción.

"Great, it looks like we're all here." Grimmjow nodded to Vellena, acknowledging her armour. He wasn't complaining about it now. His eyes lit on the hilts of the two swords – they were honestly her preferred weapons. She knew he was considering them, comparing them to her axe – the only other weapon he'd seen her wield. Apparently he'd decided it was her choice and nodded briefly.

"How are we traveling?" she asked.

"Garganta."

So that ability went between worlds as well as between places within this one? That was handy knowledge. She prepared herself to pay attention to this.

The difference was subtle but there… and she caught it, understood it. They raced through the passageway, reality parting in front of them, revealing a cool night sky. She stopped before stepping out into the naked air – she didn't fly. These guys might be able to, but she couldn't, and her armour would avail her none if she hit the ground in it. It would merely ensure her demise.

"I've got you," said Shawlong, with one long-fingered hand wrapped around her upper arm. "You won't fall."

They stepped into the night.