Welcome to Death and the Trickster, part one of a Persona 5/Bleach fusion fic trilogy!
This story is going to focus more heavily on the Persona 5 plot/characters, and is written with the assumption that the reader has finished vanilla Persona 5. There will be no Royal spoilers here outside of a couple of minor references. In terms of canon-compliancy, due to the addition of Bleach elements and the removal of the Metaverse, some P5 characters will have different backstories/motivations.
In regards to Bleach, everything revealed before the end of the Aizen storyline will basically be the same, except for some lore changes I've made for the sake of consistency and/or to patch up plot holes. I also have fairly mixed opinions about the post-Aizen content, so while some elements of the TYBW arc will be kept, others will be thrown out of the window.
On the whole this is a more light-hearted story than not, but there will still be some very bleak moments. Canon-typical trigger warnings apply, including violence, implied/referenced sexual assault, suicide, and minor character death. Basically, all the typical Kamoshida arc and Shonen action series warnings. Also, while the amount of romance in this series is negligible, some characters will be on the LGBT+ spectrum, so if that's something you have a problem with, this story isn't for you.
While the rivers of fate may branch unexpectedly, in the end, all water flows back into the ocean.
Kurusu Akira's story is a perfect example of that.
If someone asked him when he first started seeing ghosts, he wouldn't have an answer. Truthfully, he didn't even realise he was the only one who could see the strange people with chains on their chests until kids at school started bullying him for having imaginary friends. His mother had yelled at him, furious about the gossip that would haunt them in their small little town. His father had just tutted and said Akira was too old for such childish fits of fancy.
Akira had asked the next ghost he saw why everyone else pretended they weren't there, still half-convinced someone was playing a cosmic joke on him.
The little old lady – who looked vaguely translucent around the edges, now that Akira was paying attention to it – just laughed. "Oh, honey, of course they can't see us. We're dead. Now, mind helping me look for my glasses? I swore I left them around here somewhere…"
Akira did help the woman find her ghost glasses, not that he really understood why she needed them in the first place, being dead and all that. The incident was entirely unmemorable, beyond it being the last time Akira actively went out of his way to talk to a spirit.
While he'd never been particularly close to his parents, he still didn't want them to be disappointed in him.
Of course, that all ended up changing one nondescript winter's eve.
Akira had been on his way back home from the cinema, having spent his afternoon watching an over-the-top slasher flick none of the reputable boys his parents urged him to socialise with would have deigned to watch unless their life depended on it. While the first snow hadn't arrived yet, there was a brisk, but pleasant chill to the air, and the flickering streetlights bathed the roads with their gentle glow. It was a beautiful night, and he decided to take advantage of it, slowing to a dawdle.
It was then that he heard the scream.
"Someone! Please, help!"
Breath catching in his throat, the teenager stilled. The voice was male, and while he couldn't tell who it was, he could recognise the desperate panic in it. All thoughts of his evening walk abandoned, Akira raced towards the source of the cry. As he rounded the street's corner, however, he skidded to a halt.
Standing in the street was a young man with wild eyes, and a chain dangling from his chest.
Logically, Akira knew he should have turned away there and then. It wasn't like helping a ghost would achieve anything. None of the small little favours he performed for them had ever actually helped them move on to the next life, or whatever. Plus, his mother would kill him if he started acting weird in public again.
However, he couldn't look away from the sheer and utter desperation in the man's eyes, as he continued to shout for someone – anyone – to help him. What sort of fucked up person would he be if he ignored someone so clearly in distress, dead or not?
Swallowing, Akira stepped forward. "I can hear you. What's wrong?"
Sheer and utter relief glistened in the ghost's eyes, as he fell to his knees, hand clasped in silent prayer. "Oh, oh thank god! It's my sister – he's trying to drag her into his car! She's saying no, but he's not listening to her, a-and…!"
At the ghost's words, Akira's eyes widened like saucers. Suddenly, he was very grateful he'd decided to ignore his doubts. "Show me where she is – I'll save her!"
This is the point that ghosts aside, Akira's fate returned to its pre-determined course.
He found a woman, begging and pleading, a drunken man dragging her into the streets, ranting that she should be proud he'd even paid attention to her. Akira – who despite everything, still didn't realise that people with enough power simply had different rules than the average citizen – intervened, having no idea just how drastically wrong everything was about to go.
One light shove later, and the man tripped on his own feet, knocking his head on the way down. It was barely a scratch, but as with all head wounds, a disproportionate amount of blood trickled down the drunk's face.
"Damn brat… I'll sue!"
Everything seemed to happen all at once after that point. Police sirens flashed through the once-tranquil street, as a pair of rough hands wrapped around Akira's arms, placing him in cuffs. The drunk ranted and raved, claimed Akira struck him unprovoked, and one blatant threat later, the woman nodded, backing up her would-be assailant's claim.
As Akira, dread pooling in his chest, was shoved into the back of a police car, he could hear the shouts of the man – the ghost – who dragged him here, screaming obscenities at his sister's back.
"What the fuck, Mitsuyo?! He saved you! He saved you!"
It was a bitter consolation that the only one who had Akira's back was the ghost who'd gotten him into this mess in the first place.
One sham of a trial later, Akira was shipped off to Tokyo.
…..
While it is rare, sometimes, fate can take a drastic turn. Instead of a river flowing into the seas, an unexpected drought could strike, evaporate it all, and then dump it halfway across the world. In Kuchiki Rukia's case, this particular butterfly of doom manifested in the form of her boss – Ukitake Jūshirō, Captain of the 13th Division of the Gotei 13.
Normally, it was not the Captain's duty to assign an unranked Shinigami's patrols. It was a task handled by the lower-ranked seated officers, as while patrolling the World of the Living was a vital duty, it simply wasn't a very glamorous one.
Kuchiki Rukia was not your normal unranked Shinigami, however. Ukitake had seen potential in her ever since her inscrutable adoptive brother presented her to him. She had been quiet, withdrawn – with all the meekness one would expect of a girl from the streets of Rukongai that had been torn away from everything and everyone she ever knew, and thrust into the poisonous world of the noble clans.
A Shinigami of his experience knew to look beyond the surface, however, and what he saw had pleased him. Her powers were smothered – judging by her personality, both consciously, and unconsciously – but they were strong.
Captain Kuchiki had quietly asked him to leave her unranked. She would be safe, and more importantly, forgotten (her adoption had caused waves after all, and not good ones). While Jūshirō had agreed to his demands at the moment, he had made a second promise – one to himself – that he would nurture the young girl until she shined so bright, her newfound brother would realise his overbearing commands were ridiculous.
His plan had worked until the Kaien incident, and then it hadn't.
(The thing about Shinigami is that their powers come from their souls. Anger dulls the blade. Grief makes it rust).
While he knew in the end time would heal her heart – Jūshirō had lived long enough to realise that no matter how grievous the wound, all scars began to fade – sometimes, a change of pace could help speed up that process. Initially, he'd planned on sending her on a month-long mission to Karakura – a small, but spiritually active ward on the outskirts of Tokyo. Jūshirō had gotten all the way to grabbing his quill pen, parchment on his desk, when doubt struck him.
Perhaps a month wasn't long enough – maybe three would be more appropriate. That would make Karakura unsuitable then, with its unusually high Hollow population. In the end, he settled on Shibuya instead. It was a large district, but had relatively low Hollow rates for its size – he was confident Rukia would be able to handle it.
Mind made up, Jūshirō took pen to paper, completely oblivious that he'd unintentionally derailed several plans over a century in the making.
…..
To say that Kurusu Akira had an underwhelming introduction to Tokyo would be an understatement. The instructions for his parole had been clear – one year of good behaviour, and his record would be wiped clean. Any fuck-ups, and he'd be in juvie faster than he could blink. Alas, good behaviour had included going to school, and he'd already been expelled from the only high school anywhere near his dinky little village.
It might have been possible for his parents to enrol him somewhere closer than Tokyo, but quite frankly, he was pretty sure they were trying to wash their hands clean of their delinquent son. To some degree, the feelings were mutual. Unlike all his old school 'friends' (acquaintances, really – he hadn't been bullied since primary school, but that didn't mean old wounds had closed), his parents had believed him when he said he was innocent. They just thought he should have let the woman get raped anyway.
"It would have served her right." His mother huffed, nose wrinkled at the stale scent of the detention centre. "Consorting with vagabonds like that…"
Suffice to say, Akira wasn't particularly cut up about being exiled to the other side of the country. It was hardly like his life could get much worse. (Of course, he should have realised then that he was tempting fate). Anyway, perhaps a fresh start would be nice, free from the reputation of school weirdo turned delinquent.
As he exited the station and walked into the Shibuya crossing, he had been equal parts amazed and overwhelmed.
Sometimes, when Akira focused, he could feel the auras of people in his hometown, like dim candles in a light breeze. There was no 'almost' here. The city was alive, not just with the flames of the living, but the kindling of the dead. He'd never seen so many souls crammed into one place, and the oppressive weight it caused was crushing.
Luckily, the crowd of bodies thinned a little bit when he arrived in Yongen-Jaya – a worn-down, but homely residential district. His lot didn't improve, however, as he got lost on his journey to find his probation officer's house. In the end, he was spared by a woman with a dark bob cut who took pity on the blatantly overwhelmed country boy.
"You're looking for Sakura Sojiro? Try Café Leblanc – it's around the corner." She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, before something amused entered her eyes. "His coffee is good, but the highlight of his menu is most definitely the curry."
Leblanc didn't look like anything special from the outside, with stereotypical faux-French décor and empty milk crates by its door, though given it was likely Sakura's business, he knew better than to ever voice his thoughts. Swinging open the door, he looked up into the face of a rather unimpressed older gentleman.
"Oh, it's you." The barista sighed. "You're late."
One of the customers, an older woman with her husband, shot a curious glance their way. "Oh, are you a friend of young Sakura-chan's? How wonderful – it's nice to hear she's coming out of her shell."
Grimacing, Sakura gave the back of his head a sheepish rub. "Uh, something like that. He's moved here from the country for school."
A knowing look entered the customers' eyes. "Well, if that's the case, we better give you some privacy. I'll put the bill on the table."
Akira quickly moved out of the elderly couple's way. Upon their departure, the tension in the room ratcheted up immediately, as the two men looked at each other, entirely unsure (or unwilling) to break the stalemate between them.
Unsurprisingly, Akira cracked first. "… Who's Sakura-chan?"
The look Sakura-senior gave him could have melted iron. "Absolutely none of your business."
Christ. Akira didn't know why he'd deluded himself into thinking this would be a fresh slate. This is awful.
Some of his despondency must have leaked through, as Sakura sighed, and gestured for Akira to follow him. Leaving the counter, he approached the stairs at the back of the store.
"She's my daughter, Futaba. You might see her around here sometimes. Now, she's a shy kid who's been through a lot, so I don't want you bothering her, okay?"
Akira nodded. "Crystal clear, sir."
Sakura blinked, before a bark of amusement escaped his throat. "No need to be so formal, kid. Sojiro-san if you must, though most folks around here call me Boss."
Adjusting his glasses, Akira was careful to keep his sincere doubts about that to himself.
The humour in Sojiro's eyes vanished as quickly as it had arrived, but there was slightly less derision in the older man's expression as he led Akira up the stairs. "I was wondering what sort of unruly kid they'd be sending up here – gotta say, you're not what I was expecting."
"I'll take that as a compliment." Akira's commented dryly.
Sojiro arched a brow, and Akira quickly shut up.
"Now, this is your room…"
…..
Kuchiki Rukia frowned, wrinkling her nose. The World of the Living was so weird. It reeked of smoke and tar, the sky was pierced by oblong towers that bit into the heavens, and it was filled to the brim with people like insects in a jar. Despite that, there was a lightness in the air that was absent in the Seireitei, the towering city the Shinigami and nobles alike both called their home. So much spiritual energy in one location could feel cloying at times, after all.
Ah. Rukia suddenly realised why she felt so at ease in the alien surroundings as she surveyed the city from her perch on the top of a telephone poll. It reminds me of the Rukongai.
The pollution, the bustle, and the hodgepodge nature of the place… It was mildly nostalgic, in a way. Of course, that wasn't to say the Rukongai had been pleasant at all – her home district was a living nightmare more often than not – but sometimes, she secretly suspected that she'd find the nicer areas more pleasant than the Seireitei itself.
No, scratch that. It'd definitely be more pleasurable than living in the Kuchiki Compound.
She hadn't always been quite so averse to spending time in the Kuchiki mansion – it was stifling, but she'd only need to put up with it for a few hours before she could return to her real home, her Division. Kaien's death had changed that. The 13th Division simply wasn't the same without him, and how could it be? He was the Division's heart, and she'd –
Rukia was snapped out of her maudlin thoughts by the chime of her Denreishinki. Flipping the phone open – Kiyone had teased her for still using such an old model, but it had served Rukia well – she frowned when she saw the text. Hollow, in the Aoyama area.
As the phone's tracker honed onto the Hollow's Reiatsu, Rukia leapt off the telephone pole, unsheathing the katana she always kept at her side - her Zanpakutō - just as the first drops of rain began to fall from the sky.
She should have realised it was a premonition.
…..
A horrific, bestial howl tore through the air, snapping Akira right awake. Scrambling out of his futon, the boy glanced around Leblanc's attic wildly, heart hammering at a mile a minute. What on earth was that?! As his panic subsided, and his sleep-addled brain began to wake up, he realised it was probably just the lingering remains of a nightmare. Duh. If there really was a giant rabid wolf roaming the streets, there'd be one hell of a commotion.
Lying back on his makeshift bed, Akira idly checked his phone and cursed when he saw the time. It was barely after five, and with the blast of adrenaline that had hit him, there was no way he'd be falling back to sleep. Dammit. It was his first proper day at Shujin Academy, and he wanted to be at his best. Sure, Principal Kobayakawa and his homeroom teacher Kawakami had been none too thrilled when he'd gone to pick up his student ID, but that didn't mean he couldn't get along with his new classmates.
Akira wasn't naïve enough to think his criminal record would stay hidden forever, but hopefully, by the time it got out, he would have at least made some friends who would judge him for who he was, instead of what he was rumoured to be.
Grumbling, he rolled over and attempted to fall back to sleep. Maybe he'd be able to get a brief rest, or maybe –
Or maybe he'd black out instantly, and awake to a blaring alarm and somebody shaking him rather vigorously.
"Damn Sojiro, you sure he's even alive?" An unfamiliar voice yelled, and Akira's foggy brain began to put some wires together.
There was someone in his room.
He jolted upwards with a screech and was greeted with a matching shriek in return. As his vision finally went into focus, he found himself facing a teenage girl, possibly a couple of years younger than him, with bleached orange hair, thick glasses, and a hoodie.
For a second, the two teenagers ogled each other, Akira's alarm still ringing in the background.
"… Sakura Futaba?" He guessed, head still feeling like a winter morning in Scotland.
The girl just grew even paler, made a noise that could only be described as a meep, and then bolted.
… What the fuck was that about?
By the time he'd gotten dressed and headed downstairs, Sojiro was manning Leblanc's counter. Futaba was perched on one of the stools like a gargoyle, studiously not looking in Akira's direction.
"So, you are going to school, after all." Sojiro's brows rose, and Akira couldn't help but feel a bit narked at how surprised he sounded. His bad mood evaporated when his guardian shoved a plate in his direction, however. "Here. Just make sure you finish it before the customers start coming in."
The smell of delicious curry made his stomach grumble, and Akira realised he'd skipped dinner last night. As the flavours reached his tongue, he couldn't help but widen his eyes. The woman yesterday had said the curry was meant to be good, but this was phenomenal.
A brief glimmer of warmth entered Sojiro's eyes and Akira told him that, and even though Futaba was still very adamantly not looking at him, he thought he saw her lips curve up in a slight smile.
"Thanks." Sojiro's voice was gruff, but Akira got the impression he was secretly chuffed.
They settled into a comfortable silence, as the news blared out from the TV.
"… That was direct footage from the accident. According to the police, the engineer was nowhere to be found after the train derailed. Despite extensively reviewing the CTV footage, there was no evidence of him leaving the train cab, however. People are speculating that this is another of the mysterious Vanishing Incidents that have been plaguing Tokyo this last year…"
He furrowed his brows, intrigued. He'd never heard of a Vanishing Incident before. How on earth could someone disappear unnoticed from a train cab? His curiosity was immediately guttered though once the reporter mentioned the death toll. How horrible. A shiver of relief ran down his spine. He sure wouldn't want to be going down that line – it would be full of ghosts for ages.
Silently, Akira nodded, and fled the café.
…..
The trip to Shujin was a nightmare. He'd idly asked if Futaba went to the school, and the mood in Leblanc suddenly turned frostier than December. Akira had fled almost immediately, which was a good choice, as the trains were delayed, and the station was utterly packed. It was also a bad choice, as he left his umbrella behind, and was immediately greeted with pouring rain the second he left the Aoyama-Itchome station.
Quickly taking shelter under a veranda, a wave of gloominess ran over him, as water splashed onto his shoes. Hopefully, if he waited ten minutes or so, the downpour would abate for a bit. He was snapped out of his thoughts though when another student hopped under the alcove. As she lowered her hood, Akira was stunned as a plume of wavy blonde hair tumbled out. It wasn't like the bleached harshness of Futaba's hair either – it was clearly natural.
He wondered if she was a foreigner, but that didn't seem quite right. Her facial features were still distinctly Japanese – half-white, perhaps? She then flicked her eyes in his direction, and Akira rapidly turned away, a hint of a blush forming on his cheeks – he'd just been ogling her like a creep, after all.
Thankfully though, judging by the small huff of amusement that escaped her lips, she hadn't been offended by his awkwardness. Before Akira could introduce himself, a white sedan rolled to a halt before them, driven by a man with tousled dark hair and a prominent jaw.
Pulling down his window, he offered both of them a lift – it was clear he knew the blonde. While she hopped in his car, Akira politely declined – he didn't want to soak the man's seats, after all. As the car drove away, however, the girl's expression suddenly turned sombre, and Akira was hit with a wave of confusion. What on earth was that about?
He found out rather soon. Footsteps splashed down on the streets, as panting, a boy reached Akira's side. Glaring at the car, a muttered series of curses escaped his lips. He looked like a typical punk, with bleached-blond hair and a graphic tee over his uniform.
He must have noticed Akira staring, and whirled around with a scowl. "What do you want? Planning on ratting me out to Kamoshida?"
Akira blinked. "Who?"
This time, it was the boy's turn to look off guard. "What do you mean, who? How do you not know who Kamoshida is?"
"I'm a transfer student." Akira explained with a shrug.
"Huh." Any lingering hostility faded from the crude boy's face. "Guess that makes sense. He's the man in that car. Pervy freak, walks around like he's the king of a damn castle. Takamaki is way too good for a scumbag like him."
Judging by how venomous the boy's expression grew, Akira had a hunch there was a story there. He then remembered how unpleased the girl, presumably Takamaki, looked when Kamoshida drove away with her. His stomach twisted – maybe he should have taken the man up on his offer, after all.
"… This rain ain't too bad." The other boy peered into the distance. "Hey, want me to show you a shortcut?"
Weaving through the streets, the blond introduced himself – Sakamoto Ryuji, also a second year. Different homeroom, though. As they walked to Shujin, Ryuji was more than happy to give him a run-down of the school. Kamoshida was the worst, and Ushimaru had a stick up his ass, but the rest of the teachers were apparently not that bad.
"Kawakami's alright." Ryuji shrugged. "She'll get a bit mopey if you can't answer a question in class, but as long as you're not botherin' anyone else, she doesn't care what you do."
Akira was about to reply, when something splashed behind him. Glancing backwards, he paused. The narrow alleyway was empty. Despite that though, every hair on the nape of his neck suddenly prickled, as an awful sense of foreboding overtook him.
But then why all of a sudden did he feel such a sense of trepidation?
"Dude, you alright?" Ryuji furrowed his brow in concern.
Akira shook the fog from his brain. "Yeah. It's noth-"
A familiar, eerie screech broke through the pattering rain, and whipping back around, Akira found himself face-to-face with a monster.
It was vaguely humanoid, with grey skin, hands far too large for its body, and a fin jutting from its back. A white mask covered its head, with sockets revealing pupilless, glowing eyes. It split open, revealing a row of slab-like teeth, and a large, lolling tongue.
The most noticeable feature however was the giant hole in the middle of its chest.
"Ryuji." He gripped his new friend's arm, heart beating in terror. "What the fuck is that?"
For a moment, there was no sound, but the rain pattering down from the sky. The monster cocked its head.
"… Uh, Akira?" Ryuji's voice dripped with concern. "There's nothing there."
Ice ran through Akira's veins. What?
The monster then laughed. "Finally… finally! Food! So strong… was hunting… food!"
Its voice reverberated with a screech, like nails running down a chalkboard. Shuddering, bile rose to the back of Akira's throat. Every instinct of his screamed that this creature was an abomination, a violation of some sacred order of this world.
He had no time to ponder what it was though. The monster lashed out faster than Akira could even blink, a giant hand wrapping around Ryuji's waist. Akira's breath caught in his throat as the other student was ripped into the air with a scream.
"Wha – what the fucking hell is going on?!" Ryuji half-screeched, half-wheezed, flailing around in the creature's grip.
Something that sounded almost like a laugh echoed from the monster's jaw. "Finally… found you!" Without a moment's hesitation, it slithered away, fading into the rain, hand firmly clasped around Ryuji's waist.
"A-Akira! H-help me!" Ryuji wailed, eyes wide in fear.
He didn't hesitate. All thoughts of school forgotten, he ran after his new friend.
…..
Rukia ran faster than light itself, cursing as sheets and sheets of rain poured down from the grey sky. She'd almost managed to catch the Hollow yesterday until that train accident occurred (not that she really even knew what exactly a train was). Half a dozen fresh souls, in a state of fear and rage because of their sudden passing? It would be a candy bowl for both Hollows and Hollowfication unless she cleansed them quickly. By the time Rukia had navigated her way through the labyrinthian tunnels of Shibuya station and finished purifying all the souls, the Hollow had disappeared.
Frustration welled up in her chest. She should be better than this. She'd always had excellent Reiatsu control, and she'd always been good at sensing it too. Had her skills atrophied that badly, in the days since Kaien's death?
Rukia discarded that idea, however. There was something… off about this city. A taint that lingered in the air. Captain Ukitake had said there was a disproportionally low number of Hollow attacks in the area. Silently, she couldn't help but suspect that it was because there was something far, far worse out there.
There. A whiff of Hollow Reiatsu drifted through the air, and Rukia descended from the streetlights to the ground. Walking down a dark alley, she would have totally dismissed the human boy racing parallel to her if he hadn't suddenly gripped her arm.
"Wait! You can't go down there! There's – there's a monster!"
Rukia was so caught off-guard that she almost tripped over in an undignified heap.
"You… you can see me?!" She gawped. No, not just that – he'd touched her!
It was hard to see his expression behind his opaque glasses, but the exasperation in his voice was apparent. "Am I not supposed to?"
Rukia's shock faded into curiosity. He was young, perhaps slightly younger than herself on a strictly biological level. Large glasses and messy black curls obscured his features, but did nothing to mask his Reiatsu. It was human, but it was strong. The level of your average unseated Shinigami, at the very least. The Hollow's Reiatsu then flared, and all curiosity left her as she detected a far weaker spiritual presence almost overlapping it. Dammit – it's found someone!
"This monster, where did it go!?" She gripped the lapel of his blazer.
The boy's eyes drifted to the sword at her hip, her Zanpakutō, and clearly realising she knew more about this situation than he did, he gestured for her to follow. "Here, this way!"
He was fast, but Rukia was faster. Whirling around the corner, she caught sight of a lanky Hollow, with a boy in its grasp. He struggled, weakly, but it was clear his energy was waning.
"Ryuji, hold on!" The lanky boy screamed, and Rukia froze in horror as he announced their presence to the whole bloody world. "I brought help!"
Losing the element of surprise stung, but she had no time to admonish him. Rukia needed to free this Ryuji child, and now. Darting towards the beast, she unsheathed her blade, slicing at the Hollow's tendon. A roaring cry bubbled out of its throat, and it dropped the blond. The black-haired boy rushed in and grabbed his friend before he could hit the ground.
Unfortunately, there was no room in the tight alleyway to manoeuvre, and the second it recovered, the Hollow's uninjured arm smashed her in the back. Winded, Rukia was sent flying. Scraping against the pavement in a heap, blood dripped down Rukia's forehead. How careless. She should have sealed it with Bakudō before she raced in. Still, the Hollow was weak – she should be able to take it down in a couple of strikes…
It was then, of course, that the black-haired boy ruined all her plans, again.
"Hey!" He screamed, voice blazing. He stood between her and the Hollow, arms outstretched. "If you want to hurt them, you'll have to get through me!"
The Hollow lunged, and fury and fear raced through Rukia in equal measure. Idiot! You're the one it's after!
Time almost seemed to move to a standstill, as the Hollow lunged, far faster than the human eye could see. Rukia was faster still, but only just. Pushing the boy out of the way, a pair of vicious teeth pierced her shoulder, crushing her ribs. A wave of darkness overtook the Shinigami's vision as she crumpled on the floor in a broken heap.
"Fool…" Rukia wheezed, attempting to push herself upright. While her vision still swum, she couldn't taste any blood – her broken ribs hadn't punctured her lungs. It was a small mercy, and one that didn't distract her at all from her anger. "What on earth did you think you were going to accomplish with that stunt?!"
"I… I'm sorry." He fell to the floor, fear shining in his eyes. Her anger abated as Rukia remembered that the boy wasn't a member of the Gotei 13, but a human child well out of his depth. "I just… I didn't want anyone to get hurt…"
The Hollow's cry echoed through the alleyway, as the beast reared back, licking its lips. It had probably never tasted something as potent as Shinigami's blood before. The high wouldn't distract it for long, but for the moment, it was an opportunity, and one Rukia would not waste.
…..
Akira's heart hammered as the girl in the black kimono bled out onto the pavement. What should he do? He knew nothing about first aid – he didn't even have any bandages with him.
The girl raised her head, and her violet eyes pierced him to his core. "… Do you wish to save your friend?"
"I'm not running and leaving you to that thing." Akira's hands trembled, but his voice was steady.
… Did he have any choice though? He wasn't strong enough to carry both her and Ryuji, who was coughing to the side, and she was injured, badly. There was a good chance she'd bleed out before he could even get an ambulance. Assuming she could even be taken to a hospital in the first place – he had a sneaking suspicion she was no ordinary human.
Something almost akin to a smirk crossed her face, before she winced, forcing herself into a sitting position. "You really are a fool, aren't you? There's a way… a way to save us all." Withdrawing her blade, she pointed it at Akira's chest. "I cannot fight like this, but… if I give you half of my powers, you can in my stead!"
Akira nodded, fists clenched tight. "What do I need to do?"
"Place the point of my Zanpakutō, my sword, over your heart… The chances of success are low, but we're out of options!"
Oh yeah, she was totally going to stab him. If this was some attempt at mercy killing him, however, well, at least it would be slightly more pleasant than being eaten alive by a giant monster.
Akira guided the blade to his chest. "I'm ready, ma'am."
A smile crossed her face. "It's Kuchiki Rukia. Shinigami."
Heart pounding in his chest, Akira forced a grin in return. "Kurusu Akira. Delinquent transfer student."
The monster howled, slowly advancing on them, and the duo exchanged a glance. It was time.
A burst of agony ran through him as the blade pierced his chest. It was then overwhelmed by something igniting within Akira's veins. A foreign power surged within him, as his vision was painted red. Akira's Shujin Academy uniform melted into a black kimono identical to Rukia's own, and the weight of katana entered his hands. Instinctively, the teen knew just what to do.
The monster reared back, shielding its eyes from the blinding light that had engulfed him, creating a perfect opening. Dashing at it with speeds he could barely comprehend, he slid underneath the monster, slicing off one of its legs. As the creature roared, toppling to the ground, Akira leapt into the air, blade at the ready, and swung downwards with all of his strength. The creature's head fell off its shoulders, and before it could even hit the ground, it disintegrated into dust.
Akira landed gracefully on the ground before a wave of exhaustion ran over him, and everything went dark.