I know I said this was gonna be a one-shot but I just got an idea to explain Genichiro's fate and I just couldn't help myself.
So here you go. Another chapter, completely unplanned.
[POST FINISH EDIT!: Okay! I have a lot of fucking energy rummaging through my brain and I can't get it out! This was supposed to be a one-shot but apparently that plan was scrapped the moment I finished what Genichiro was doing, and I said "fuck it we ball" and now I'm here!]
Genichiro had been avoiding these Goliaths for as long as he could remember at this point. When he first saw them he didn't know what to think of them. They walked around on their fists slowly like some kind of gorilla or orangutan. They had legs, but most of the weight from their bodies was put down onto their arms.
He had been confronted by one of them a handful of times, only to be grabbed and consumed by it. The pain was unimaginable. He had been crushed in the palm of its hand and thrown into its mouth for him to be gnawed on like a strip of seaweed.
He would always find himself resurrected quickly, landing in the area he first spawned in this accursed place. He was not told that Yomi was so punishing. At least, that was when he thought it was Yomi. The other souls in this place referred to it as hell. The term "hell" was not something he was unfamiliar with, hearing it through foreign missionaries from the West. The translation was rough and unrefined, but it was described as a place of punishment for evil souls. But what was it he did that was so evil?
He hoped that his summoning of his grandfather was not in vain. He hopes that Ashina would push out the interior ministry and rise again. It was probably futile. He had kidnapped the divine heir which antagonized his Shinobi. Okami had annihilated half of Ashina's forces just to get him back. But his grandfather, Isshin, had to have pushed back. He had to have grabbed the mortal blade and ended Okami's life.
Genichiro was hopeful and admired his grandfather's strength, but something brought him to reality. Okami had faced Owl, a crafty Shinobi who would use any tactic to win. He had managed to fight his way to the divine realm, a place where the Okami warrior-women were, and get the tears of the Sakura Dragon, and those women were as talented as himself, yet they were still no match for Tomoe. Genichiro had even heard that the headless apparitions scattered about the land were disappearing.
The Shinobi of the divine heir was strong. He was talented with his prosthetic and regain his skill with the blade. Genichiro had been beaten by him twice. He would never put himself on the same pedestal as his grandfather, but if Okami could do all of that, he could probably defeat Isshin with some difficulty.
His breath became shaky. He fell over onto the dirt and balled his hands into fists. "I gave everything for her, as she did for me. Even if she falls, she will rise again. I will be sure of it!"
The low groan of those towering creatures sounded in the distance ahead of him. Genichiro looked up to see one in the distance, its lower body barely visible as it approached his location. Despite its size, it moved at surprising speeds as it slowly became closer.
He had no intention of being eaten by those things again. It was such a painful way to die, especially when those deaths happened repeatedly. Genichiro stood and stared at the creature. It was far enough away for him to be safe for the moment, but the giant would catch up to him eventually.
"Yeah, those guys are strange looking," said a voice from beside him. "I've always wondered if it was possible to kill them. They keep kicking my ass, so I can't tell."
Genichiro looked left and down at a fair-skinned woman. She had dark pink hair styled into two ponytails that reached her hips and an eyepatch covering one of her eyes. She wore a black uniform with a coat overtop it, and a white headband that covered her temples.
"I didn't hear you behind me," Genichiro told the stranger.
She laughed, but only a little. "I always thought that was more of Chika-san's thing," she said. "Haven't seen him in... it's hard to keep track of time in here."
"I am aware," Genichiro agreed, still staring at the towering beast coming closer to them. "We should move. I would prefer to not be eaten again."
"Then let's get goin'," said the stranger.
Genichiro had never met this woman in his life, yet they had somehow come to an unspoken agreement to travel together. She had appeared to already met people in this world which Genichiro hoped he could meet, hopefully, to stave off the loneliness he had accrued over time. He did not know the sins that landed her in this place, yet by the manic look on her face he could already form an idea.
Though who is he to judge the sins of others when he too committed sins on an equal level to hers. Was it heresy that landed him here; the usage of the waters from Fountainhead Palace? Was it the attempt to achieve immortality? Resurrecting his grandfather perhaps? He was in no position to judge. He may be in hell, but he regretted nothing.
"If I am to be traveling with a stranger, I would at least like to know your name," Genichiro asked the woman. "I am Ashina Genichiro. You are?"
"Furufushi Saito."
For the past century or so, Sekiro had been living in a dwelling in the district just south of where he and Ren last spoke. The place had looked to be unlived in for quite a while before he decided to make it his own. Cobwebs used to be in the corners of the building, and dust had gathered on the windowsill before he cleaned it.
It was a two-story building, but the second floor began where the roof did and had a bit of an overhang. From the indoor balcony, he could see the entirety of his small home. A small table surrounded by seating cushions placed on a tatami mat. Incense was placed beneath the only window in the building and surrounding a kind-faced Buddha he had a man sculpt for him decades ago. It brought him peace, in a way, meditating in front of it with incense lit.
Thinking about the kind-faced Buddha made him think of the sculptor. The man who gave him his new arm after he lost his and quickly became a Shura. It made him happy that he was the one who put him down. He couldn't imagine Emma being the one to do so. Not to say she was weak, but he didn't want her to have to do that to someone she was so close to.
When he had killed Lady Butterfly and Owl it left him sad and confused. He didn't want to kill either of them, the people who trained him, but they brought it upon themselves. Despite what he did, he did not regret his loyalty to Kuro. He couldn't imagine a world in which he would.
Since he last saw Ren he had mostly been running odd jobs for his neighbors. Sometimes he would practice his combat arts against trees in the forest that sat just a few hours away. While he lacked a sword, he could still brush up on his Taijutsu. Even in life, he had neglected that aspect for a while.
Despite this place supposing to be the afterlife it still had an economy. The main currency was a dirty-grey colored coin named "Kan". It was the only coin in the afterlife and it was used for buying food, drinks, clothes, and everything one could imagine.
Sekiro wouldn't find himself using Kan all too much, but he saw it as nice to at least have around should he need it. He would not be buying food as Ren had told him so long as he did not wish to increase his power he would not need to eat. He would not be buying alcohol as he did not enjoy casual drinking. He would not buy a sword as he should be unbothered by hollows and criminals. Shinigami fight hollows and Sekiro knew enough taijutsu to detain or kill someone barehanded. He might buy clothes and a mattress, but anything else he would do fine without.
Today he was running some odd job for his neighbor, Minoru. The old man requested Sekiro fetch a kimono from a seamstress who lived at least an hour away. It was to be his only job for the day as the others he found himself an errand boy to had nothing to be done today.
When he arrived at her doorstep he knocked at her door and waited for her to open. "Give me one moment!" He heard a mature voice shout back to him.
While he waited he took a seat at a bench just outside her door. She too was in the inner parts of the place called the Rukongai, which was everything outside of the Seiretei. The main difference was that she lived in a bit more of a cleaner part of the Rukongai. Not only was her house painted quite recently, the ones around her's were quite clean as well.
The streets were also clean. All of the dirt had been swept to the side of the road and there were no cracks in the tile road, unlike the street he lived on. The roads were even and straight, only turning or curving around man-made koi ponds or decorated rocks. Perhaps he would have moved here if he could find the open space.
After a short time, the woman slid open her door and stepped out of her home. She looked around until she spotted Sekiro sitting on her bench.
"I don't think I've seen you around before," said the woman at the door. "Are you placing a clothing order?"
"No," the former Shinobi answered. "I'm picking up a kimono for a man named Minoru."
"The short man with brown hair? A bit on the portly side?"
"Yes, that's him," Sekiro confirmed.
"It should be in one of these boxes," she replied. "Please come in. I don't want you waiting outside."
Sekiro said nothing and accepted her invitation inside. Despite its outside appearance, it was rather dusty inside. She had all the tools and equipment of a seamstress, yet its only separation from her bedroom was a single wall. On one of the shelves she had pushed against her walls was a series of small wooden boxes with people's names on them.
The seamstress was at the boxes sorting through them, trying to find the one with Minoru's name on it. They were not well organized, some stacked backward or upside down.
"I'm sorry for the mess," she apologized. "I have no excuses for it. I've had a lot of free time these past few days."
Sekiro stayed silent. He waited for the woman to find the box, creating an awkward silence. Still trying to make conversation, she spoke to Sekiro again.
"That's an interesting birthmark on your face," the seamstress said, referring to the silver mark on the right side of his face.
"It's not a birthmark," Sekiro answered.
"Oh, then what is it?" she asked.
He honestly didn't know what to call it. He knew what it wasn't to be called at least. Perhaps it was a sort of marking that wouldn't go away, like a scar of some kind. It could also be something else entirely. He wasn't sure.
"Don't like talking about it?" Asked the seamstress, pulling out the right box. "That's fine by me. Here's Minoru-kun's kimono. If you ever want to get fitted for one yourself you know where to find me!"
He paused before grabbing the box from her hands. He probably wouldn't find himself buying anything from her. As the woman extended her hands out to him with the order, Sekiro grabbed the box gently out of her hands.
"Thank you," he said.
"I'll see you again soon!" The woman said to him as Sekiro left her shop.
Since she offered, maybe it would be nice to get a pair of clothes that weren't scrounged up from his home's previous residents, or a size too big. Maybe something reminiscent of his old uniform on Earth. It would be nice to have something relatively new compared to the loose daimon he had found in a chest in the corner of his house.
When he got back to Minoru's house to deliver the package he was greeted to a much dirtier street than usual. The place had been ransacked by some unkind individual. Boxes were knocked over, carts were smashed and food was on the ground.
He knocked on the door of Minoru's house, waiting for the man to open the door. Minoru came out, very lightly bruised but greatly distressed.
"Here's your kimono," Sekiro said, handing him the box while glancing at the street.
"Thank you, friend," the short man said. "Though if I were you I would stay inside for the rest of the day." Minoru pulled his coin pouch out to give Sekiro his reward.
"What happened here?" Sekiro asked.
Minoru seemed to go pale at the memory. He began to sweat and shake nervously as he recalled the details. "A tall barbarian of a man came barreling through looking for people to fight. Kept going door to door, stall to stall, looking for strong people. When no one stepped up to fight him he started getting annoyed and belligerent. He started to knock things over, one of which knocked me back and I hit my head on the wall."
"Was he drunk?"
"Didn't look like it," Minoru said. "As far as I know he's sober. He could be coming back too. I'm not sure but if hide if I were you. Just in case."
Sekiro's brows furrowed. If Kuro were here he would have something done about it.
"What did he look like?"
"Tall, a little bit skinny, but he had some muscle on him. He had hair reaching down to his shoulders. He was also carrying a Zanpakuto, so he's probably with the Gotei. Fighting him even if he asks for it could land you in a whole lot of trouble."
"What do you mean?" Sekiro asked.
"I see that look on your face, boy," Minoru told him. "Just forget about what happened here. If it were anyone else I would support your decision, but this is just a bad idea."
Perhaps the man was right. Not only was he a fish out of water, but he was also unarmed. He hadn't heard the term "Zanpakuto" before, but he could decipher the meaning if he visualized the kanji. The hiragana didn't make much sense to him, but using the original pronunciation for some of the kanji, he could decipher a Zanpakuto to be a type of weapon.
He thought that Kuro would have still had something done about it. Maybe not himself as he was still a child, and unable to take action himself. With what time he spent with Kuro he knew his old master had a good heart.
Even when he was on his path to help achieve immortal severance with Kuro, he would like to think he did some good in life. He helped reinforce the castle outskirts against the interior ministry at the request of a dying Samurai, he did as the dying nightjar requested and protected Emma and the Divine Heir from his father. He would also like to think he had well-placed intentions as well, even though he could admit there was a darker path he was tempted to follow at times.
"What direction did he go in?" Sekiro asked.
The old man sighed. "I haven't known you for long, but I can tell you're a good man, if only sometimes distant. Please don't do this to yourself."
"Where..." he insisted.
Minoru once again sighed. "He... he went straight south. He left only ten or so minutes before you arrived. He might be gone by now."
"Thank you," Sekiro said before leaving.
He sprinted directly south hoping to catch the individual who did this. Previously he would have left these people to deal with their own problems. Formerly it was retrieving Kuro that was his main goal, and when he achieved that goal he felt so relieved. His goals were his lord's goals, but now he had none.
Now that he was dead, living as a spirit in the afterlife, he had no goals. He had no need for any as far as he knew. But isn't that what leads a Shinobi down the path to Shura? To kill only for the joy it brings, not for a goal? He may be misusing the analogy, he never went down the path of Shura before.
Perhaps he should find a goal. Something to achieve instead of just laying about like the rest of these restful souls, doing nothing.
But what should it be?
He stopped immediately after running for an unknown amount of time. A pressure weighed him down. It was heavy and dreadful like he was being crushed by a boulder. This invisible force left him short of breath and forced him on his hands and knees.
It was difficult to adjust to, but he managed to force himself to move forward. Sekiro barely managed to turn around the corner where he heard most of the commotion. Souls were huddled behind their stalls and scrambling for safety. Meanwhile, there were multiple Shinigami scattered around the street as corpses.
He never knew that Shinigami bled.
One was cut in half at the waist, already dead and his organs spilled out into the street. Another was barely holding onto his life as a massive gash was struck across his torso, from his waist to his shoulder. The final one was being held up in the air by the barbarian's sword that was found lodged in his neck.
"I told you three you were too weak to fight me," he said to the man being held up by his sword. "But you had to push it. Fucking annoying."
He swung his sword left as to throw off the body. His blade ripped through the final Shinigami's body at an angle, leaving the final one partially cut in half at his chest.
The one barely holding onto his life looked over at Sekiro. "Leave..." he groaned. "If you want to live... leave." The blood loss finally caught up to him and he died.
Sekiro dashed to pick up his sword and pointed it at the brute. He shouted out to him, "Oi!"
He turned to face the former Shinobi. "Another one?" He asked, scratching his head with his sword hand. "No, you're not wearing the uniform."
"Why did you kill those men?"
"I kept telling them to piss off," he told Sekiro. "They wouldn't stop bugging me. One of them finally tried to attack me so I finally snapped. The other two dog piled me and now they're dead."
He should've listened to Minoru. He should've listened to the now-dead Shinigami. He shouldn't have tracked this man down. Ever since he's come closer to this murderous madman the pressure has gotten far more intense.
He should turn back now. He should just go home-
"You don't think you have a chance, do you?" He asked. "How about this, I'll give you one free strike on me. Make me bleed and we fight, if you don't I suggest you walk away."
'Hit him? With the sword? Is this man crazy?' He thought.
"Even the eyes?" Another voice asked from behind him.
He turned around quickly and pointed his sword at the source of the noise. A small child barely out of her toddler years with bright pink hair.
"Even the eyes," the man said. Sekiro turned back around to see the man smiling. "Neck too. Anywhere you'd like."
"Why?" Sekiro asked. "Won't you die?"
The man laughed at the question as if no blow could pierce his skin. This man was insane, like some kind of oni who craved battle.
If the man was so desperate to die then so be it. He still struggled to move under the immense pressure, but he was adjusting to it. Without hesitation, he leaned back and then threw himself forward. Within a few seconds, he closed a distance of several meters.
The Shinigami's sword made contact with the man's throat, only to bounce off as if hitting metal. Sekiro was staggered before he could finish, the deflection forcing him to stop. He looked at the tip of the blade where a small piece of it had chipped against the man's skin.
He looked back up to the madman to see him staring down at him with a disappointed face. "I was hoping you'd be stronger, but I should've figured you'd be this weak. Not even a little scratch."
"How-"
"It's the difference in reiatsu," the man answered before Sekiro could ask. "Your reiatsu isn't strong enough to cut through my skin, so it just bounces off me. Now we can wrap things up here," the barbaric individual finished. "I suggest you go home and don't come finding me unless you've actually gotten stronger. I don't fight weaklings."
Sekiro knew when he was outmatched. He backed down and held the Shinigami's sword to his side, taking a few steps back toward the pink-haired child. He took one more step to guard her in case he suddenly changed his mind, but when he went to feel to see if she was there she suddenly appeared on the large swordsman's shoulder.
'How did that happen?' he wondered.
Even though the large man's presence was like being crushed beneath a boulder, he could still feel the presence of everyone else nearby. Yet that little girl's presence was nowhere to be found. It was like she was constantly suppressing it.
Before they left he called out to them, "Who are you?"
The man looked back at him curiously. "Huh? I don't got a name."
So this man was like him. A nameless man going by whatever epithet people choose to call him. Whatever epithets these might be he probably didn't know he was being called them. He probably didn't care either.
Sekiro was unsure if he liked the idea that he even had one similarity with this man. If he had more than that he'd probably hate it.
He let the nameless brute wander off down the road. Not in one hundred years would there be anyone capable of beating him in a fight. If that's what that man sought after, he would be searching for a long, long time.
"Y-you tried, at least," said a frail old man emerging from behind his stall. He was still quite scared, stuttering somewhat as he spoke.
"So did they," Sekiro said, pointing at the three felled bodies of the Shinigami around.
"They tried too much," said the frail man. "It cost them their lives."
Why did they persist in fighting that man? His skin was iron. He could see the chips in the swords of the Shinigami. There was even a chip in the one he held where he struck at the madman's throat. It was at least in better condition than the other two and the chip wasn't that terrible.
Sekiro sheathed the sword between his belt and Daimon, which still left the blade exposed. He intended on keeping it, just in case another situation like this arises.
Still, he didn't know why he rampaged through his part of the Rukongai. There wasn't anybody there for him to fight. Maybe he simply became frustrated at the lack of any challengers.
He turned towards the corpses of the Shinigami. It was unusual seeing how mortal these supposedly immortal beings were. There was still so much he didn't know. So much he thought true now turning out to be false.
"I suppose I should tell the gate guard," said the frail man. "I'll bring the bodies somewhere else."
Sekiro left soon after, remaining silent on the old man's suggestion. Whoever this man was he wished that he never had to meet him again. No amount of skill with a sword or hand-to-hand combat would help him beat a man whose skin was its own shield.
While he never expected to find himself faced with this man again, there was at least a reason to train himself for future encounters. This "Reiatsu" was a key factor in how this individual was able to make his skin tough as stone. What if another raging individual with high reiatsu decided to go raging through the area? If he didn't train then he may be dead should the next one not be as insane.
When he got home he rested his new weapon near the kind-faced Buddha. He placed it gently so as not to scratch it, showing it as much attention and care as he did Kusabimaru. With any luck he could grind down the chips in the blade, and if not then he would have to wait to find a new one. But a new one was unlikely to drop out of the air into his lap.
Shihouin Yoruichi was called into the first division barracks with her lieutenant and one of her seated officers. While she would have left her lieutenant behind and only taken Soi-Fon, she didn't have much of a choice.
She hoped that once Marenoshin's fat ass died of a heart attack she could appoint Soi-Fon in his place. Of course, his family would likely petition Central to get his son, Marechiyo, to take his place, but he would be too young. If her luck was poor enough then Marenoshin would listen to her the next time they visit the detention center and not get himself injured enough to force retirement. She brought Soi-Fon with her in hopes that he would do something to force retirement and teach her the responsibilities early. The girl may be difficult to relax and be more casual, but she took her job seriously enough to be trusted with the things Omaeda wouldn't.
They walked down the path to the Sōtaichō's meeting room. The door was opened already and two of Yamamoto's seated officers stood guard. As they entered the room they saw Yamamoto and his lieutenant standing over a desk, looking at the two swords they retrieved from the human world one hundred years ago.
Immediately they all knelt down and lowered their heads to their military's head. "Yamamoto-Sōtaichō. We are here as requested."
"On your feet. All of you," said the old man. "Shihouin-taicho, why did you bring a third? You were only meant to bring your lieutenant."
They rose from their positions and Yoruichi spoke, "Soi-Fon was with me when we brought the swords here. Marenoshin was not."
The captain commander glared at Yoruichi and her lieutenant. She didn't dare tell him that Marenoshin didn't even come, or else she'd be held responsible for the actions of her subordinates.
"Why did you call us?" The captain asked her superior.
"These swords-" he began, grazing the scabbard of the red one, "-never should have been in the human world. They are not Zanpakuto, and they are not from the Soul Society. Who was wielding these weapons before you brought them with you?"
'Does the old man really not know anything about these weapons?' she wondered. "A Shinobi carried the red one and two Samurai used the black one. The first Samurai killed himself to resurrect the second, and the second one weirded the black one from there."
The old man let out a low hum. "What happened to them?"
"The first Samurai died and his soul was nowhere to be found," answered Yoruichi. "The second one was killed by the Shinobi and then I performed a Konsō. The Shinobi killed himself with the red sword soon after. I performed a Konsō on him too."
"So at least two of them are here?" Asked Yamamoto.
"Yes, Sōtaichō," Shihouin answered him.
"I suspect that these two might be able to tell us more about these swords." At this point, the old man was saying he was stumped. There wasn't a single idea of what the purpose of these blades was, or who made them. But he at least should know what they do, right? "Find the men who used the swords. Find out their purpose."
"The priority of this task, sir?"
"Mid-level," he answered. "It takes higher priority than the extermination of hollows but lower priority than the duties of your position."
"And when they are located?" Shihouin asked.
"Interrogate them and send in a report," he told her. "Stamp it to make sure I notice it."
"Yes sir."
"Dismissed!" he shouted.
There wasn't much point in bringing either Marenoshin or Soi-Fon. She expected more questions than that, maybe even asking Soi-Fon since she was present at the time. Even him asking why her lieutenant wasn't at her side when she picked up the swords.
So much for a teaching moment for Soi-Fon. At least there would be other opportunities in the future.
...
Genryusai stared at the swords before him. He heard the door shut as the trio walked out of his private quarters.
A red blade that drains the soul out of its user, and a black blade that does... something, at least. Any lower-seated Shinigami would die immediately after simply drawing the sword, but would at least be able to lift it so long as it was in its sheath. With how the sheath works as a way to seal its effects until it is drawn, whoever wields it should die immediately. Not unless there was some kind of buffer that blocks its effects.
A Fullbringer or Quincy may be able to wield this sword with a penalty varying dependent on their reiatsu. The reiatsu would be permanently decreased. As for those killed by it... perhaps it could be the same, unless again some kind of buffer was in place to prevent such a thing.
"Sasakibe-kun, you are dismissed."
"Yes, Genryusai-dono," Sasaibe replied before seeing himself out. Now that he was alone with the swords he could study them in peace.
The black one was more intimidating as he was still unsure of what it did. However, should he have to wager a guess he would assume it involved bringing back the souls of the dead. It could be more as after one hundred years even someone as young as Shihouin was bound to forget some details. Regardless he could tell it was an evil sword. He would attempt to destroy it after he figured out what its purpose was.
Yet the red one scared him. To suck away the reiatsu of an individual, an effect strong enough to kill a low-seated officer, made him feel as if it was designed to kill a god. Something that could potentially fell an immortal could not be known to the world. One loose tongue and it could reach the ears of a man who should be left to the ashes of history. A man he should have finished off properly.
[post finish edit... edit: now that the manic energy is gone I can kinda get a better idea of how to extend this. I still plan on making this a fully-fledged fic. Still might need a bit, but it's coming together.]
I have a lot I want to say, but it would make the chapter look a lot bigger than it actually is. If you have questions about things that aren't plot related, feel free to ask, I'll do my best to explain the inner ramblings of my mind.
Notes and Trivia
- A Daimon is also known by "Daimon no Hitatare". It is a piece of Japanese clothing for men that at one point became a popular set of formal wear for samurai families during the Edo Period. It was basically a court dress initially called Hitatare, then changed toDaimon for a reason to me that is still not known. In the late Muromachi period the Daimon was mostly made of linen.
That is all I know about this piece of clothing. I do not know how I knew some of this stuff before doing more research. My brain likes to store useless information.
-The events of Sekiro take place between the years 1570-1590, all because in the Japanese dub of the game Isshin refers to the in Interior Ministry as Naifu, which (as far as I'm aware, I could be entirely incorrect on this) was the central body attempting to unify Japan at that time. Again, I could be wrong, flame me if I am.