Author's Note: CH30 had been edited for typos and prose. To clarify, Yuzu fainted in Toshiro's spiritual pressure. Aizen didn't shield her.

The Ishida residence was one of the nicer homes in this gated community. Greek columns, Gothic arches, and a clean whitewash put this three-floor house up there with the mayor's home two mailboxes down and an actor's home across the street. All was quiet, but ladybugs retreated into the hedge as minuscule tremors shook the ground. For the Ishida residence, tremors weren't unusual.

In an underground hall, Uryu pulled back his Reishi bow, muscles in his back straining, and released an arrow. Bluish-white light left flashing afterimages in his vision. His arrow bounced off the wall, far from the bullseye. Training with the lights off wasn't good for his aim, but it helped strengthen his resolve for what he was going to do—a leap into darkness.

Slow footsteps echoed down the stairwell. "What are you doing?"

"Clearly I'm training, Ryuken."

"Calling your father by his first name, how disrespectful." Ryuken flicked one switch among many. Three lights overhead hummed alive, glowing an unnaturally colorless white. Under these surgical lights, he had the face of a cadaver. "I ask again, what are you doing?"

"The real question is why aren't you also preparing?"

"What on Earth would I prepare for which asks for a barbaric approach?"

Uryu's arm swept in anger. "Don't pretend you don't know. You felt what happened that night. A hundred Shinigami descended on the Kurosakis. They were taken. Masaki Kurosaki's daughters were taken to Soul Society!"

"I'm not pretending," Ryuken said without expression.

"Yet you stand there doing nothing. Do you have no honor as a Quincy?"

"I do not."

"How can you say that," Uryu snarled through grit teeth, but already knew why. His father had never shown interest in the sacred holy arts passed down from generation to generation for thousands of years. Quincy honor and responsibility meant nothing to this man. It had always been that way. "Don't bother, I'll bring them back myself without your help."

"And how do you plan on that?"

"I was contacted." Uryu didn't really want to elaborate on this.

"By who?"

"By a talking cat. Name's Yoruichi."

Ryuken's chin lowered. His eyes narrowed by fractions of an inch. "You've lost your mind. Cats don't have the anatomy to speak our language, let alone the mental faculties. Which drugs have you been injecting?"

Chilly conditioned air grated up Uryu's throat. "Never mind. You say you don't care, it's none of your business."

"You're right, it's not. It's none of yours either. This dispute is within Shinigami blood. Your intrusion will only result in your death."

"You don't know for sure I'll die." For six years Uryu had been training four out of seven nights every week. His strength had doubled year after year. His weakest arrow now was capable of shredding through fifty Hollows, if they were to stand in a single-file line, but this would never happen, to be realistic. The point was his Quincy powers were now superior to any Shinigami Captain.

Ryuken was sneering. "For once in your life, be sincere in your words. Are you doing this out of fanatic Quincy honor… or is it because you've let yourself be seduced by those demons?"

"What did you just say?"

"Must I repeat myself?"

"This is isn't about that!" As the words left Uryu's mouth, he had to reflect on his actions, his motivations and if their demonic spirit energy had in some way corrupted his mind. No. There was no way. He knew consciously that this was for the sake of the Quincies. Grandfather Soken would have wanted this. All Quincies were honor-bound to aid one another, a covenant of ancient blood.

Light reflected off Ryuken's glasses, hiding his eyes. "Then please explain to me, why, in your bedroom, is there a Shinigami waiting for you?"

That was a punch to Uryu's chest. "What?"

"She sneaked in through the window. She's been there for ten minutes."

She.

From that alone, Uryu knew who it was. He had hoped to put this off for another day or two, or ten. Or a lifetime. In his chest turned a perpetual apprehension machine, and its wheel was fueled by regret of what could have been. If things had been different. "I'll go see her."

Walking to the stairwell, Ryuken said over his shoulder, "Run off to Soul Society, you're good as dead to me—because you will be."

Uryu had no words for that. Only actions could counter. Returning alive.

Once footsteps were inaudible, Uryu hurried up a helix of titanium steps, into the main hallway, left into the ground floor bedroom wing. Through windows, the sky was ablaze with bands of red and yellow. Evening. He'd lost track of time. He'd lost his mind by calling in sick to school when he was very evidently not sick. To be sincere, it was fear that had kept him from school today. And his friend was having none of it.

He opened the door.

Orihime Inoue was sitting on his bed, legs swinging. She was in a light-brown trench coat. Her socks were black. Her eyes were friendly, but she was not the same. Gone was the girl he had known. On his bed sat a demonic being of lust, her spiritual pressure uncontrolled like sweet honey flowing through a sieve. The umbrella on the floor was giving off the same spiritual pressure—her camouflaged Zanpakuto.

"Hi, Orihime." His voice was hoarse.

For five and a half seconds, she only looked at him. "Hi, Uryu. You're not surprised to see me."

"My father saw you sneak in."

"Oh." Her shrug was very subtle. "Anywho, I brought you today's homework. It's on your desk." On his mahogany study sat stapled sheets. "Are you feeling better?"

"I'm alright now."

"Glad to hear it."

He cut the stalling: "Why are you here?"

Nibbling her bottom lip, she fidgeted with a button on her trench coat. "I found out about the Shinigami's big secret. It was astonishing at first, but then as I thought about it—"

"I know you're a Shinigami now. That umbrella is your Zanpakuto." He held an uncomfortable eye contact.

She had jolted. "How do you know?"

"Your spiritual pressure is leaking everywhere. I thought Yoruichi would have explained all this to you." He had misjudged the cat's competency.

"Yoruichi talked to you?"

"I met her last night when I was looking for you. I received a text from you, written as if I'm your boyfriend."

Orihime's giggles were delightful as ever. She rubbed the back of her head. "About that… someone was covering for me."

"I thought so."

Orihime exhaled, undid a button on her trench coat, and mumbled, "She told you everything. That's why you weren't at school today. You didn't want to see me, your special someone. Your longtime crush."

Something was suddenly clogging his throat. He coughed. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not stupid, Uryu. Neither is Tatsuki. Or the other girls for that matter. We've seen the way you look at me." Orihime smiled nervously. "I can feel it now, your attraction to me. It's like heat. You don't know how to hold it in; it's okay, you don't have to. You know what I am."

"Fine," Uryu coughed. "Fine, I've got a small crush on you, but that's besides the point. I'm going to Soul Society, with you or without."

"Because…." Her head tilted.

"Because Ichigo and his sisters are Quincies like their mother, and so am I. Do you know what a Quincy is?"

Orihime nodded. "Yoruichi told me. You and the Shinigami have been fighting each other for a long time. If you go to Soul Society, they will kill you."

"I know."

"So why don't you stay here then?"

His posture squared. "By my Quincy honor, I cannot allow for a fellow Quincy to be executed due to the holy blood which flows through their veins. I will rescue them by any means."

Again she was giggling, cuter. "Did you steal that line from a movie?"

"No." He could hardly keep a straight face. "And why do you feel the need to go, Orihime?"

"For Ichigo." She pressed her hands against against her chest. "I can't really explain it, I feel an irresistible pull on my heart whenever I think about him. Maybe it's just a crush, like yours, but… I feel that I need to do this for him. He died a virgin, and it was my fault. I need to make it up to him. Once this is all over, he can have me in whatever way he needs."

The conversation had been bouncing so normally, as if she were still Orihime Inoue and not a demonic slut from Hell. Uryu no longer could reject what he had read in his grandfather's documents. The terrible truth was sitting in front of him, on his bed, where he was supposed to sleep tonight. Orihime was gone. This girl, if calling it a girl was accurate, was the twisted remnants of Orihime's soul. Cousins of the Hollows, wearing Human skins.

"What's with that look, Uryu?"

"You're not Orihime."

"Huh? I am Orihime."

"You know what I mean. The girl I had feelings for doesn't exist anymore. You're something else."

A second button on her trench coat was undone, showing bare skin. Her skin was blemish-free, practically glowing. Her face was lovelier than he remembered. The demon was trying to entice him with a prettified rendition of Orihime's body. "Want to know a little secret?"

"What?" he spat.

"You're one of the boys I think about when I masturbate. One time—"

"Stop." Spirit energy surged in his arteries. He breathed through it, but doing so tempted him with her strawberry perfume.

"One time last year I nearly broke my hymen thinking about you and Ichigo. You were inside my mouth. Ichigo was my inside my pu—"

"Stop it," he growled.

"Are you telling me to stop mentioning Ichigo? Does that make you angry?"

Uryu's nails were digging into his palms. "Stop this. Orihime Inoue would never say these things."

"I am Orihime. I have always been this way. You just didn't know. All those times we were sitting together in the sewing club, I was wondering in a dark corner of my mind, if you would grope my leg under the table. I thought you would ask me to go on a date. I would have said yes. Just you and I, like right now."

It was maddening. An affront to all things good in the world. What the Shinigami had done to girls was an abomination of nature, and him being in this demon's presence was defiling his soul. Her ambient powers over lust were stronger than anything described in Soken's writings. Unreal. His body was crying out with burning need for him to give in to unholy sin.

No more.

"Leave," he mumbled.

"Why?" She pouted. "You obviously need me."

"Please leave. You aren't Orihime."

She bounced up from the bed. But instead of heading to the door, she asked, "What are you going to do after I leave?"

"Just go. No more."

Her eyes dipped to his nightstand, to a box of tissues and a bottle of hand lotion. "Are you going to masturbate? To me?" She helped herself to some lotion, rubbed it on her palms. "I can help you."

Only an idiot would leave those damning items out in the open. He winced. His willpower was faltering. He felt his erection swell in his pants. His hands automatically covered his crotch, but that just drew attention to his shame.

She giggled, then opened a drawer. A stack of fashion magazines. She picked up the one on top, flipped through its glossy pages, stopped at one page which was noticeably wrinkled. It was a full-page photo of a bikini model. The woman looked uncannily similar to Orihime. Large breasts and amber-brunette hair. Big innocent chocolate-brown eyes.

Orihime held his hand. "You've been masturbating to this, haven't you? I'm so sorry, Uryu. You've been suffering in silence all this time, all because of me. This is my fault, and I'm going to make things better now." She started unbuttoning her coat.

"Stop it," he rasped.

She was naked.

Gods, she had come here naked under that coat.

When he saw her moist pussy, he looked up at ceiling light bulbs. A Hell Butterfly flew past his peripheral vision, circled his head. Her spiritual pressure was hugging him and bypassing all resistances. His mouth watered. His heart was a drum. Lustful hellfire incinerated the meager self-discipline he had left. His body and soul gave in, letting her undress him. His pants were pulled down along with his boxer shorts, and then his throbbing erection was in her slick warm hand—the first time a girl touched him there.

"How does this feel?" she asked, her other hand rubbing his penis's hyper-sensitive tip.

"Grea—" He whole body shuddered.

Thick white goop squirted onto her breasts. Four squirts. And he was done.

One minute incremented on the digital clock.

Shame. Shameful ashes were left behind as lust burned out.

"It's alright," she said in a loving voice, "it's my fault. I hadn't used my Butterfly until now."

He pulled up his pants, mumbled at the carpet, "You've defiled my body. Are you happy?"

"Yup, are you? How much better do you feel?" With his tissues she was wiping semen off her belly. She sighed. "Uryu, it really is me. I'm trying to help you. You won't last a day in Soul Society like this."

Brain fog diffused. Motives behind her actions were now all clear, why she had done this—to humble him. She had been a Shinigami for less than a day, and she already held this much power over him. She could have stabbed him through the heart just then, murdered him in his most vulnerable moment. His teenage hormonal urges were a liability in Soul Society, their unholy den. In his current state, he would never return alive.

"I know." He ripped his gaze away from her nakedness. He didn't deserve to look. "I know I won't, demon."

"Call me Orihime." She sat on his bed, legs crossed, hair on her breasts. "You know it's me. We have sewing club tomorrow after school. You'll be there, right?"

"Fine," he spat, "I'll call you Orihime, but we both know this isn't her."

"So does that mean you're skipping school again? You're not even sick," she said in a childish voice, smiling. That kind-hearted, dainty, selfless smile was undeniably Orihime's. And then she had to say, "Is it because the boys will be at school with me? Does it bother you that much?"

"I have to train."

"So far only Mizuiro's had sex with me. You can still be my second, Uryu."

Bad emotions grappled him, hooked into his stomach and chest. "Shut up."

"Did I say something wrong? You don't like that Mizuiro took my virginity today? How come?" She knew what she was doing. A heartless demonic Shinigami. "Your hands are shaking. Are you going to slap me? Do it, slap me. Slap me with all your Quincy might."

His hands clenched. "By my honor—"

"You'd never hit a girl?" She huffed. "What are you going to do when you get to Soul Society? Ask the girls there nicely to let go of Ichigo's family? You Quincies are a joke. No wonder you lost all your wars with the Shinigami, and now you're cowering in—"

His arm swung.

She flinched.

His fingers stopped an inch from her cheek. He couldn't slap her. Not Orihime. "Get out of my room. I'll see you at the sewing club. Orihime Inoue better be there."

Perplexed astonishment was slowly falling away, revealing a face of pure innocence. "Okay, if that's what makes you happy, I'll be there." She stood, put on the trench coat, and hugged him.

After hesitating, he hugged her back.

Author's Note: I sat on this chapter for a day. I'm still not 100% happy with it, but it's probably fine.

Review Responses:

- Keigo's Zanpakuto's name and ability will be revealed next chapter. I've changed some rules regarding canon conventions. His Zanpakuto is a little unique.

- Strawberry and the Exile needs some of editing before it can continue... I'll get around to it one day.

- Whether Ichigo will share Rukia is an ongoing plot point. He will continue to be possessive over her.

- In this story, Soifon would be a petite high school senior.

- Kyoraku is over a thousand years old. His perspective is a little warped.