Howdy folks, welcome Part 2 of Death and the Trickster, To Defile These Hallowed Halls! As you've probably gathered, this is a sequel, and isn't going to make any sense without reading Part 1 (which you can find on my profile).

Like Part 1, this story is going to be more light-hearted than not, but there will be a few chapters where things get very bleak. All canon-typical content warnings apply, and some non-canon typical ones do to - to be specific, this is going to include major character death. This story is not a fix-it, and in fact, is very much a worse-it at times. For more details on that, please check the AO3 version of this story.

Kuchiki Byakuya walked across the bridge, Reiatsu and expression both tightly schooled. Openly showing his discomposure would blemish the Kuchiki name, and he had disappointed his family enough. To let the awful knot of fear and anxiety that twisted in his stomach seep through here of all places would be tantamount to spitting on his Clan's name.

It would also doom Rukia to her fate.

Byakuya was not sure who he wanted to curse at more – Ukitake, for being hair-brained enough to send his sister into the World of the Living alone in the first place, Joker, for having the impertinence to steal her powers, or Rukia, for being foolish enough to let it happen. But no, the answer was obvious – the only person Byakuya was truly angry at was himself. He should have ignored his family's demands and had Rukia withdrawn from the Gotei 13 the second they adopted her. Yes, her dubious origins meant that no matter how much tutoring she had in the art of nobility, her marriage prospects would have been scant, but at least she would have been safe.

I'm sorry, Hisana. I failed you.

It wasn't simply his emotional turmoil threatening to bubble to the surface, however – his arm ached. Byakuya had initially assumed that the searing pain caused by the woman who'd saved Joker's touch was purely psychological – his skin was unbruised and unblemished – but as he walked to the gallows, Byakuya was reluctantly forced to admit she had done something. What an embarrassment – a Shinigami Captain being caught off-guard by a mere human. It was a far more pleasant shame to fixate on than how he had completely and utterly failed Rukia, however, so fixate upon it he did.

Finally, the Captain finished crossing the narrow wooden bridge and reached the door to the chambers of the Central 46. Immediately, his petty thoughts fled from his mind. While the home of the Seireitei's judicial body looked unassuming from the surface – a sparsely ornamented white building rising from the centre of a lake – under the earth, the compound spread on for days. Opening the doors, Byakuya began the long descent towards his destination, conscious of how the sun slowly vanished off his back as he proceeded down the spiralling staircase. There was only one stop on his agenda that day – the Underground Assembly Hall. He'd never entered the octagonal monstrosity located in the compound's depths before – while the Kuchikis did have a representative among the Central 46's number, it would be a gross conflict of interest for a Clan Head to hold such a position.

The first thing Byakuya noticed as he walked into the Underground Assembly Hall was that it was designed to make one feel small. The gallery the various wise men and judges that composed the Central 46 were gathered upon towered above the chamber's floor – he would need to crane his head if he wanted to meet their eyes. Not that doing so would have been worth the bother, even if it wasn't an utterly undignified act – the judges' faces were all obscured by numbered plaques.

"Kuchiki Byakuya." One of the men intoned. "We have summoned you here today to inform you of the results of your appeal to stay the execution of Kuchiki Rukia."

He stayed stock still.

"The appeal… has been denied."

He continued staying stock still, even though Byakuya felt as if he had been slapped in the face. He had not been optimistic, but a part of him had hoped his name might have brought her leniency. A reduction of her sentence to exile, at the very least.

It seemed his hope had been misplaced.

Bowing, Byakuya turned on his heel and left.

(He went to the Kuchiki physicians later that day and found out the bones in his arm had been cleanly severed in five different places. Whatever the woman was – Niijima, he thought – he was suddenly rather certain it wasn't human. It was poor compensation for the rest of the day's events.)

…..

Abarai Renji sat at the corner of the bar, idly stirring his third cup of sake. The rowdy racket of the other patrons washed over him – most of them were gathered around a couple of Shinigami from the 11th arm wrestling in the corner, taking bets on the victor. Normally, he'd be there with them, hooting and hollering, but the Lieutenant couldn't muster any enthusiasm even if he tried.

"Of COURSE you're not fucking good enough for her – whenever she needs you, you keep turning away!"

"Dammit…!" Renji hissed, clenching his jaw as Joker's words, thoughts, feelings – he had no idea at all – flooded his mind. They'd haunted him like a spectre ever since he returned from the World of the Living the other day, playing in his mind on repeat like a broken record. No matter how much he tried to drown out the din, however, nothing could quench the feeling of wrongness that plagued him.

Because he was right, wasn't he? Zabimaru's voice was cutting – Renji hadn't heard his Zanpakutō speak to him like that since he swore to take Byakuya down.

Renji shook his head, attempting to dismiss the thoughts. He wasn't sure what Joker's gross amalgamation of a Shikai had done to him, but it wasn't anything pleasant. The part of him that still belong to the 11th sneered – sneaky powers like that were for the weak – but the rest of him was utterly terrified of an ability that didn't carve up the body, but the mind. The 4th had managed to heal his wounds in a matter of moments, and yet he was still feeling just as rattled as he had the second Joker's blade entered his chest.

A voice suddenly distracted the redhead from his thoughts. "Hey. I thought I'd find you here."

Blinking, Renji's head shot up, and his eyes latched on to Hinamori Momo. The woman was small and dainty, with round cheeks and chestnut hair wrapped in a neat bun – she couldn't look less out of place in a seedy rundown pub like this if she tried. Still, he'd known his old academy friend long enough to know not to underestimate her – she'd be able to kick the ass of anyone in here without breaking a sweat. The Lieutenant's badge wrapped around her arm was perfect proof of that.

It looked like Momo hadn't come alone. Kira Izuru - his other academy buddy - stood slightly behind her, frowning. The blond also didn't fit into the bar's usual clientele. He was tall and lanky, with a fringe that obscured an eye – even a dunce like Renji could tell he was more of an artsy type than a brawler. That didn't diminish his strength either – he'd been promoted to the Lieutenant of the 3rd before Renji had even entered the 11th. The fact that his two oldest friends – asides from Rukia, who you abandoned – had come to cheer him up shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was.

Momo took the seat opposite Renji and gently stroked his hand. "I'm so sorry. If I'd had to do that to Shiro-kun…"

Izuru slumped down at his side. "Captain Hitsugaya." He corrected. "Foster sibling or not, it sets a poor example for our subordinates if we disrespect our superiors."

Momo just rolled her eyes, and Renji snorted, Izuru's statement being dumb enough to snap him out of his funk if only for a moment. "Since when did you become such a snob?"

Oh, wait, stupid question – Izuru had always been like that.

The blond's eyes glittered impishly. "Would a snob do something like this?"

The motherfucker then pilfered Renji's sake and swallowed it in one gulp. The redhead's jaw dropped as indignation burst in his chest. Izuru merely arched his brow, clearly asking what are you gonna do about it, punk?

Renji scowled, gritting his teeth. "Urgh, you're the worst."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Izuru shrugged.

Momo shook her head, but her voice brimmed with levity. "Oh, boys. How about another round of drinks?"

As the evening tottered along, the three former schoolmates sat around the table, progressively getting drunker and drunker. Izuru's pale skin began to flush, and Momo let out one of her undignified giggle-snorts, wheezing as sake ran up her nose. Even if it was only for one evening, Renji could forget about the crushing weight on his shoulders, and enjoy a laugh with his friends.

No matter how much he lost himself in their antics, however, Joker's words failed to leave his head.

"Hey." Renji slurred, as the trio tottered back to their barracks. "Do you think... do you think I could've stayed at Rukia's side? After she was adopted into the Kuchiki an' all that?"

Momo glanced at the starlight sky. "I… don't really know. What do think, Izuru? You're the only noble here."

The blond mulled things over. "I'm not that much of a noble, Hinamori, but I suppose… I suppose I think it would have been difficult. Very difficult."

But not impossible.

The words remained unsaid.

…..

Unlike Byakuya, Renji hadn't just hoped the Central 46 would sway to his Captain's demands – he'd genuinely expected it.

(He wanted to scream when he found out they hadn't).

Rukia held no such delusions, however.

(She hadn't thought Byakuya would petition them in the first place).

…..

"Uuuuurgh, Sojirooooo." Futaba whined, pouting. "Stop fussing! I'm gonna be fine!"

Back in the World of the Living, Kurusu Akira bit back a grin. Leblanc's familiar scent of coffee and curry embraced him, and with a pang, he realised the rich aroma felt like home. If worst came to worst, however, it wouldn't be the food he'd miss the most – it would be the company.

"Look, I know it's only a programming camp, and everything is probably going to be fine, but that doesn't mean I can't be worried about you!" Sojiro threw his hands up into the air. "You've never been in an unfamiliar place without anyone you know for so long – you've made leaps and strides over the last few months, but it's still one hell of a step forward!"

As the barista ranted, Akira drunk in every last detail about the man who'd been far more of a father to him than his own parents ever had – from his receding hair and the wrinkles at the corners of his eye, to his pink shirt and the grey apron he wore almost every day. He liked to think he'd see Sojiro again – no, he thought he would see him again – but at the same time, Akira had to be realistic. This wasn't a bank they were robbing.

It was the World of the Dead.

"Don't worry, Boss – I'll keep an eye on her." Akira promised, voice firm.

"For what – the walk from here to the train station?" Sojiro arched a brow.

Winking, Akira gave him finger guns. "Got it in one, Boss!"

Luckily, his comment had the intended effect – Sojiro finally stopped fretting and gave Futaba a hug. "Stay safe, you hear? And if you need me, give me a call and I'll come and get you."

Futaba shook her head. "Alright, alright – just let me go already!" As she hurried to the door, she gave her adoptive father one last wave, before hurtling out of the café. "See you later, Sojiro!"

At a far more sedate pace, Akira followed her, giving the barista a nod. "I might stay out for the night – don't wait up for me."

Sojiro tutted, a smile on his face. "Oh? Visiting one of your lady friends?"

Akira hoped his grin didn't look as fake as it felt. "Something like that."

As he fled from Leblanc, he quickly caught up with his foster sister. Her goofy grin was gone, and as she turned to face him, all levity had faded from Futaba's eyes. "You've got Morgana, right?"

Akira's bag shuffled, and a cat-like head poked out of it before glaring at the teen. "I'm here – next time, a bit of warning before you shove me into your bag would be nice!"

"Sorry." Akira reached over, ignoring his protests, and gave the Mod Soul's head a pat. "On the bright side, if things go to plan, you'll have a whole month of human-bodied freedom."

Morgana sighed, settling down. "Yeah – which I'm going to spend worrying about you."

"Alright, that's enough doom and gloom – here you go!" Futaba dumped one of her bags in Akira's arms, and he wheezed, staggering under its weight.

"What the hell do you even have in this thing?"

"Mwehehe, stuff!"

…..

"Bye mum, I'll see ya later!" Ryuji shouted, giving the woman a wave and ignoring the twinge of guilt in his stomach.

When he told her Akira had invited him on a road trip, she'd bit into the lie hook, line, and sinker. In fact, she'd been ecstatic and had offloaded so much camping and cooking gear onto him that it made Futaba's anti-Hollow bat seem like a paperweight in comparison. Ryuji hadn't been invited to something like this ever since he lost his spot on the track team.

(A part of him also realised it was probably relief at not having to pay for him for a month. He hoped she could use the spare money to buy herself something nice. His mum deserved it, after everything she'd been through.)

As awful as Ryuji felt lying to her though, it was for the best. He sincerely doubted she'd approve if he said he was going to infiltrate the afterlife to break out his friend from ghost prison. Though, now that he thought about it, that was a road trip of sorts, right? Just… not to any physical location. And with a lot more violence.

Feeling somewhat ameliorated, he adjusted the strap of his sports bag and continued his walk to the station.

Look out, Soul Society – Sakamoto Ryuji's coming your way!

…..

Ann did not have a heartfelt farewell with her parents. She sent them a text in her eerily silent home informing them that she was going on a modelling tour, and her cell reception might be spotty. She'd received a thumbs-up emoji in response.

Her house had always been a little too quiet – a large upper-middle-class family home was far too much space for a single teenager. When Shiho was still alive, Ann had been able to fill the silence with her friend's laughter or escape the oppressive air by bunking down at her place, but she'd always have to return to the Takamakis' sterile apartment eventually. Rukia becoming her roommate had been more of a balm on her soul than Ann had realised. For the first time in years, her house had actually become a home.

Narrowing her eyes, Ann finished applying her makeup. She might have failed to stop Rukia from leaving, but she wasn't going to mess up again. The confidence that ran through her was like an inferno - it was the burning anticipation she felt moments before she stepped on the catwalk, ready to dazzle the world with her beauty. Now though, she was not going to bring them to their knees with her looks, but with her power.

Ann couldn't wait to show the Shinigami they'd messed with the wrong humans.

…..

Makoto fiddled with the keys to her apartment, wiping the sweat off her brow as she opened the door. Sae had opted to drive them to Karakura once she was finished settling things at work, and Makoto had seen the suggestion for what it was – a tentative peace offering after the prior night's intense confrontation.

Unlike the other Phantoms, not having to deal with the train timetables had given her an entire day to get herself ready. Makoto had spent most of yesterday evening and the earlier parts of the morning carefully refilling her Gintō – while Sae and Uryū both dismissed them as children's tools, they'd saved her life many times before. It turned out though that she still had plenty of time to kill once she'd finished, so in the end, Makoto had decided to go to the gym. It had been a while since she'd practised her aikido with any seriousness, and considering the circumstances, she was going to take all the opportunities to build on her skills that she could.

Because unlike her sister or Uryū, if things came down to the wire, the only thing Makoto had was her fists. Better make sure they hurt.

…..

Unlike Ann, Uryū didn't even bother giving Ryūken a farewell. The Quincy wrote his father a brief letter informing him about his circumstances, and left it on the table of his apartment on the off-chance he never returned and Ryūken came sniffing around. Still, Uryū was a realist – even if he fell in the Soul Society, he doubted his father would care. No, in fact, he'd probably be relieved – he'd all but told Uryū to get out of their family home if he was going to waste his life chasing fairy tales.

(That was still better than wasting your life chasing more money than you'd ever need, in Uryū's opinion.)

The teenager had spent his evening digging out what remained of his grandfather's old Quincy gear. Taking a page from Makoto's book, he'd prepared some Gintō, but in the end, that was all he did. His hands had lingered over his mentor's Sanrei Glove, temptation stirring within him. The power the device would grant him would be grand, and Uryū wasn't a fool – any Shinigami stronger than Kurusu would also be far stronger than himself. The glove would increase his Reishi gathering skills threefold, along with his endurance. Plus, if Uryū ever found himself caught in dire straits…

In the end, however, Uryū had put it back down. The second Niijima Sae had drawn her Heilig Bogen on him, he'd recognised the colour – she was the one who executed that picture-perfect Licht Regen attack against the Menos Grande. While she clearly held no fondness towards her powers, as Wakaba had pointed out, she wasn't as nearly as opposed to using them as she acted like she was. If he could pick the brains of someone who had actually managed to complete their Quincy training…

Perhaps he could take his cake, and eat it too.

…..

Sae hadn't entirely believed that Isshiki would actually be able to conjure up some magical excuse to get her away from her job, no matter what the woman said. Suffice to say, she was caught off guard when the Director approached her between her various meetings.

"Are you ready?" The older gentleman frowned.

"Sir?" She blinked, having absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

Sae resisted cringing at the frown that crossed his face. "For the conference, of course. Why they're holding it now of all times, I'll never know…" He muttered, shaking his head. "Still, no matter how busy we are, we can't just ignore it – I'll not let the SIU become the laughing stock of the legal world."

"Don't worry – everything is in order. I won't let you down." Sae's voice was completely even, and masked her surprise perfectly. So, that's the cover story Isshiki came up with…

The Director nodded, expression firm. "Good. Now, you're there for work, not play – go to the conference, do what you need to do, and get back here as soon as you can."

"Trust me, sir – I intend to."

That wasn't even a lie.

…..

Urahara Kisuke steepled his fingers and looked down at the chessboard before him. It was a novelty Minions-themed set Wakaba had gotten him as a joke when he'd first complained about the sudden shuffling of players – he had been preparing for Kurosaki, Yasutora, Arisawa, and Inoue, not Kurusu, Takamaki, Sakamoto, and Niijima.

The chess set was cheap, plastic, awfully yellow, and radiated unholy energy from every pore. Kisuke loved it. Brooding in the dead of the night with a chessboard before him as thunder crashed ominously overhead had a certain charm to it. Sitting in the dark as the world stormed around him, looming dramatically over a Minions-themed set, however? It was ridiculous, and if Aizen ever saw him, he'd be frothing at the mouth - over the years, partaking in any action that would piss off his sworn enemy had become one of Kisuke's favourite pastimes.

(Besides, you had to learn to laugh at your lot in life, otherwise, you'd cry).

Kisuke picked up the rook. Takamaki Ann, he labelled it. A Fullbringer with a powerful spirit weapon and a firm grasp of basic Kidō, hampered only by her human fragility. Not a gifted tactician by any means, but her instincts were good enough. Wakaba currently placed her at a low seated officer level – if she became a true Shinigami, she would easily rank as a Fifth Seat. Reliable, predictable, and a piece he knew how to use. He returned the rook to the board.

Next up was Sakamoto Ryuji. Kisuke's eyes landed on a pawn. The boy had courage and determination, two traits that Kisuke would be foolish to dismiss, but while Futaba's weaponry gave him raw power, he was lacking everywhere else. Still, there were signs he had some Reiryoku – it was possible he would be able to cross the board and become something greater, and Kisuke planned to capitalise on that.

He designated Niijima Makoto as a knight. While she lacked Kurusu's wiliness and charm, she was clever, adaptable, and knew her way around a fight – it was just a pity she didn't have the potential to use a Quincy Cross. While Gintō could be powerful, she would only be able to use them sparingly at most – the Gotei 13 wouldn't exactly give her the time to restock her supplies. Still, Yoruichi had a few creative ideas about how to handle her – if worst comes to worst, she could be their queen.

Ishida Uryū was luckily enough perfectly suited to be the other rook. Unlike the others, Kisuke had a firm grasp on his abilities – after all, he was the only member of the infiltration squad Kisuke actually expected to get tangled into this conflict. He was a staple Quincy through and through. A skilled long-range combatant, and the Reishi-dense atmosphere of the Soul Society would only increase his powers. Unfortunately, while Ishida was smart in the academic sense, he had an immature streak and lacked adaptability compared to the others. Still, those were traits that could be ironed out in time.

Now, this was the part where the chess metaphors got a little bit shaky. Sakura Futaba… well, maybe she could be the king. Admittedly, it didn't really matter if she died - beyond the fact that Wakaba would murder him. It was more a comment on her lack of combat ability, while still having the potential to play an important part in the upcoming events. Her skills would be of little use in the Soul Society, but Kisuke was smart enough to know this wasn't going to be the end of his and Aizen's century-long war - only the opening act.

The shopkeeper then lifted the queen – a minion in a coconut bikini. He had been certain Kurusu Akira would take this role. He was the clear ringleader of the Phantoms – smart, skilled, sneaky, and socially apt enough to wrangle a group of unruly teens into something far greater. He had none of the raw power Kurosaki Ichigo did, but covered for that weakness with a diverse skill set and a dangerous combination of pragmatism and sheer nerve. Conversely, thanks to one Kuchiki Byakuya, his spiritual powers were currently non-existent. Unless Kisuke and his associates could remedy that problem, he would be less useful than even a pawn.

And now, to the final piece, Niijima Sae. The chess metaphor completely fell apart here, as he knew jack fucking shit about the woman – he'd barely been aware of her existence until yesterday. A Quincy? Probably. Strong? Maybe – she'd intercepted a Captain-class Shinigami, albeit one wearing a power limiter. Intelligent? Yes – she'd figured out Wakaba's sin from a handful of context clues. Emotionally stable? Definitely not.

Kisuke groaned, sweeping a hand through his blond hair. This was going to be an absolute nightmare, wasn't it?