Author's note: Four brief notes before I get into the fic.
-For disambiguation I use the North American Viz translations wherever possible throughout the fic.
-This fic is also published on AO3 under the same name but a different rating. Due to this website's different rating system this version of the fic will be slightly edited and 'cleaned up' to remove the content that originally warranted this rating. Long story short: no, I didn't post an M rated fic under the T rating. This is just a lighter version of the story.
- The title comes from the 'Yowaka Ita Shrine' from The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Its trial name is 'Collected Soul.'
-This fic takes place 13 months after the Arrancar invasion did in canon, both to give Ichigo and Uryū's relationship more time to develop and to let Aizen truly flourish in Las Noches.
With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!
Ulquiorra Schiffer trailed alongside Sosuke Aizen as he walked along one of Las Noches' endless sterile white halls, sandals gently tapping with each footfall. The conversation had drifted in a direction that he resented, and he was unable to hide his distaste for Aizen's proposition.
"He was nothing special. Little more than trash." The boy that had become their topic of conversation (much to Ulquiorra's distaste) was hardly more impressive than any other Soul Reaper. Less so, in some cases. Aizen's fixation on him seemed thoroughly unnecessary.
"I'm afraid that's where you are mistaken, Ulquiorra," Aizen said, his voice betraying no strong emotions either way on the topic. "That boy has proven himself capable of truly impressive feats. I hear he acheived bankai in just three days—now that truly is an astonishing accomplishment."
Ulquiorra pursed his lips.
"It is a true shame you let Kurosaki slip through your fingers, Ulquiorra. But do not worry—you still have a chance to redeem yourself."
"I was not aware I needed redemption, Lord Aizen."
"And you will not, if you manage to succeed at the mission I propose to you. You will bring me Kurosaki. I already have an idea for a diversion while you carry out the plan."
"I do not understand what fascinates you so much about this boy."
A smile curved around the corners of Aizen's mouth. "I have been watching this boy for seventeen years. He is the most perfectly mixed combination of Hollow and Soul Reaper I have ever encountered. Even you, my fine Arrancars, have not managed to reach the level that he is so very close to attaining. All that he needs to become one of us is a little bit of tweaking and pushing. Now that I have a functioning Hogyoku and have discovered the minutiæ of working it, his zenith of potential is finally within my sights."
"Do you know what you intend on doing to perfect him once he is in your grasp?"
"I daresay I do, Ulquiorra. I have many plans, plans made, discarded, revised and refined over seventeen years. But my years of waiting have finally paid off: soon now I will have Kurosaki in my hands, my precious little experiment waiting to be shaped to my wishes. And he will become my masterwork."
Chapter One
𝄪Strawberry Falls𝄪
Ichigo Kurosaki was woken all at once, by a sudden suffocating wave of spiritual pressure crashing down on him.
He flung himself bolt upright, head spinning and stomach dropping; before he even had a chance to process what was happening, his spirit was flying head-first out of his body with a sudden force, sandals skidding across his bedroom floor with such friction he was shocked they weren't sending up sparks.
His body fell with a lifeless thump back into the warm embrace of the bedsheets..
The cold hand clasped his wrist again before he had a chance to gather himself. He glanced down and saw it was paper-white, jet black claws at the tips lightly pricking his skin.
Ichigo let his gaze climb up the arm attached to the talon-hand, clothed in white and eventually connecting to a face he recognized all too well with a shudder and an ill feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Staring directly into Ichigo's eyes was the Arrancar from the other day, Ulquiorra. His green eyes were polished glass windows that held nothing behind them but roiling waves of apathy, glistening like ill-natured faeries in the dark of his room.
"Ichigo Kurosaki." His voice was dead, a bowed note with an inadequate amount of rosin.
"Ulquiorra." Ichigo tried to wrench himself free, but this only made Ulquiorra tighten his grip further, claws piercing the skin and drawing little globules of blood. "Why the fuck are you in my house?"
"Lord Aizen requests your presence."
"And why the hell should I come with you?"
Ichigo could feel Ulquiorra's nails draw more blood, the liquid warm on his wrist.
"If you come quietly with me now, your friends will be spared."
"Why should I believe you?"
Ulquiorra's dead eyes locked onto Ichigo's, Hollow spiritual pressure filling the air and making it difficult to breathe.
"Lord Aizen's orders were clear. If you come with me quietly, the other Arrancars will be ordered to withdraw and spare your family and friends. If you put up a fight, they will not hesitate to fight to the death if need be."
Ichigo suddenly found himself torn between a natural distrust of any promise an Arrancar working for Aizen made, and what he knew would be overwhelming guilt if he tried to skewer Ulquiorra through the middle and got someone he cared about badly wounded.
His moment of indecision already cost him, however. Taking advantage of the fact that his quarry was simply standing there, Ulquiorra had used his free hand to unwind Zangetsu from Ichigo's back, holding the large blade up as if impartially examining it.
"Hey—give that back!" Ichigo tried to struggle against the grip, but only managed to make it tighter and subsequently draw more blood.
Why can't I break free all of a sudden?
In a desperate attempt, he tried to flare his spiritual pressure, but Ulquiorra seemed nonplussed by the heavy feeling competing with his own.
"I have your sword. You cannot fight back. If you surrender now, we will leave and everyone will be unscathed. If you attempt to take your sword back, I would be all too happy to lay waste to everyone else in this building.
"You wouldn't." Rage bubbled up in Ichigo at the nonchalant threat.
"It would be easy enough." Ulquiorra's disinterest ground Ichigo's gears. He was making death threats to a hostage, and he couldn't even be bothered to sound interested. Somehow this made him even scarier, because Ichigo was quickly losing any doubt that he would be true to his word if he tried to resist.
Ulquiorra must have thought Ichigo wasn't getting the point, though, as he opened the door into the hallway beyond, strolling past the door to his sisters' room left ajar and dragging Ichigo along behind him.
They just stood there for a few minutes, the gentle rise-and-fall of his sisters' chests in stark contrast to the terror that was pounding in Ichigo's throat.
Suddenly Ulquiorra took out Zangetsu again, resting the blade's silver edge firmly against Yuzu's soft throat. Despite himself Ichigo let out a cry of distress.
"The agreement is simple. If you do not cooperate and come with me to Hueco Mundo, I will slit your sisters' throats with your own zanpakuto while you watched."
Ulquiorra had landed a critical hit. There was little doubt in Ichigo's mind, now, that he would do what he threatened.
"Of course, if you resisted further, it wouldn't be just your sisters. Lord Aizen's orders were specifically to wipe out everyone you care about, one by one. I would keep going. Perhaps after killing your sisters, I could move on to that Quincy boy. Aizen told me you are soft for him."
Ichigo tensed, a hissing sound slipping through his teeth despite himself. Uryū—how would Aizen even know—
Of course he did. He was Sosuke Aizen. He probably knew what Ichigo had eaten for breakfast that morning.
"Pathetic," Ulquiorra stated blandly regarding his reaction, putting a tiny bit of pressure on Yuzu's throat, not breaking the skin but coming very close. "I quite frankly don't see why Lord Aizen has such interest in you. But I will not hesitate keep going and destroy everyone you care about if you do not cooperate."
"You promise you'll leave them alone?" He hated himself for how he sounded, like a scared child begging for table scraps, begging for Ulquiorra to not kill his sisters.
He knew there was no room for him to fight him for his blade back, even the slightest movement causing it to slip and cut Yuzu's delicate throat open and let blood spill down the sheets onto the floor. He knew that, after coldly and efficiently killing his sisters, Ulquiorra would keep going until every person he'd ever cared about was in pieces at the end of his own zanpakuto. It wasn't supposed to work that way: he was supposed to be able to fight, to be strong enough to mitigate any threats that put his loved ones at risk, to face a challenge with spiritual pressure ablaze. But he could tell simply from the effortless display of power from two days ago that Ulquiorra was firmly out of his league. It was taking a chance that he wouldn't go after his sisters anyway, but at least there was a chance that he wouldn't. If he resisted, the outcome was perfectly clear, underlined in the red of Yuzu's blood.
"On Lord Aizen's orders." Ulquiorra was cold, but his words carried a slight tone of sincerity.
Against his better wishes, Ichigo's decision had been made. He was an older brother, a protector, and that meant it fell to him to ensure that his sisters wouldn't suffer a grim fate when it was within his power to prevent it. He had sworn to himself, and his mother, that he would spare no expense in keeping them alive. It was time to live up to that promise, regardless of how much it scared him.
"Fine." The words tasted like bile in his throat, even if he knew it was the lesser choice of two evils. "I will come with you to Aizen, if it means you leave my family alone."
Not wasting any time now that his prey was firmly within his grasp, Ulquiorra quickly set Zangetsu down and traded him for a small white bracelet, which he quickly slid shut around Ichigo's right wrist. Once it was clasped, the seam was invisible.
About five seconds after the bracelet closed, Ichigo felt his spiritual pressure drop out from under him and recede further than a low tide, quickly locked deep inside and unwilling to come out.
His target sufficiently neutralized, it took Ulquiorra barely any time to inject him with something that immediately left Ichigo's limbs feeling like they'd been turned to stone, unwilling to budge at his request. Within ten breaths, his head started filling with static and he slipped underwater into unconsciousness.
Ulquiorra grabbed Ichigo in one hand and Zangetsu in the other, his own Murciélago swishing silently against the cloth of his uniform as he strode confidently out the open window and into the sky towards an emerging Garganta. Below, he saw Grimmjow making a beeline for where he had dropped Ichigo's body, comatose in absence of its spirit. It had been part of Aizen's enticement for the Arrancar to come along on the mission, that he would be able to play with the remnants once their target had been acquired. It was rather pointless and bloodthirsty, in Ulquiorra's mind, but it kept his violent colleague in check and on task, which was as much as could ever be hoped for with someone like Grimmjow, who answered every question posed with violence.
As the other Arrancars on the task force started to pull back, the Garganta signalling that their mission had been accomplished, a loud thunk sound could be heard from the street below.
Grimmjow, taking his murderous frenzy out on Kurosaki's lifeless shell. He was working his way down the blocks of Karakura, clawing and whacking his prey every now and then and cackling like a lunatic.
Ulquiorra had no patience for the Sixth Espada or his violent desires, and less than zero intent on waiting for him to be finished with his little toy. He simply strode through the Garganta, his quarry was dragging along in the air behind him like a limp fish gutted and ready for Lord Aizen's grand plan.
As suddenly as they had arrived, the Arrancars left, striding with firm steps of sonído towards the looming Garganta in the sky.
Rukia briefly considered trailing after them, but quickly thought against it.
It clearly hadn't been a wanton attack, though. Whatever it was had been planned and calculated to some particular end, and once that had been accomplished they had all been ordered back. Whatever that mission had been, it had clearly been executed quickly and efficiently, as the Arrancar task force hadn't been there for very long. Rukia hadn't even had time to release her shikai before they were off into the night sky. For bloodthirsty Arrancars to retreat so suddenly, Aizen must have them firmly under his thumb indeed. It was a disturbing notion.
Rukia let a sigh slip through her lips, taking her time on the walk back to Urahara Shōten. Darkness had now completely fallen, making ominous shadows lurk between every building and under every shaded window. It shouldn't have been enough to bother her, but the strange encounter with the Arrancars was still fresh in her mind and had set her firmly on edge.
Her arrival at the Shōten was met with a noncommittal distracted nod from Kisuke, who craned his neck to see if she was alone. "You don't have Ichigo with you?"
"No?" Rukia had just assumed that he was out on his own, or with someone else. "Should I?"
"It's just that no one sensed his spiritual pressure. With so many Hollow signatures in town, we all expected him to be out in action," Kisuke said. "Not going to investigate is out of character for him, that's all."
"Well…" Rukia paused, thinking about the situation. "It was all over so quickly, maybe he just didn't get out in time. I'm familiar with where he lives, I can check and see if he's still home."
Kisuke nodded, eyes staring off past Rukia's head and clearly already thinking about something else.
Rukia strode out into the street, casting her awareness out for any sign of Ichigo's spiritual pressure and coming up empty.
He had probably gone home after the Arrancars had mysteriously withdrawn. They hadn't been in town very long, after all, and maybe he'd simply been too late. Despite the logic of this conclusion, she couldn't help but find herself getting worried anyway. A series of increasingly bad scenarios played through her head, but she pushed them away. Ichigo was powerful and capable. Surely a couple of low-level Arrancars wouldn't be able to do too much to him. Despite her assurances to herself, however, she couldn't help but keep feeling for him, the night air seemingly bare of any trace of his chaotic spiritual pressure.
She was so distracted with combing the area for any stray threads that signified Ichigo's presence that she tripped over something lying in the middle of the sidewalk.
Barely catching herself before she started rolling across the hard concrete, Rukia had to steady herself before she looked for whatever it was that she'd tripped on, assuming it was simply a piece of trash a careless human had thrown there.
Rukia's breath caught in her throat when she saw that it was a ragged, bloody heap of white cloth roughly the shape and size of a person, discarded like week-old leftovers gone rotten.
Crawling on hands and knees towards the body, in the direction of what she hoped was the head, Rukia ran her hand along the cloth in hope of feeling a pulse.
It didn't take her particularly long to crawl to the body's head, thick hair stained with so much blood she could hardly determine its original colour and face distorted from a dozen different bruises and scrapes.
Gingerly taking the head by the sides, Rukia gently turned it so she could see the person head-on, brushing blood-soaked hair out of their face.
With dawning horror, she realized it was a face she recognized. The slope of the chin, the angle of the cheekbones, the curve of the brow—she had seen the face enough to recognize it even through the garden of purple bruises and red scratches it played host to.
"Ichigo?" Rukia took a sharp breath in. Had one of the Arrancars done this to him? The strange thing was, though, it was his physical body, not his spiritual one; he was wearing his pajamas that were now soaked in his own blood. Why would an Arrancar gone and beat up his human body to such a degree that had Rukia spent even an hour less with him she may not have recognized who he was at all?
Rukia took three deep breaths, trying to calm herself and her rapidly accelerating heartbeat. Once she felt that she wasn't going to collapse dizzy on Ichigo's limp body, she pressed two fingers on the side of his neck in hope of feeling a pulse.
What was there was so faint she had to close her eyes and focus on nothing else. It was erratic and shallow, barely clinging to life.
Rukia quickly decided that the best course of action would be to get him to the others as quickly as possible, and grabbed him under the arms determined to drag him into the Shōten. The grinding of bones as she picked his arms up made her wince, but she steeled herself and started the slow process, trying to ignore how Ichigo's head bobbled like a corpse's.
He was heavy and awkward, however, meaning that moving him was quickly established as a job for two. One of his arms hung at an unnatural angle.
She ran back to the shop, hoping to snag Kisuke or Yoruichi's assistance. If they didn't find a way to stabilize Ichigo soon, he might die.
Which brought with it the important question: where was Ichigo's spirit, anyway?
Ichigo came to in a white and lifeless room, sprawled on a cold floor that was stealing every last ounce of warmth from his bones even through the black cloth of his uniform.
It took some time for his mind to clear, still hazy from whatever it was Ulquiorra had injected him with to subdue him.
The first thing he noticed as the fog started to slightly lift was that his spiritual pressure was still close to null, wrapped in a tight bundle in the center of his chest refusing to be called upon. At first he wondered if it was perhaps a side effect of Ulquiorra's tranquilizer, until his awareness cleared further and he felt hard stone digging into his wrist. Slowly he dragged his arm along the floor, casting a glance at the white stone wristband. Whatever material it was must have been what was suppressing his spiritual pressure.
It then dawned on Ichigo that he didn't know how long he'd been out. It could have been five minutes or five hours, the unnatural cold light filling the room making it impossible to tell the time.
Ichigo pulled himself up to sitting, his head throwing out a slight ache in protest and his vision suddenly swarming with a murmuration of black specks, but both managed to dissipate sooner rather than later much to his relief.
He cast his gaze around and found himself standing in what looked to be a sort of throne room, alone except for the traitor Aizen standing like a fallen celestial on the steps leading up to his false throne, slowly walking in the direction of his newest subject now that he was awake.
"Ah, Ichigo Kurosaki," he said slowly, as if letting each word fully permeate the room before he uttered the next. "So nice to see you came."
"…Aizen?" Ichigo tried to keep the fear out of his voice. Last time he'd faced this man, he'd come out little better than a bloody pulp.
Instinctually he reached back for Zangetsu, only to find his hand close around air.
Of course, Ulquiorra had taken it, and not returned it upon his arrival. Unsurprising.
"Oh, you won't need your zanpakuto anymore, Ichigo."
Aizen had started to walk towards his prisoner like an ill omen, savouring every step as a sign of his control and letting his footfalls echo to underline it.
"You're even better than I had hoped."
He smiled, but it was a curdled and warped smile that send shivers racing up Ichigo's spine. Even worse was how his dark brown eyes sparkled with a malice, an anticipation to inflict pain.
"You're even more perfect than I thought you would be. All these years of dreaming, and yet I find myself in awe at who stands here before me."
Aizen was close now, close enough that Ichigo could feel his breath on his face, cold like death.
"You will be my perfect weapon, Ichigo Kurosaki."