Bleach (c) Tite Kubo
Black and Blue
Investigation
Bodies.
Dead bodies everywhere.
Scant minutes after that black crack tore open the sky and those two reiatsu signatures crashed through like meteors, a flurry of light blue orbs rose up and raced toward the epicenter of that dense putrid miasma.
No great mystery what those orbs were.
All around him, Ichigo could only watch helplessly as people - ordinary civilians - collapsed in boneless heaps. Their souls torn away screaming from their bodies before they even knew they were dead, accompanied by the shattering links of chains of fate.
That horrific cacophony fills Ichigo's ears and spurs him forward with a vengeance.
He has to stop this. Now.
Whatever monsters were over there, they were vacuuming up all these souls like some kind of twisted snack. And if Ichigo doesn't stop them here, who knows how long it'll take before this attack's range expands to devour the rest of Karakura town?
A gruesome sight greets him by the time Ichigo arrives at the scene in his Shihakusho. Chad is already out cold, laying in a pool of his blood with his arm completely obliterated, flesh seared from bone through the armour of his powers. Orihime's Soten kisshun is feebly attempting to restore the damage but they're fighting a losing battle. Tatsuki is unconscious and her spirit is crushed into oblivion by these guys (but she's still breathing, thank god), and the big ugly guy is milliseconds away from splattering Orihime's brains all over the grass.
Ichigo aims a fierce glare at the two murderous bastards at the center of this madness.
The big balding guy is twice Chad's height, built like a tank and has some jawbone accessory on his chin. The other guy is much shorter. He's leaner with messy black hair, stark green eyes and alabaster white skin that reminds Ichigo uncomfortably of Shiro. A broken hollow mask hangs off his head like a helmet. And if Ichigo wasn't mistaken, those appeared to be hollow holes in their chests.
Zangetsu's tip digs into the big guy's palm drawing a tiny runnel of red blood, and Ichigo re-aims his glare at the huge bastard.
"Sorry for being late, Orihime." Ichigo apologizes with a remarkably calm tone despite his ire.
"I-Ichigo, I'm... I'm so sorry. If only I'd been stronger." Orihime's guilt hangs over her like a shroud, sorrowful eyes cast towards Chad and Tatsuki, "If I'd been stronger, I-I could've..."
"There's nothing to apologize about, Orihime. And don't worry, okay?" Ichigo reassures, and with a flick of his wrist the big guy's hand is flung away, "I'll take care of these guys and then this will all be over."
Zangetsu's cloth has already woven around Ichigo's arm and his reiatsu explodes at his call.
"Bankai!"
Clad in the cloak of his bankai, Tenza Zangetsu's black blade cuts cleaning through the cloud of dust and Ichigo's brown eyes glares daggers at this monster. It's the only term that applies in his mind right now for he couldn't really call this human-hollow thing a 'man'.
The big guy scratches his balding head dumbly, "Did you say a Bankai? Oi, Ulquiorra - is this the guy we're looking for?"
The little guy, Ulquiorra, managed to sound like he was rolling his eyes without actually rolling his eyes. "Who would have thought your foolish blundering about would've brought him straight to us."
Those piercing green eyes level on Ichigo, who challenges him silently with a scowl of his own, one that promised Ulquiorra is next on Ichigo's shit list when he's done bashing this oversized brute into the pavement, "Orange hair and the black bankai. There's no mistaking it. This is our target, Yammy."
Target? Well, isn't he popular? But whatever questions that comment spawned will have to wait. With the way these two are acting, Ichigo doubts he'd get an answer even if he asked who sent them in the first place. He readjusts the grip on Zangetsu and affirms his resolve.
In that case, he'll just have to beat the answers out of them.
Yammy takes this with an eager bloodthirsty grin, "So you saved us the trouble of having to sniff you out, did ya? Hah! SUERTE!"
The flat of Zangestu's blade easily blocks the flying punch. One with enough force behind it to buckle the ground around them.
The impact reverberates in his bones but Ichigo doesn't budge an inch. He growls, low and threatening, "I'm guessing you're the reason why Chad's lying in a puddle over there."
Without waiting for a response, Ichigo leaps over Yammy's head. Zangetsu's edge easily cleaving Yammy's arm from his shoulder. The severed arm flops lifeless to the ground and Yammy howls, lashing out like a wild feral beast and spitting curses all the while.
It's a dance of sword and fist.
Yammy throws punch after punch, but Ichigo's speed easily allows him to evade, leap and counter with strikes of his own. His blows do land and they manage to cut through Yammy's skin, but its tough. An unusual resistance when each blow connects prevents Ichigo from finding much purchase, forcing him to put more effort into his attacks than normal.
After the first few strikes land, Ichigo thinks he's figured out why. This guy's skin is tempered by hyper-condensed reiatsu. That's what's reinforcing Yammy's skin like a suit of armour. And its why Ichigo feels like he's striking an iron anvil.
Which is becoming a problem. The affects are incrementally, sure, but they're steadily getting more noticeable as the fight drags on. His hands are starting to go numb, his joints are beginning to ache and he feels the skin of his palms getting raw.
Peripherally, Ichigo notes that Ulquiorra is simply... standing there, observing.
Ichigo frowns at the lack of reaction. He's cutting Yammy to pieces here, and the other guy doesn't seem to give even a hint of care about that. Weren't they comrades?
Thinkin' it might be too much for ya ta handle, King? Let me have a crack, why doncha? Shiro teasing chimes in from whatever recess in Ichigo's consciousness.
I've got this. Ichigo retorts, his teeth gritted as he dodges another wild punch with a flurry, spinning around to hack at Yammy's flank.
Yeah, ya got it now. How long do ya think that'll stay the case when this big stupid stops screwin' around and starts swingin' that sword on his hip? Do ya really think that's just fer show, King?
If this were any other situation, he'd appreciate that Shiro's voice didn't have an agonizing sting like a thousand sharp needles digging into his brain anymore.
"You're as tough as you're ugly, aren't ya?" Ichigo mutters, resting his sword on his shoulder.
Yammy's white uniform is stained red by countless tiny nicks and cuts. But Ichigo notes rather disconcertingly that for all those injuries (and missing a freaking arm), this big guy doesn't seem the least bit affected at all.
If anything, its feels as though Yammy's speed and strength is rising proportionately to his anger. Wasn't that a fantastic little quirk?
"I'll teach you, you little rat!" Yammy snarls, reaching for his sword at last.
"I can't believe you need your Zanpakotou for such an insignificant trash like this." Ulquiorra chimes in dryly.
Ichigo's urge to smash the smug prick's face in multiplies tenfold, but he does latch onto those words. For a split second, he's stunned.
Hollow holes, mask fragments and a Zanpakutou? Does that mean these guys are Visoreds like Kaien, Shinji and him? That shouldn't be possible, right? Kaien told him that there was only nine of them. Ichigo made ten. Then how does that explain these whackjobs? Are they some new kind of mutant hollows? And if they were Hollows, why did they look so... human?
The only hollow Ichigo ever saw lose their mask was Orihime's older brother, Sora, way back when Ichigo was still leeching off Rukia's shinigami powers. But even when Sora's mask shattered and he regained his sanity in those last moments, his body remained monstrous.
So what the hell was going on?
Ya wanna reconsider now, Ichigo? Looks like he's about ready ta take things seriously, and I can tell ya flaggin'.
Who's fault is that? Ichigo wants to retort but he knows Shiro's only telling it like it is.
Ichigo knows he's got mountains of reiatsu to spare... on a good day, and his Bankai isn't as massive a drain as it seems to be for other Shinigami. But Bankai on an empty stomach and after weeks of nightmares plaguing his sleep? That's a bad deal no matter how you sliced it.
Ichigo grits his teeth, hesitates for a split second before making his decision. If you're that keen to help then feel free to give me a boost, but don't you dare take over, you hear me?
First and foremost, there's a prang of surprise from the hollow within, then Shiro bleeds glee and his grin fills Ichigo's mind's eye. Oh yee of little faith, King.
Already he's moving, and for one terrifying second Ichigo regrets that decision. His vision is overcome with darkness, disconnected from every one of his senses and cut adrift in a void. He panics, fighting back on instinct and trying to claw back the control he'd willingly surrendered.
Fer fuck's sake! Ya said ya wanted my help. Let me help, damn it! The words pierce through the haze, like a hand roughly yanking Ichigo from that darkness and tossing him back in the metaphorical driver's seat as it were.
Like a switch, he could breath again. He could feel Zangetsu in his grip, feel the air on his skin, taste the dust kicked up in their battle, but it was all heightened. Like someone had taken his natural senses and cranked them up so high it broke the scale.
His vision is the last thing to come back, disorientating and doubled for a split second before resolving into razor sharp focus. It clears in time to see a fist barreling towards his face.
Ichigo's body moves.
And he's fast.
Faster than he's ever been before. Faster than he ever thought possible, even in Bankai. He blocks the punch with his arms in a cross guard, Zangetsu held tight in a reverse grip and he hears his blade cut and flesh tear. With a roar of effort, Ichigo swings his sword upwards cleaving Yammy's hand in two.
Blood splatters the ground. Yammy stumbles back, sputtering and howling with rage. His ring finger and little finger and a chunk of hand they're attached to sliced clean off.
Fresh power surges through his veins, reinvigorating Ichigo's limbs and burning away the weeks of fatigue. Shiro's manic cackles echoes in his mind. Shockingly, the hollow isn't in control. Not really. Its more like a guiding hand. And Ichigo feels his lips pull into a crooked smirk.
It's exhilarating.
How long has it been since he's felt this way? Since the battle with Zaraki? Or... since his duel with Renji, either before he'd gone to Soul Society or at the base of Sokyoku?
Regardless, the boost is very much appreciated and Ichigo plans to put it to good use.
Yammy sputters, stumbling back while Ichigo readies for another charge. "You little... you little bastard! What the - What the hell happened to your eyes?!"
His eyes? The hell is Yammy talking about?
Whatever. Won't matter in a few seconds anyway.
Yammy goes for his Zanpakutou again but Ichigo is quicker.
He jumps, his heel slamming the Zanpakutou back into its sheathe to use as an improvised foothold. He feels his ankle buckle, definitely sprained if not broken outright, but pays it no mind. With his offhand, Ichigo punches the Arrancar so hard he feels something give on both sides. Two fingers break but Ichigo doesn't feel it. Not now.
As a trade, about four teeth fly from Yammy's mouth and the mask fragment around his jaw cracks ever so slightly. Ichigo retreats back with a single shunpo, unwilling or uncaring about the pain in his leg, even if that single flashstep sends him stumbling metres back from where he intended.
He recovers in time to see Yammy's jaws open wide, red reiatsu gathers at his mouth and Ichigo charges forwards once again.
"Take this, you little shit!"
Zangetsu's flat slams hard into Yammy's solar plexus, knocking the reiatsu blast well off course and harmlessly into the sky. Bile spills out from Yammy's gullet and he drops to his knees gasping.
Ichigo swings Zangetsu high, preparing for the final downward stroke for the Arrancar's neck-
KING!
Shiro's warning tears through Ichigo's mind, snapping him out of his battle trance. His body jerks fitfully to one side. A pale hand pierces through his right shoulder. The air leaves his lungs and the world's thrown off kilter. Vaguely, he's aware of slamming into the ground and he thinks he hears Orihime screaming his name before as his vision goes black.
Its amazing how quickly decades worth of healing can be undone by a few small words, and how quickly grim acceptance of those old wounds can flip right back to barely restrained outrage.
Although now that rage exists for an altogether different reason.
Aizen. Kaien. Murdered. Alive. In the World of the Living. Hollowfied. Execution order.
Those words have been churning in Kukaku Shiba's mind ever since Ukitake concluded his impromptu visit. And since that afternoon, her wrath has been simmering under the surface. It sits as stone cold fury, paradoxical to her usual hot temper.
Perhaps not aimed towards Ukitake, at least not for any particularly new reason, though she's thoroughly unamused the man wouldn't even let Kukaku talk to her beloved elder brother after just learning he'd came back from the dead.
Aizen is definitely a target of her ire. The smug bastard. Every time someone turns around it seems he's producing new reasons to despise his guts, despite lacking a physical presence in the Soul Society. An exceptionally charming little trait, isn't it?
Kukaku knows she's definitely pissed off at her thickheaded moron of a big brother.
Not for not trying hard enough to reach out to them sooner and to inform them all he's still alive, she's well aware the situation was stacked against him on that count (though Kukaku will claim her pound of flesh for that one when he comes home), but because the damn fool was investigating someone as dangerous as Aizen in the first place and kept it to himself.
Kukaku's fingers curl into a trembling fist and her jaw clenches. Why didn't he ask her for help? She would've gladly leapt into hell along side Kaien if it meant keeping him alive.
But she already knows what that self-sacrificing idiot would say if she tried to bust his balls about it; he'd say he wanted to protect them, his siblings and the Shiba clan as a whole. He didn't want to paint targets on their backs. He didn't want them to worry.
And the worst part is he'd sincerely believe every damn word of it.
Kukaku sighs, releasing the tension in her shoulders, and wearing an expression that's a mix of exasperation and fondness. He always was an incurable idiot, through and through.
But he is alive. Kaien is alive.
She tries to inscribe those three little words in her mind, cling to them as talisman, but she feels a core of anxiety.
Sixty years is a long time to spend in exile. How much had Kaien changed in the intervening years? Or had he remained the same through sheer force of will? Does he know about the Shiba clan? About what those dusty old codgers in Central 46 did to them after he died?
Given the nature of Aizen's blade, was that even Kaien's body the Gotei 13 brought back to the Shiba compound? Or some random cadaver they were all deceived into believing was Kaien's, leaving the bastard free to turn her brother into a guinea pig for Soul King-only-knows how long? It's a tidy arrangement. Who in their right mind would think to mount a rescue for a man the world already believed was dead?
The torment that fact alone must've-
Kukaku clamps down on the runaway thoughts. She'll stir herself into a frenzy if she kept going down that path. All that would serve is to piss her off more than the situation already does.
Still. For all the questions and decades old emotions this revelation has churned up, Kukaku has made the decision not to reveal any of this to Ganju yet. Not until they're absolutely certain Kaien's homecoming won't end in a beheading for some bullshit that happened entirely outside his control.
Kukaku loves her little brother even if she doesn't admit it in so many words, and Kukaku knows Ganju would only have the best of intentions, but if he found out Kaien is alive and in the human world? He'd foolishly charge through the family's Senkaimon and try to drag him back, completely ignorant that doing so would doom their brother to a second death.
For now the matter remains a guarded secret between Kukaku, Shironehiko and Kuronehiko. She's ordered her retainers to keep it that way until she deems otherwise, and they would faithfully obey her as they always have.
The only thing to do for it now is to pick through those journals with a fine-tooth comb. Which is precisely what Kukaku has been doing every free moment.
And what has she to show for her investigation so far?
A whole big fat pile of nothing.
This deceptively small puzzle-solving exercise is quickly exhausting her threadbare patience, and she's half-tempted to storm through a Senkaimon herself, find her brother and bash his head in with those books screaming 'what does this mean?!'
Of course, that's assuming it meant anything at all. And presuming Ukitake isn't clinging to a fleeting hope, trying to glean deeper meaning into something that probably was exactly as it appeared; a loosely aligned collection of scatter-brained scribbles.
Kukaku puts a book aside and opens another one she's read about a dozen times over.
These books were filled with either recipes or ingredients lists. Each as bizarre as the last because unless Kukaku was missing something here, a good portion of those foods were things Kaien would've never touched with a ten foot pole.
Sure, he wasn't the worst cook in the world (Kukaku swears to this day he only attempted to learn to impress Miyako - didn't work but she married the dork anyway, what's that tell ya?) nor was Kaien the pickiest eater, but some of this stuff were things not even Ganju or the house cooks would've attempted. Not without months of practice first.
Miyako wasn't a half-bad cook herself. Were these intended to for her, then? An anniversary gift maybe? Or was that simply a convenient cover?
Kaien's scribblings are random as always. The only commonality they had was they all contained a number and one or two word ingredients.
Was that important? The burgeoning spark of a pattern perhaps?
If that were the case then why these pages specifically?
As far as Kukaku could tell, there no correlation to any of them; there's recipies from deserts to main course meals, snacks and beverages and everything else in between. Kaien's own food preferences didn't seem to have any impact on which pages were marked either.
On a whim, Kukaku went back and counted. Discounting the ingredients list, there are eight numbers in each set of instructions. Nine, if she counted Kaien's addition.
Kukaku then frowned when she picked up on another oddity. Why would Kaien write an additional step in the recipe but not add that ingredient to the main list?
At first, she thought it could've been another scatterbrained oversight on this page in particular, but when Kukaku cross-references it against other pages then another journal, the pattern repeats there too. In fact, it repeated on all pages he made his tiny notes.
Another commonality Kukaku is beginning to recognise is the title of each recipe.
Obviously they all had different names, but there's similar groupings of characters and letters.
Could that be it?
Idly, Kukaku plucks a pen and begins to write. She scribbles down the numbers in sequence plus Kaien's addition and scans the results. There's something familiar about the arrangement of digits, picking at a half-forgotten thought in the back of Kukaku's mind.
Her eyes narrow as she scans over them back and fourth.
One digit. Two digits. Two. One. Three. Two. One. Three.
Funny. Its almost like they're -
Kukaku's eyes widen in realization.
Reference numbers!
"They're reference numbers!" She whispers triumphantly to herself, then leans forward brow drawn in a frown. "But they're missing their first half."
On a hunch, Kukaku adds the words Kaien's note to the beginning of the number series. Its close but not quite complete yet. Following her train of thought, Kukaku carefully writes the title of the recipe then her face lights, jubilant as she circles the numbers and first character of each word.
Her lips pull into a sly yet appreciative grin, "Why, big brother, you sneaky little bastard."
When written together like this, the sequence transformed into reference numbers for the Shiba clan's historical archives.
Kukaku checks another page and writes down the characters in the same format. To her eternal delight, the pattern held. A third page, the pattern holds. And so she repeats on and on.
Before long, Kukaku had dozens of different reference numbers written on a scroll.
The Shiba clan kept their archives hidden in the Rukon district, not far from where she, Kaien and Ganju grew up. Fortunately it was spared destruction when the Shiba clan fell from grace and got booted from the Seireitei. Only those of Shiba blood were permitted into its ancient depths, and if Kaien wanted to hide something, that cavern was a good a place as any.
It's been a long time since Kukaku had seen the old archivist, and it seems she's long past due for a visit.
"Let's go see what you wanted to hide away, shall we?" Kukaku rises from her desk and moves with purpose, the scroll clutched in hand, "Koganehiko, Shiranehiko. We're heading out to Rukon's 4th District. I've got a job for Ayane Tenkawa."
Author's note:
I'm sorry for being slack this update.
Edited: 24/4/2023 - Cleaned up the chapter's grammatical errors and spruced up the language a little.
Regards,
Aurora313