…Wait.
His body moved without his input. It evaded attacks with hirenkyaku; it spoke lies with his voice; and it channelled reishi as easily as it used his lungs to breathe, moulding the energy into ammunition it used to unleash attacks of its own.
This…this doesn't feel right.
While, yes, the other had forced him to separate when he had no desire to, and…yes, they had immediately started to strangle him instead of trying to resolve the issue with words like a civilised being (not that it wouldn't have ended in a fight if they had tried, but still); however, considering what is at stake—who is at stake—he couldn't say he blamed them. Just like one cannot blame a predator for eating prey.
W-what? No! That's not what I—!
We shouldn't let ourselves be fooled by its human-like appearance, for it is still a Hollow underneath.
Well, yes-uhm, maybe…but we can at least try to communicate—
What use does it have to attempt to reason with a being that lets instinct guide its actions; that acts upon whatever whim that strikes it with no regard for others; whose very nature is defined by aggression and destruction? The answer is none. Beings that have no rationale cannot be reasoned with, and we shouldn't waste time trying to.
It had been like this for months.
From the day their master (our charge) had appeared in the mindscape, for the first time since his powers had been restored after having torn his soul asunder, and accepted (been deceived by) his counterpart (that thing) for what they truly are (a parasite); his thoughts had grown more and more…conflicted (clearer to the truth).
During the war, while the parasite fought with Ichigo, he had come to accept (been tricked into believing) that the two of them were the same being, that they both shared the same goal of keeping Ichigo safe—that they were two halves of a whole. But once it became the dominant power and he was left with nothing more than echoes of the outside and his own thoughts, that previous belief got picked apart piece by piece.
We share a body.
Because there is only one source of power to be represented.
I can use powers that are exclusive to Shinigami, just as he can.
The soul of our charge is a unique mix of powers, it is only logical that we—and it—can use techniques we shouldn't be able to harness normally.
We both care about Ichigo.
It only cares about our charge staying alive for if he perishes, so does it.
But to see Ichigo grow stronger, see him defeat his opponents, brings us both so much joy and pride.
We are a Quincy. Hollows are our natural enemies, Shinigami our vowed nemesis. Why wouldn't seeing him slay Hollows and defeat Shinigami fill us with pride and joy?
But…but we are a Zanpakutō, as well as a Quincy. Just as they are as much of a Hollow as they are a Zanpakutō. We have to be for Ichigo to even exist. That's what Urahara Kisuke—
The powers we hold do not determine what we are, our actions and choices do. And we are no Zanpakutō, we have only played the part to protect our charge from dying at the hands of our vowed nemesis and enemy. We will do anything to keep him alive so he can one day return to the light.
But what about them? Haven't they also—
It has done nothing but harm him, if not with a blade, it has done so with its words or actions. It is no Zanpakutō, merely a Hollow that charades as one.
A…Hollow.
That's right.
They…they are a Hollow.
Exactly.
And we are-we are a Quincy.
We are indeed.
We're not a Zanpakutō. We have just played the part. We are a Quincy.
Very good.
Yes, that's right. He…he was a Quincy, just like his mei—his charge. How could he have ever been lead to believe he was anything else? His eyes have finally been opened to the truth and his duty had never been more clear: to guide his charge through the darkness he had been pulled in and towards the light he was destined for.
But to successfully free his charge from the web of lies (but they weren't lies) the Hollow had entangled him in, he had to act as swiftly as he had to be cautious. The Hollow has had time to sink its claws deep into his charge's heart and mind. He would have to find ways to limit their interactions, to prevent the Hollow from solidifying its influence even more, without drawing suspicion from either of them.
(If this was truly the right thing to do, then why did it leave such a foul taste in his mouth?)
That is just the lingering confusion speaking. It will fade once we have eradicated the Hollow.
It hadn't. It had only grown stronger with every accusation the Hollow (his counterpart) had thrown at him.
"His denial is what made yer blade weak."
"He's literally jeopardising yer life."
I'm not a Zanpakutō. Ergo, the blade fracturing has nothing to do with me. (Then why had it hurt? Why had his skin fractured if he wasn't connected to that blade? Why, if he truly was not responsible, did he feel such shame and guilt?)
"I ain't the one pretending ta be something I ain't!"
It is you who pretends to be something it isn't. I am a Quincy, nothing more and nothing less. (Then why did that label feel incomplete? Like the puzzle that was his identity was missing pieces?)
"Don't ya want ta be King's Zanpakutō?!"
There is nothing that I want more than to erase you from existence!
His anger at the accusation, at the other for even suggesting such a thing, was all that was needed for the control to be taken from his hands. His body began to act on its own, releasing a power he had never used before but knew he had always possessed. It increased his power tenfold, the thrum of power pulsing through his veins like the buzz of alcohol, as intoxicating as it was liberating.
Yet he had never felt as powerless as he did when watching the other get hit in their joints.
We want to protect him, do we not? Protect him from harm he does not need to suffer.
First the left shoulder, then the wrist and elbow. The right arm was next, with a single shot the wrist was pinned to the shoulder. The knees were last.
Please, stop hurting them!
Do not worry. We will finish it quickly. No need to prolong its suffering, after all.
W-what?
Remember, that thing tried to kill his mother; it drove him into fearing himself; it is responsible for him being pulled into a scheme that did nothing but hurt him. It would behove us to get rid of it before it—
NO!
The clattering of steel upon stone struck through the darkness he had been kept in. Tensa blinked, finding himself in control of himself once more. His eyes flicked down to where the source of the sound had originated from, finding a snow-white blade stained with blue lying abandoned on the ground. (Why was it on the ground? The other never let go of their sword.)
A droplet of midnight splattered upon the hilt, drawing Tensa's gaze higher to discover the limp fingertips from which it had fallen. Dark blue marbles painted the paths of least resistance on pale skin, from the pierced wrist from where the blood flowed down to the black nails where they dripped to the ground.
The tail end of a wisp of smoke drew his eyes up to the arrow that had shattered the other's elbow. The sleeve, soaked blue with blood, showed signs of burning around the arrow's shaft.
Another arrow, this one in the shoulder, brought his gaze up higher. Tensa caught a glance of the other's face and his breath hitched, his blood running cold at the sight.
No…
Golden irises, which have always glowed with resolve and bloodlust, had turned dull and empty. They stared straight ahead, unfocused and unseeing of the world around them. The (quivering) pinpricks their pupils had become allowing no light to penetrate the abyss their mind had been thrown in.
No, no no-nononononononono—
Tensa pulled back, the white strands he had been gripping slipping from his fingers like silk. The other sunk to the ground, knees splayed and bleeding as the arrows tore the skin open further. Blue liquid spilt from the wounds, staining the hakama and forming puddles on the ground.
There was no reaction. No snarl or growl or hiss or twitch that would betray the other was aware that their knees were gushing blood. They just sat there, head hanging forward and eyes still unseeing and unblinking.
The wings, as well as his stamina, evaporated in a burst of reishi. Tensa dropped to the ground with a breathless gasp, stumbling a few steps backwards before regaining his balance—never taking his eyes off his counterpart. He grabbed his left wrist and held it to his chest, afraid that if he didn't, it would reach for the other again. (He was so sorry.)
Why don't they move? Why don't they shout? Why aren't they healing?!
He blinked. Then blinked again and again, digging his nails into the skin of his wrist until he drew blood in the hope the scene before him would reveal itself for the nightmare that it was but it didn't. And that made it hurt all the more.
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
'Zangetsu!'
Ichigo appeared between them, having finally, finally broken free of the kidō that had kept him bound. He didn't spare Tensa a glance, turning him his back (which carried his blade) and kneeling down before the motionless spirit. His hands were frantic with worry, reaching this and that way but never touching out of concern it would not be well received.
'Hey, are you alright? What's the matter? Are you hurt? Come on, talk to me'. Ichigo prodded the other as gently as he could as if his voice alone held the strength to shatter them to pieces. He waved a hand in their line of sight, called out to them by name, and brushed their skin with his reiatsu but the result stayed the same.
Tensa's guilt increased with every failed attempt, his own worry and concern growing higher than he had ever experienced them. It made his hands tighten their grip on his arms, pulling the fabric of his coat so tight around his biceps it cut off blood flow. His legs felt unstable, his body cold, and his eyes burned.
'What have you done?'
The words were spoken in an even tone, betraying none of the emotions the speaker was feeling. Yet, the question struck Tensa as if it had been shouted in his ear. His body stiffened in surprise, eyes blinking thrice in rapid succession with moisture lining his lashes.
'W-what?'
Ichigo turned his head, looking over his right shoulder and levelling Tensa with golden eyes burning as bright as the sun as he demanded through gritted teeth, 'What the fuck have you done to him?!'
Tensa took a step back at the glare and anger-hurt-betrayal in Ichigo's reiatsu. He shook his head, eyes avoiding those of his meister (he is not our master) as he forced out a reply, 'I-I…I don't know'.
Ichigo reached back, fingers curling around the hilt of the blade he carried and Tensa immediately took another step back.
It was that small step and the blatant guilt on Tensa's face that had Ichigo pause. He closed his eyes, fingers slipping from the hilt again, as he took a handful of deep breaths to manifest the patience he needed to handle this situation. He had to stay calm. If he truly needed to, he could always ask Kisuke to fight him later. The man wouldn't want to miss the chance to beat his ass in compensation for the damage they had done to his basement.
'…Alright'. Ichigo nodded his head slowly as he opened his eyes. 'Do you know how to help him?'
Tensa shook his head. 'N-no. I…I have never seen—' (that thing, him, it)—'them like this before'.
Ichigo closed his eyes again, hands becoming fists. 'Okay… then I think it's best if you wait over there. We will talk about this—'
'There is nothing to talk about'.
It had been but a murmur, a whisper of thought escaping the safe confines of one's mind. Like when a teenager objects or corrects a caregiver during a scolding, thinking they wouldn't be heard over the lecture. And, just like the caregivers always would, Ichigo heard it loud and clear.
'So you did this for fun, then?!' Ichigo snapped. 'I sure fucking hope not, Tensa!'
The name hit him like a wrecking ball, one made of rage, disbelief, and betrayal. It struck Tensa square in his core, which wailed in anguish at being the source of such emotion in his meister. He wrapped his arms around himself tighter as his body began to tremble, taking another step back.
I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry—
Ichigo sighed. While he felt bad about causing Tensa even more distress, Ichigo had more pressing issues to fix at the moment. 'I-sorry. We will talk later whether or not there is something to talk about. Just…just stay there for a bit, alright?' Only when the spirit offered a nod in silent agreement did Ichigo turn his complete attention back to Zangetsu.
'Remove the arrows'.
Without question or objection, the arrows broke apart and blood started to pour from the holes left behind—which. Still. Didn't. Heal.
'Sh-shit'. Knowing he didn't have the skill in kaidō needed to stop the bleeding, Ichigo put his hands on Zangetsu's shoulders, hoping to shake the spirit from wherever his mind had gone to so he could start fixing himself before he bled out. (Could Zanpakutō even bleed out? No, doesn't matter, Ichigo didn't want to find out.)
Zangetsu flinched away at the touch, wide and glowing eyes flicking up to meet brown. A noise, one as foreign to their ears as alien to hear came from Zangetsu's throat, struck both Ichigo and Tensa square in their core.
Ichigo held his hands up where the spirit could see them, 'It's okay, it's okay-easy now'.
He waited for some sign of recognition to show on the spirit's face, not daring to move until he was sure Zangetsu was at least somewhat aware of his surroundings. 'It's just me, okay? It's just me. No one is gonna hurt you, I promise'.
Ichigo continued to speak, keeping his voice soft as he murmured assurances and promises. The rapid breaths became less frantic, the haze that clouded Zangetsu's eyes lifting though the shine didn't return.
'That's it. It's okay. It's just me, Zangetsu. It's just me'.
Small pupils flicked to Ichigo and focussed. The panic and fright lessened and life started to return. Black smoke rose from the various wounds, healing them all in seconds. Blue tinted lips moved minutely and Zangetsu swallowed before he spoke, 'K…King?'
Ichigo slowly lowered his hands, 'I'll let that one slide this time'.
Zangetsu looked at Ichigo with confusion, eyes flicking about briefly. 'I don't-what happened?'
'You don't remember?'
'Remember…' Zangetsu brought up his right to his head, nursing his temple and forehead. 'I know I got my ass kicked to kingdom come, gave me a fucking headache—didn't even know I could have one'.
'Would kaidō help?' Ichigo offered. 'Or should Urahara—'
Zangetsu silenced the suggestion with a look, one that held a little bit of the fire that had been vacant. His eyes flicked to the side, taking note of his other half standing a few ways behind his king. They looked conflicted and guilt-ridden, the complete opposite of the expression they had worn when they had—
'Imma go back to yer mindscape…sleep this shit off'. Zangetsu kept his eyes on Tensa as he said this before looking at his king. 'You go talk some sense into him, will ya?'
Ichigo opened his mouth to protest. He could sense Zangetsu wasn't feeling well and wanted to help them sort themselves out. But he also knew there was a time and place for everything and right now was not the moment to argue with his Hollow Zanpakutō.
'Alright', Ichigo relented with a sigh. 'I'll check up on you later, then'.
'Fucking mothering hen-I'm fine, Aibō'.
His king didn't say anything in response, just gave him a look (worried-loving-insisting) that had warmth replace the coldness of his core. He averted his eyes with a huff, '…fine'.
Ichigo smiled, 'Take it easy, yeah?'
'Whatever'.
#
TO BE CONTINUED
BLEACH – Tite Kubo