Date written: 16/06/10 – 04/07/10

Posted on FanFiction: 07/07/10

A/N: I've been a little busy with my new Naruto fic. Wanted to lessen the hype on my muse before I move back onto this one. It didn't really work, but this was the best I could do on such short notice. It took too long, in my opinion, because I think I let the idea ripen too much that it began to rot. This is what I had been able to salvage thus far.

- CHAPTER 28 -

Ama (天)

She couldn't move. Her body was as still as a statue. Urahara's dash felt like it had slowed, as if she were seeing things focus and dilate like in the Matrix movie. The odd glint of his blade almost looked like the flare of a gunshot right before the bullet penetrates her torso, where her heart, beating as fast as a piston, was. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the thought of dying and facing death head-on. She wasn't ready, but Death, who always gets its way, does not wait for anybody.

His rushing footsteps were close. Then there was a skid and the sound of air—WHISH!—tearing, like the sound of swinging a badminton racket, only much sharper and profound. She didn't need to open her eyes to know where the maker of that sound was heading for. Her neck tensed, awaiting an inevitable decapitation.

But after five seconds of silence—other than the occasional taps and grunts and screams in the pit—she opened her eyes, which widened even further when she saw that Urahara's sword was inches away from slicing the left side of her neck. She blinked and gulped and shoved a stuttering breath out.

Urahara was not the one who stopped the blade; he had fully intended in decapitating her. A dark-skinned hand was holding the sword's middle, barely touching it more than the fingertips. The person who saved her was facing Urahara, while the man himself covered his face with his hat, as if he didn't want to look at Orihime's savior at all. Though Orihime was still recuperating from the utter scare, her mind automatically understood the reason for Urahara's recent action. Her dark-skinned savior was a female. And utterly naked.

"I thought we agreed I'd be the one training her, Kisuke," she said, her voice sultry but still had an edge of exasperation. "You haven't forgotten about that, have you?"

"No, not at all," Urahara said, face unreadable and unseeable due to the hat. He pulled back his sword, positioning it where the tip pointed to his right. "But I thought you weren't actually serious when you left it up to me to explain to her about her training."

"I wanted to get some rest before she and I started. We won't be stopping until she released her shikai, after all."

"That's probably worse than my training," Urahara remarked.

Orihime shuddered. She really hoped he was only joking.

"Do you think you're up for it?" he asked.

"What do you think?" she asked back.

"I think you need to put some clothes on first before you and Orihime-san begin."

"What? Is my body not good enough eye-candy?" She swung her shoulders alternatively back and forth. Even from behind, Orihime could picture her dark brown breasts jiggling like water balloons. Not only did she talk in a sultry voice, she acted the character best suited for it.

"Orihime-san might not be comfortable fighting a sexy woman such as yourself in her birthday suit," he answered. He neither sounded nervous nor embarrassed. It was like he was used to this woman's extraverted personality.

"Oh? My, my, that's the first time in decades you've called me sexy, Kisuke," she said, head tilting to one side. Urahara's shoulders rose by an inch. "Are you peeking through that hat?"

The way Urahara said his last sentence, Orihime noticed, seemed as if he had a good eyeful of this dark woman's body before or maybe during their conversation. She disregarded the 'decades' comment; it didn't sound important at the time.

"Hmm . . . maybe," he said, accentuating it with a shrug.

"Pervert."

"Um . . ." Orihime blurted. Their attention turned to her, but she found her mouth unable to form the words she wanted to say. She was captivated by the woman's beauty. Her purple hair and brown skin were both dark colors, but her eyes did not follow that tradition; they were a pair of shiny golden orbs, eyes that spoke of adult maturity while retaining the often-lost childish wonder. Her face formed an almost aristocratic feature, and Orihime had a hard time not associating the woman with someone of noble blood. Maybe she was, and Orihime's instincts were correctly guessing it?

The woman smiled at her, arms crossing under her breasts, almost like she was displaying them for anyone—even a fellow person of the same sex—to see and ogle at. Orihime did not ogle per se; it was just the first time that she had seen a busty woman in person who could beat her in breast size. They looked to be around Double-D cup. For the first time ever in her life, Orihime now understood the feeling Tatsuki had whenever they compared body proportions—the one she dubbed 'Breast insecurity.'

"My face is up here, Orihime," she said. She didn't sound angry, just playful. Orihime felt bad vibes from the odd glint coming from those golden eyes, and it was not because of their natural shine.

"I'm sorry," Orihime apologized. It was the most sensible thing to do in this situation. "And excuse me for asking, but who are you?"

The woman laughed, and behind her Urahara still had that hat in front of his face. "Tell you what," she said, "I'll give you three chances to answer that question by yourself."

"But I don't even know you," Orihime said.

"Yes, you do. Just guess. No harm in trying, right?"

She pursed her lips, moving her head downward out of reflex whenever she pondered. And in consequence, she had the image and proof of the dark-skinned woman's natural hair color burned into her mind. Neatly trimmed and triangular—

Orihime gasped and did a swift one-eighty degree turn. "I'm sorry!"

"Hmm?" The woman sounded puzzled. Then, she let out an 'Ah' that dragged awhile. "Wow, you're as much a pervert as Kisuke here, Orihime."

"So says the one who's naked in public," Urahara murmured.

"I—I'm not," Orihime answered shyly. Her cheeks were set to boil.

"You still haven't given a guess," the woman said.

"I think you've had your fun, Yoruichi-san."

"Kisuke!"

"Eh? Yo—Yo—Yoruichi-san?" Orihime couldn't believe it. "Is that really you?" she asked, her back still to them.

"Guess the cat's out of the bag."

Orihime wondered if that was supposed to be a pun joke.

"Yeah, it's me. You didn't really think that I was a talking cat all my life, did you?"

"No," Orihime answered, "I thought you were once a handsome and dashing man before being trapped inside the body of a cat after the Moon Kingdom was destroyed millennia ago, and since you're not Luna then I thought that maybe you are her twin brother."

It was Urahara's turn to laugh. "A handsome and dashing man," he repeated in a mutter before conceding to another laughing fit. Orihime heard a THUNK! and a groan of pain. Urahara remained silent after that.

"You thought wrong," Yoruichi said. "Relax for a bit. I'm going topside to get some clothes."

"Y—Yes, ma'am."

"And not of this 'ma'am' stuff, kid. Titles like that make my skin crawl."

"Yes, Yoruichi-san."

"Good."

Orihime heard another whish and she winced. No sword made contact with her body. When she turned around, Urahara was replacing his hat onto his head. Yoruichi was nowhere to be found.

"Where'd Yoruichi-san go?" she asked him.

"Upstairs." He pointed to the ladder. "She's the fastest being you'll ever meet."

"I . . . I see."

"I think it's only fair to warn you, Orihime-san. Yoruichi-san is not a slacker when it comes to training. She's here to help you achieve shikai, and she'll do everything in her power to make you achieve it."

"Will I be fighting her?"

"No."

Orihime sighed in relief.

"She'll be doing something much worse," he added forebodingly.

"Come on, Kisuke," Yoruichi said as she descended ladder. She was garbed in an orange shirt over a black undershirt and black stretch pants. She had also done her purple hair into a ponytail. Wow, did she dress up fast! "Stop scaring the girl."

"Am I? Last I remember, I'm merely telling her the blunt truth."

She approached the green-clad shady man and leveled a glare. "Blunt, yes. Truth, a big fat no."

"You wound me so, Yoruichi-san," he said and swerved around as if overdramatizing a scene of being shot, complete with one hand clutching his left chest.

"Just get back to your student; I have my own to worry about." She then turned to the student in question, and cocked her head to a spot in the land between two elevated areas—which looked like mini-plateaus, in Orihime's opinion.

Orihime nodded in understanding and followed Yoruichi to the designated place. She sat down when prompted, laying her zanpakuto to her right as she assembled her legs to a cross position. Yoruichi did the same, though her mirthful appearance turned to one of utter seriousness. She meant business now.

"While I agree with Kisuke that the easiest method for one to unlock their shikai is in a life-or-death situation, I doubt someone like you would make much headway from something that crude."

Orihime felt like she had been stabbed. It was not her fault she abhorred fighting and violence unless it was to defend her loved ones. She had been brought up by her brother that violence was never the answer, and she took that life motto to heart. It was easier said than done for her to actually use her sword on something that was human—like the shinigami, for example. Hollows were okay, since they were far from looking and acting like her own species (Shinigami or human? Which did she really prefer?), but the bulk of the matter still stood. She also relied too much on Emi to end disputes. That had to change. And fast.

"Then . . . what shall I do?" she asked the purple-haired catgirl.

"Something much more elegant; more fitting for a princess, don't you think?"

Orihime blushed at her smile. It was sincere and quite seductive. Oh my, was she becoming like Chizuru?

"Take your sword and place it on your lap," Yoruichi said.

Orihime complied, positioning her zanpakuto in a way where it would be easier for her to unsheathe it at a moment's notice. She thought back to Urahara's revelation of her zanpakuto's natural affinity to light and how it was made from it. The flash when unsheathed, the almost weightless feel, it was a big eye-opener, but how much truth was there in his words? Somehow her instincts were telling her that the shady man was omitting something in his explanation, something crucial maybe. But these conspiring thoughts would have to wait.

"Close your eyes," her sensei instructed, and she complied again. "This method takes time, but the results are far more harmonious than forcing your zanpakuto's spirit to let you use their power to save both your lives."

Something compelled her to begin the breathing exercises Tatsuki's cousin had taught her while she had been learning kendo. Orihime took a deep breath, inhale through her nose and exhale slowly through her mouth. She felt peace.

"Meditation," Yoruichi continued, "is an important aspect when a shinigami wishes to speak with their inner spirits. A zanpakuto is not just a sword. It's an extension of your soul formed into a weapon.

"But they are also independent. As such, communication is vital to create harmony between you and your zanpakuto. Your zanpakuto is your partner, your rival, your teacher, your student, your charge, your keeper. In short, you're two sides of the same coin."

Orihime kept her eyes closed, her breathing exercises sedated and proper.

"There is no right way to teach you how to communicate with your zanpakuto, Orihime. It all comes down to you and your zanpakuto's willingness to listen."

She sat on the bench, waiting. Everything around her was covered in a thick, gray fog. So much like Emi's own inner world. The major difference between them would have to be the appearance of the world without the fog. Emi's was a barren wasteland. It was the same place where Orihime had strengthened her resolve as she searched for the sharp sword hidden within the graveyard of dull ones. Her own world without the fog was the same as before: a dirt road leading to a cliff, and on either side were sakura trees in full bloom as if it were eternal spring. But inside the fog the sakura trees were dead, barren, rotting, unseen by the naked eye.

This had been the case before, back when she had still been known as Tsukiyomi and when she had been wielded by a man, Orihime's father. The only times when there had been a rapid change in the scenery was when her old partner had achieved shikai and then bankai. She went through some changes along with the scenery—even the zanpakuto spirit transfer from her old partner to his daughter—but they were relatively minor. Like her hair had grown two inches, her fingernails were suddenly painted with black nail polish, and, when her previous partner reached bankai, her clothes and appearance morphed into a more provocative manner.

This, however, would be the first time that she'd experience being used for shikai by the hands of another wielder. It would be an experience not without some comparisons, her selfish desire to see which was better, the father or the daughter, but it was ultimately in the hands of Orihime if she was worthy to wield a powerful zanpakuto such as her. She was, after all, named after a goddess—a much better predicament than when she had been named after a god, as in a male god (Tsukuyomi).

Regardless, she was prepared for when Orihime would summon her, come for the chance to achieve her shikai. She had waited for weeks before the girl in question had come into the far reaches of this realm inside Orihime's soul. Coming to this foggy place all by herself was already a sign that she was close to realizing her name. Hope swelled in her.

"You have grown a bit, child," she said, prompting a pink blush adorning her charge's cheeks.

"It's only been a month, oba-san," Orihime replied. "I don't think I've grown so much."

She cocked an eyebrow. Last she remembered, she hadn't sired any children . . . unless you count giving birth to yourself via soul transfer from parent to child, but that would be too complicated to easily comprehend. Still, it was something to address her by when the girl honestly had no other word to use. 'Madam' would've sufficed, but she believed Orihime thought that it signified a veiled distance, too formal to actually create a more meaningful connection between them. She may be looking too deeply into it, but her observations and deduction hadn't failed her before. Most of the time, anyway.

"Not in body," she said, "but in mind. You've become more assertive, but it still needs work."

"Well, I . . ."

"Do you wish me to lend you my power?"

Orihime hesitated, then nodded. "If it is all right with you."

She shook her head in disappointment. "This is what I am talking about, child," she said, her narrowing eyes boring into Orihime's flinching form. "You act as if the world can bend to your will if you ask politely."

"Like a spoiled princess."

She swung her right arm to her side, her long sleeve flapping along. "Emi! Silence!" She installed a barrier to further isolate her world with Emi's, so as to make sure that the annoyance couldn't speak a word at all while Orihime was here. It was thoughtless of her to not put up the barrier in the first place. She looked back at Orihime, who was clenching her hands to her chest, her chin touching her clavicle.

"Emi worded it too bluntly, but she still stated the truth, child." She moved closer to the girl. "Not everything can be given to you so easily." Taking her umbrella from the unseated side of the bench, she fondled with the handle and tip. It gave her some comfort. "That is why if it cannot be given, sometimes you have to take it by force."

"Eh?" Orihime's head shot up, eyes as wide as they could go. "But . . . but . . ."

"I do not wish to lend my power to a person who may be weaker than I am. We zanpakuto have minds of our own, child, just as what Yoruichi Shihoin has said indirectly to you minutes before. We have our own will, our own desires, our own reasons to become strong. If you wish for my power when I do not wish to give it to you, what other option is there for you to take?"

Her umbrella was not a mere accessory. She was a zanpakuto spirit, a being created for the purpose to become a weapon. She twisted the umbrella's handle and pulled it out. A flash of light rushed through the crack, and she stood there holding a six-foot long sword. She tracked Orihime's eyes, wanting to see if she wanted to cower and back down or stand her ground and fight.

Orihime took one big step back and held onto the sword strapped to her waist. Her hands were shaking.

She gripped her sword tighter, eyes narrowing further at the act of cowardice. That pacifist outlook had to go. "Stand your ground!" she shouted, to which Orihime yelped. "Do not let your enemy know you are afraid. If you wish to protect Tatsuki, if you wish to not fall behind and watch Ichigo's back as he fights against the odds alone, if you wish to show to everyone that you can fight like a true shinigami . . ." She took a deep breath. She swung her sword until the tip pointed at Orihime's face, their gap barely an inch apart. "Then fight me!"

She gave Orihime a moment to contemplate those words. That moment was up, and she charged forward. She wasn't about to go easy on her; Orihime needed to learn this lesson now rather than later.

Learning from experience, Orihime instinctually unsheathed her zanpakuto and blocked the kimono woman's attack. Steels clashed, and she was pushed back a few feet as her feet dragged through the dry dirt. She caught her breath, but the kimono woman was already on the offensive again. Orihime maneuvered her sword to the left just in time to parry her opponent's second attack, but she did not take into account the length of the parried sword. She realized this too late when she tried to lean her upper body back at the last second. She saved herself from getting half of her head cut off, but her cheek was cut, starting from the bridge of her nose, dragging to the spot just below her right eye, and ending with a slight flicking feeling at her ear. She lifted a hand to touch the wound as it seared with oozing blood. Her fingers were stained with the red liquid as it cascaded down to her jaw.

"The kiddy gloves are off," kimono woman said, "as the saying goes. Prepare yourself!"

Orihime shifted her position, turning back to the kendo lessons she had learned, and protected her head from another attack. This one was stronger than the last two combined that if she hadn't braced for it, she would've been left defenseless as her sword was thrown off her hands. Wanting to get a small opportunity of reprieve, Orihime jumped a few feet back, placing a good bit of distance between her and her opponent. But—

"Stand your ground, I said." The kimono woman's figure was like a shadow in water. She then disappeared in the fog. "This will be your undoing, child."

Orihime looked left and right. She was greeted with silence. The enemy was inside this fog, but she'd have to be as blind as she was. Orihime needed to calm down; panicking would be dangerous in this situation.

"Are you blind, child? Blind from the fog? Blind from your fear? Or blind from your hesitance?" Her voice echoed in her surroundings, its tone sounding more disembodied, as if she were speaking through many layers of glass.

Instincts kicked in. Orihime ducked and rolled forward. Behind her there was a crash as if the dirt had collided with something with the strength of a battering-ram. She saw the kimono woman lifting her sword from the deep crevice she had sliced through the dirt. Her eyes were cold, callous.

Orihime shuddered, but stood her ground. She hefted her sword into the basic kendo stance, trying as best as she could to adjust to the added length of the nodachi since she had been using a standard shinai throughout her kendo training. An offensive move would be a bad call; she needed to prioritize defense first, assess her opponent second, and counterattack last. At least that was what she believed to be the right chain of action.

With steel looking as blood-hungry as a raging predator, the kimono woman charged at Orihime once more, her blade cocked back as if she were about to swing it like a baseball bat. Orihime tried to intercept the attack with another block, but the kimono woman disappeared from her sight. A rush of air disturbed the fog, somewhere to Orihime's right, and she saw this from the corner of her eye. Her mind reacted fast to her enemy's instant displacement, but her body didn't.

Orihime's right waist seared in pain, and she screamed.

In the outside world, Orihime sported a look of concentration, beads of sweat cascading down her face, a nasty cut from her right cheek to her ear, and recently a deep gash on the right side of her waist. It bled like crazy, but Yoruichi didn't bother stopping it. This would be a battle solely between Orihime and her zanpakuto; she had no right to interfere, even if it was just to heal the spiritual manifestation of Orihime's soul. Those were the rules laid out: a true one-on-one fight.

Yoruichi looked over the pit and heard Ichigo's cursing and grunting as he made his way out of the pit. It was only the first day but his will to push on was almost limitless. Humans tend to give up after hours and hours of futile attempts of escaping, but Ichigo's will had not been swayed or cracked from the slow passage of time. She rarely met humans who had the same amount of determination as that orangehead. Turning back to her own student, she wondered if the girl also shared this high determination like her fellow orangehead and half-shinigami.

Well, the answer to that question will come when she stands victorious in the fight, she thought, and a smile graced her lips.

Orihime gasped, another cut on her cheek, the left side, opened wide. The blood slid down her cheek like the beads of sweat around it, yet it also gave the impression that she was shedding red tears. Another cut, this one on her neck, shallow and long and only splitting the epidermis.

"Hang in there, Orihime," she said, not caring if the girl heard her or not. She looked at the sword lying on Orihime's lap. "Tsukiyomi is not a zanpakuto who likes playing around."

The battle between shinigami and zanpakuto had just begun.

Chapter Afterword:

My original intention was to have the whole fight and then reveal the name of Orihime's zanpakuto (her new name, anyway). But I believe that the whole fight, along with a small denouement, need to be inside one whole chapter by itself. I've already got some ideas piling up against each other, forcing my muse to organize them and estimate the word length neglecting cuts and edits. It's almost epically long, though that depends on the fact if I give the green light for one particular fork in the story where I choose between taking the shorter and longer paths. And I'll admit this to you now: the longer paths winning. Because Emi gets involved.

天 - From what I've researched, it means "sky; heaven." Now the pronunciation 'ama' is archaic. It's now called 'sora' or 'ten.' For me, it's a very fitting chapter title because of Tsukiyomi's involvement. The reader won't understand until the next ten chapters or so, but I'm still content with the title.