Date written: 18/04/11 – 24/06/12

Posted on FanFiction: 24/06/12

A/N: Hey, everyone. Yes, I am aware that it has been over a year since I last updated this story, but what can I do? My muse had grabbed ahold of a new concept that she did not wish to leave, so I was swept into her pace and wrote myself to exhaustion for that Naruto idea. And when I believed I was coming to the end of my Naruto craze so I can once more concentrate my efforts on this story, little Ms. Muse suggested an enticing romance story I should write (it was also an experiment of mine because its romance will play more heavily than the snippets I've been doing here). Over half a year later, we've come to now.

Granted, the only thing I've added on this chapter since its last opening (January 5) were a few paragraphs and this Author's Note, so I guess I was just too lazy to finish it up and post it. But truthfully, it was more because the writing style and the place from where I left off were too difficult for me to pick up on, like leaving a half-eaten apple outside for two weeks and coming back to try and finish eating it. Exaggerated? No, that's really how it is for me.

So I give you this chapter in its tiny word count. The next chapter will play out the action dead straight with, hopefully, a satisfying end to the Inner Mind battle so that I can concentrate on the downtime and denouement portions of the Playground Training Arc.

If I get reviews again, I'm happy. If there are readers out there who stuck to me from the start of this story to my longtime hiatus, I'm glad to have you here. The writer might be the creator of worlds, but it is the reader who lives in them, as my saying goes. Happy reading, and I'll be back for an action-packed Chapter 32 soon.

–– CHAPTER 31 ––

Coda/Eclipse

Shadows were a way of life within the borders of the mindscape, an area in the human mind where few could even think of utilizing for their purposes. Even shinigami have trouble in expanding their mental territory into these uncharted waters, either because of simple satisfaction over what they already garnered or of rational fear where they may find themselves within their own minds, trapped in its confines like a prison. To be the prisoner inside your own mentality seemed, to them, an ominous fate befallen to those who weren't ready to up their current power levels.

Every shinigami had the potential to open up themselves within their own minds and grasp the innate powers hidden in the darkness with training and patience. No one achieves shikai and bankai as if they were special abilities from a videogame. They don't come for free, and the most a shinigami can pay for is their life; the least will have to be time. Because that's what it is, more or less. To open one's self into their own mindscape and extricate the shadows looming there like dust and cobwebs in an unused storage room, one must have time on their hands, and with time the darkness will naturally wither and retreat until there is no space left for it to run away to. Essentially by achieving this mastery of the mental habitat, the shinigami is also opening possibilities to obtaining ascension in their powers.

When Orihime shouted out the phrase her mindscape and Amaterasu had longed to hear, Emi's base had dissolved and the shadows hissed at the bright light emanating from the magnificent blade that the orange-haired shinigami now wielded. The boundaries of the void cracked and the darkness turned away from Amaterasu's burning light, seeking refuge in another border of the mindscape, a place where the knowledge of attaining bankai hibernated inside the confines of a prison it made for itself. With their departing, Orihime erected her shikai sword in a defensive position as she studied her new surroundings.

She was back inside the graveyard of swords, the place where she had been given the test to cast away her doubts and charge forth with determination. The gray fog still lingered in the outer limits of the empty plain, but the swords that were once embedded into the ground like grave marks for the fallen were missing. But maybe that was to be, now that she found her true blade, the instrument that was more than a mere instrument, the instrument that was like an extension of her own arm. There was no reason to mourn now, to grieve at her ignorance; she found what she was looking for and so Amaterasu was content.

The blinding light of her zanpakuto faded into a dull glow, and Orihime then deemed it safe for her eyes to examine the changes the nodachi had been through. To start with, the sword was bathed in one single color, a yellowish white that casted a constant glow as if it were a holy weapon used to destroy evil. The hilt guard had been removed; the blade looked to have thinned from a width of two inches to half of that; and the blade became double-edged. Retaining its six-foot reach, there didn't seem to be anything special about the shikai form at first look. But a part of Orihime knew better, and she trusted this sword, Amaterasu, with her safety.

She spotted Emi a bit of distance away, smirking as always. It was disconcerting to see; mostly whenever the hero receives some kind of power boost, the enemy was usually found gawking and their eyes widening to the size of saucers. But all she was reading from Emi's body language was a sort of calm, as if the woman knew that even with shikai Orihime would be unable to beat her in battle. Well, she would just have to prove her wrong.

It was time for Orihime to shift to the offense.

She charged straight towards her black-haired doppelganger, Amaterasu held in both hands, readied for a vertical slash. Emi kept the smirk on her face, condescension pooling out of it, and poised it up for guarding. Midswing, Orihime altered her swing to horizontal; with the sword's light weight (probably even lighter than it was in base form), this was done with ease.

The smirk was replaced with surprise as Emi dodged the swipe by jumping up and moving away from her. Once she landed, she looked at Orihime. "Impressive. You've already realized the lightweight feel of your zanpakuto and immediately used it to your advantage." She tucked a few strands of loose raven hair behind her ear. "Observance in the midst of battle. You definitely don't fall prey to pressure anymore. Maybe it's time I stop going easy on you."

Orihime didn't say anything back. Emi could say anything she wanted, but there was nothing stopping her from ending this fight without at least one combatant lying on the floor, wounded and defeated. The idea of killing passed her thoughts a few times, but she deemed it unnecessary. This whole fight was unnecessary but it was also inevitable. Only time would tell if killing Emi could become an inevitable event as well.

Emi looked to the sky, as if pondering over something, panned back down, and slowly shook her head—left and right, left and right, stop. "I think I'll play with my food a little more."

Their stances were now reversed as Emi prowled into the offensive, brandishing her black nodachi one-handed. Her attacks were swift, efficient, and difficult to block or dodge. Orihime, however, proved to be a combatant able to go toe-to-toe as she took the defensive position as if she were a veteran at it. The reason for her deep ascension in skill, seeing that she wasn't properly trained for sword fighting in the first place, was she was moving more on instinct than on logic and emotion. Fear was in her gaze and anger was in her heart, but she didn't let these two distract her from achieving an advantage in the fight. Instincts inside her, awakened in the same ritual as releasing her shikai, yearned for the chance to take control and it was given to them without preamble. Whether or not this was because of Amaterasu's subtle intervention, as a sign of help, was unknown for the time being, but Orihime was nevertheless thankful for it.

But she didn't want to rely on defense to keep her hand steady and the flesh of her body safe from the macabre that Emi and her nodachi thirsted for. She needed to revert their stances, her on the offensive once again. But it was easier said than done. Whenever she tried to counterattack, Emi had a counter-counter, and she did it with a smile and knowing look in her eyes that was most likely saying, You don't stand a chance. Emi was truthful when she said she'd play around some more. Orihime couldn't think of her actions anything other than like a kitten playing with its food before eating it.

A mistimed counter made her open to attack, and Emi capitalized it by backhanding her on the left cheek. Dazed and humiliated, Orihime stepped back from Emi, who was calmly planting her nodachi on the ground, leaning her forearm on the hilt guard while her head rested on the pommel. Her other arm was on her side, the hand on her hip. Completely relaxed.

Orihime didn't believe she was capable of indignant anger. Maybe frustration and annoyance, but she had never openly showed contempt to a person before . . . well, until now.

Emi seemed the lesser winded while Orihime was already panting her breath out even as one of her hands reached for her mouth and wiped away the liquid dripping down to her chin. Blood. She could taste it in her mouth too. Emi's backhand had been strong enough to graze the inside of her cheek.

"Have you given up yet?" Emi mocked as she brushed a hand through her raven black tresses. "That would be bad. While I like the idea of you giving up eventually, I've always thought that you would've put up a better fight than this. Come on, princess, you've got shikai already. Use it if you wish, but at least try not to make this too boring."

Emi was right, in a way. Orihime had already gone this far, and she was certain that all she had accomplished was more than enough experience in her arsenal to handle her violent other self. But such a notion now seemed ludicrous and arrogant. Sure, she had experience, but the sheer difference between their skills revealed itself from the start of their clash. Each move blocked, each slash countered, each thrust dodged, each counter parried. If Emi was really just toying with her, Orihime didn't need to be told of the implications if the woman were to fight seriously.

But at the same time, she didn't want to just throw away the towel. Amaterasu believed in her; she could feel it resonating from her hands as the sun-colored blade shined on.

She must do what she was meant to do. The words she had spoken to Amaterasu before their final fight entered her mind once more: I . . . am a human person. In heart and in mind. But . . . I am also a shinigami. In soul and in sword.

It was time to act the part.

Determination renewed, steeled gaze staring at her opponent with nothing but the intent to defeat, Orihime took her kendo stance once more, both hands holding onto the hilt, one foot a step ahead of the other, muscles tensed, breath steady. Emi saw the change in her adversary and liked it. Her enjoyment looked to have upped a notch, and so did her seriousness as she grasped her nodachi with both hands now.

"That's what I like to see," Emi said, mimicking the kendo stance Orihime was using.

She didn't know why, but three words were demanding to be said. It was a little cocky and maybe cliché, yet somehow it was fitting for the occasion that she just had to say it: "I won't disappoint."

Smiling to make her name proud, Emi took the initiative, charging forward with a vertical slash aiming for her left shoulder. Orihime rotated Amaterasu to the left, blocking the attack in a basic blocking form. But she didn't count on the amount of force backed by the attack, so her block attempt was broken milliseconds after direct contact. Sparks didn't fly, but wind picked up from where the two blades met, a spherical wave of power pushing everything outward and leaving dead space in its wake. The failed block should've left Orihime open for the follow-up attack, but she at least learned her lesson and stepped away from the danger zone before Emi had a chance to slice skin.

Apparently, staying clear of her opponent's attack range was a lot trickier due to the nodachi's superior length. And while Orihime could boast the same length with Amaterasu, she didn't have the state of mind to use unorthodox methods.

Emi was of a different sort; she uses everything she sets her eyes on, be it a sword, a rock, or even the ground. The battlefield is a weapon in and of itself, and only few warriors who are not veterans of their chosen field pull an advantage with it. But what she employed into the fight was a definite low blow. A short flick of her wrist, swinging the nodachi's tip to the ground and then back up in quick motion, produced a cloud of dust that stormed into Orihime's eyes.

Blind from the cheap shot, she struggled to keep her defense up despite the lack of vision. Tears were pooling out of the corners of her eyes while she resisted the urge to wipe her face of the sand and soil sticking to sweat and facial oil. Emi might have or have not moved to strike her down, but in either case, Orihime trusted survival instinct more than logic, and what instinct told her was step farther back.

There was a sounding whip in the air, like a tennis racket swung in top speed, as she retreated and finally allowed one arm to leave the grip on Amaterasu to restore her obstructed vision. With her sight back, if a little blurry, she saw no trace of Emi. That whipping sound was a close call when her eyes traced the clean swipe on the front of her robe, a cut that revealed her cleavage prominently. Blushing like a tomato, Orihime thanked God that no one else was inside her mindscape to see this embarrassing sight.

No! Keep your head in the fight!

She would have to berate herself later for that slipup. An enemy doesn't wait for one's convenience, and she had kept herself open for over five seconds checking the superficial damage Emi had caused. Orihime really needed to set her priorities, when in battle, straight: survival comes first before anything else.

She whirled around, looking to the sky above her, the ground below her, and the field beyond her. Emi had disappeared entirely. But Orihime could still feel the aura of her presence, a constant buzzing in her senses that seemed to be informing her that danger was right around the corner. But if Emi was here, where was she? Orihime recalled the event a minute ago, trying to remember if she heard footsteps, other than her own, approaching or receding from the focused area of the battle, but she heard nothing. That couldn't possibly mean Emi had disappeared while standing still, yet it seemed the most plausible. That, or she just hadn't heard Emi's footsteps as she went into hiding. But again, where did she go?

I'm thinking in terms of reality again, she thought, hands tightening the grip on her zanpakuto as she turned around once more and moved a few paces to another spot. It was best to stay on the move if Emi decided to procure a surprise attack.

It's just like my will to summon Amaterasu into Emi's realm. If I can do that, then who's to say Emi can't do the same? She is my alter-ego. But what surprise does she have in store? Why leave?

Unexpectedly, she found her answer in the form of a vision.

Yoruichi remembered when she and Kisuke almost lost their lives because of their recklessness. The experience might have made her question her own mortality, have gotten her in trouble with her clan after she came back home bruised and dirtied, and have set her impression on Kisuke dead-straight, but at the same time, she was thankful for it because it opened doors she thought she'd never open. And mostly she had to thank Kisuke for sticking with her through thick and thin after all that.

They came from different worlds—she a noble, he a commoner—but in the Shinigami Academy, origins held little sway. Maybe for cliques and a good first impression on the judgmental instructors populating the staff, but once the essentials were boiled down to skill, ingenuity, tenacity, and plain luck, everyone was more or less left on their own. She and Kisuke were classmates in their first year, but they didn't really start out as friends. Kisuke usually kept to himself, avoiding a few group study sessions to concentrate on something nagging his mind, specifically tinkering and inventing. Just at the start of the term, he was already garnered as a man of unparalleled intellect, reaching top scores on all theoretical subjects while still having time for the strange experiment he went about doing without precautions or abandon. It wasn't until she chose him to be his little play toy for the week that she stopped thinking of him as an airheaded, eccentric, easy-going genius. Change airheaded to absent-minded and that was pretty much her revised opinion on Kisuke Urahara.

Once every week, to alleviate some of the boredom induced by the sheer monotony of Academy life, Yoruichi would pick someone in the student body, regardless of year and status, to be her personal little play toy. And to ensure that she wouldn't grow bored too soon, she changed students weekly; well, that, and she didn't want to look too much like a bully if she could help it. She was a natural tease, anyone close to her would even admit that (out of her earshot, of course), but teasing strangers carried its own stigmas to her reputation. While she didn't really mind much what others thought of her, she was still the heir of the Shihouin clan and any negative reputation she might've garnered would carry onto her family. She was proud of herself and able to confront her mistakes, but she crossed the line when those mistakes damaged others.

That was why she stuck up to Kisuke when almost everybody was pointing their accusatory fingers at him for the cause of his and her close encounter with oblivion. It was as much as her fault as his, and they'd be damned if they said otherwise. It seemed innocent enough because the best way, she assumed, to tease the carefree blond was to interrupt his "Me Time." In other words, sabotage his inventions while he was working on it. Unfortunately she underestimated the severity of his claims.

His invention skyrocketed into a cacophony of grinding metal and internal explosions, and by the time they reached the safety of the outside of his workshop—any second sooner, they might've ended up hospitalized or, worse, dead—the whole place was engulfed in flames. The explosion leveled three classrooms in its blast radius, but thankfully each one was empty since it was a rest day. Kisuke was reprimanded for experimenting with volatile chemicals within the school premises. At least he got off easy; such an incident was a recipe for expulsion. Because of her intervention on his behalf, his incalculable intellect, and the lack of injuries or casualties from the student body, his sentence was lightened to a two-week suspension and seven months of community service, to which another two months had been added when they heard he was slacking off his duties to build another of his crazy inventions.

From that moment on, she didn't tease him. She had felt bad because not only was she free of any punishment, his workshop, and all the devices he had created since he was given permission to use that abandoned science lab, was destroyed. He was also no longer allowed to make another workshop, a restriction he might've taken badly more than he was willing to show to the public. Rumors spread fast, and he was ostracized in a matter of days—nobody wanted to come close to a man who could make a bomb from rotten meat, a box of rusted needles, and a book of matches, as the rumor mill told it.

It sickened her, and so she made time to try and rectify her blunder. At first, she did it out of pity, but after days of constant companionship, pity no longer mattered. She somehow found a friend in the blond, and by the time they were able to repair his damaged reputation together, they were inseparable. She had his back and he had hers. Their bond was so close and sturdy that Yoruichi used her influence as Shihouin heir to have him live and grow up with her in the Shihouin Mansion in Seireitei, her reason being that she wanted to keep an eye on him. It turned more than a few heads her way, but she didn't care, and the rest of her clan had similar opinions, though they vary between the two of them being 'partners-for-life' and 'future husband-and-wife.'

This bond they had never dwindled or weakened during their service in the Gotei 13 or when they defected from Soul Society and resided in the living world for a whole century.

She had his back and he had hers. This never changed. Not then, not now.

So when she was stabbed in the stomach by the black-masked abomination possessing Orihime, it didn't sink deep enough to pierce any vital organs because Kisuke had been there to her rescue, pulling her away from further harm. It hurt a little—her pride, not the wound—but she wasn't about to complain her good fortune. This situation now required both of their presences. Orihime's reiatsu had doubled after rising from that feint faint.

"Time to raise the stakes," Kisuke muttered, removing Benihime from its casing. "Just like old times?"

She grunted, which he automatically took as a yes.

Begrudging as it was to be saved by her old time friend, she stood up with steady feet and assumed a battle stance. The stakes were now higher and the risks more dangerous, but where would the fun be without something to spice up the battle?

Though she wanted to keep looking serious, one glance at Kisuke's carefree attitude, and the lopsided smile she just knew he was sending her way, had been enough to dissuade her from that kind of action. And almost without her notice, they returned to what they used to do as a team, covering each other's back.

"Yeah," she said in agreement to his question, "just like old times."

A trail of dust and they were gone. But the sound of metallic and seismic clashes told a different story. The battle for Orihime's life on the outside front had reached its climactic turning point.