Author's note: Hope you enjoy! Obviously I don't own Bleach. If you want to know what it would look like if I did, read on!
It took less time to get Ichigo's limp body into the Shōten with Yoruichi's help. Rukia tried to ignore how her brief attempt to drag him on her own had left streaks of shining blood on the concrete, the moonlight catching the edges and making it shimmer with malice.
She had been loathe to leave his body, but adrenaline was working its magic and it was little time at all before she was back at the shop door, banging and screaming breathlessly for Renji's help. She'd have taken anyone, really, but she trusted Yoruichi and her company had served well to calm her down, an assuring presence who took the situation as seriously as she did.
Chapter Two
Falling Through a Black Cloud
Finding her way back to the body—to Ichigo's body—was easy. Its location was seared in her mind's eye.
With Yoruichi taking the legs, Rukia picked up Ichigo's head, gently cradling it between her hands as she carried him into the arms of safety. There was a bit of blood in his hair, but she wasn't sure where its point of origin was.
It was a slow process, Yoruichi barking out orders haphazardly and Rukia trying her hardest to follow. A few times she almost bumped into a lamp post, her breath catching in fear; but in the end they managed to carry him through the door and into a back room of the Shōten, a small trail of blood drops visible in the indoor light indicating the path they had taken in.
Ichigo didn't look any better lying there, injuries starkly outlined in the buzzing lights.
"Oh dear." Kisuke was pacing the length of the futon, assessing the situation. "He's barely recognizable."
"I noticed some extra blood on the back of his head when I carried him in," Rukia told him, anxiously folding and unfolding her fingers.
He simply nodded and continued pacing. "I'm going to have to do a full check-up and address the most pressing concerns first. Get out, shoo."
"But—"
"You're going to just get in the way worrying. We need to tell his family about this, and his close friends. Do you think you can find them and call them up? Maybe Orihime can help me with stabilizing him."
Rukia made haste to Orihime's apartment, prioritizing her with the hopes that she could get back in time and help Kisuke staunch the seemingly never-ending flow of blood. Ichigo was in a bad way even for her capabilities, but four healer's hands were better than two.
It didn't take long for Orihime to arrive in the doorframe, wrapped in a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. "It's nice to see you, Rukia! What brings you here so late? I thought the Arrancars were already gone. They left really quickly, didn't they?"
"They did. That's not why I'm coming." Rukia swallowed, steeling herself to continue. "We need you at the Shōten. Someone got badly hurt and we need you to help."
"Oh?" Her eyes widened. "Who is it? I wouldn't have thought they were around long enough to do any serious damage."
If only they'd all made it out okay.
"I don't know—I assume it was the Arrancars. The point is, Orihime, Ichigo's hurt. Badly."
"Ichigo?" Her voice rose to a squeak as she spoke his name.
"I was hoping you could help Kisuke stabilize him."
Tears seemed to threaten in the corners of Orihime's eyes as she nodded. "I'll leave right away." And she did, true to her word and making impressive haste, not seeming to notice that she was running along the sidewalk in her slippers.
Rukia decided it was best to not tell her.
While Orihime had been the obvious choice to go to first because of her healing capabilities, Rukia's remaining choices were far less clear now. Most people would make a beeline to the injured's family, but she doubted that Ichigo would want his sisters to see him in such a damaged state, not when he tried so hard to be their guardian. She knew his relationship with his father was frosty at best, and to call him up before the others would simply be uncomfortable. Then again, it would be equally uncomfortable if Rukia went and got Uryū and Chad, and then Isshin discovered that he had been relegated to the bottom of the list despite the fact that the first two meant far more to Ichigo than he ever would. It would also bring up awkward questions on Uryū's part that Rukia had promised she would help them avoid.
No, as much as she had misgivings about it, she determined that in the end she really ought to make sure Ichigo's family knew that he was severely wounded.
Her internal debate had temporarily distracted her from her worry, but once she set off in the direction of the clinic she could feel it bubbling back up to the surface.
By the time she had reached Kurosaki Clinic, Rukia had not calmed down any. If anything, the time alone with her thoughts had made her even more hysterical.
Ichigo might be dying. Kisuke and Orihime were both skilled healers, but the brutal treatment of his body wasn't a simple scratch to be undone.
She raised her hand and let her knuckles fall on the door, hoping dearly that she would get an answer, and that it wouldn't be from one of Ichigo's little sisters. They would have to know sooner or later, but Rukia was hoping to postpone that as long as she could…
Much to her relief, it was Isshin who answered the door, hair mussed and eyes foggy from sleep but in his usual sickeningly 'high' spirits.
"Rukia! So good to see you! It's been too long! You're more than welcome to crash here, remember! I'd be so happy if you would—"
"Cut the crap." Isshin could have her talking around the actual issue at hand for an hour, and Ichigo's clock was ticking loudly in the back of her head. She stepped into the house behind him to make sure she wouldn't be ignored.
He pretended to look mock offended, reeling back with his hands over his heart complaining about how such a sweet girl scorned him. It was the sort of thing Rukia didn't have much patience for on the best of days, when one of her friends wasn't bleeding out in the back room of a candy shop.
"It's serious, Kurosaki. I need you to listen to me!"
The urgency in her tone must have carried, because Isshin stopped his foolery and set his face into a determined look.
"What's happened?"
"It's Ichigo." The prospect of speaking the words aloud made Rukia's heart thump uncomfortably. He put his life on the line to save hers, only to have it callously taken from him by a horde of brutal Arrancar.
Rukia swallowed the lump in her throat and spoke the dreaded words aloud for the first time.
"Ichigo is badly hurt. He…he might be dying, I'm not sure."
Those three simple words hung there in the air around the two of them like a bloodsoaked omen, as if the very action of them falling out of Rukia's mouth had suddenly given them credence, dancing around and reminding them of the brutal fate the eldest Kurosaki child had found.
Isshin's eyes slowly widened, his expression unreadable.
"He's in back at the Urahara Shōten right now. Urahara is trying his hardest, but the injuries are bad and he'd lost a lot of blood before we even managed to find him. I don't know when he'll wake up. Assuming…assuming he even does."
Not that he will, if his soul is separate from his body. Rukia didn't say that. Everyone had a growing suspicion as to where exactly Ichigo's soul could be found, but no one wanted to voice it aloud. Isshin didn't need to know that particular detail.
"He does like to get himself in trouble. I'm sure he'll be fine." The older man gave a largely noncommittal shrug.
Anger started to bubble in the pit of Rukia's stomach. "I'm serious! Your son is in critical condition from a horrible injury and all you can do is shrug and say he'll be okay?"
"He's tough. He'll recover in no time."
"What if he doesn't?" Rukia couldn't keep her voice down, the fury at how callously Isshin was treating the situation driving it to a crescendo at the end of the sentence.
Before Isshin could come up with a (likely unsatisfying) response, however, Rukia caught the sound of a door opening upstairs and soft footsteps.
"Dad? What's going on?"
Yuzu stumbled down the stairs, eyes bleary with sleep and hair mussed from being pressed up against a pillow.
Rukia had forgotten how late it was. The two of them must have woken Yuzu up.
"It's nothing honey, Daddy and Rukia are just having a little conversation."
"I heard raised voices."
"You know how your father gets," Rukia told her. The groan that followed came naturally.
Yuzu nodded blearily, the concern not leaving her face. "Do you know where Ichigo is?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's just, he was home all evening," she said, twisting her foot nervously. "But now his door's open and his window, too. I know he leaves without warning sometimes, I was just worried. That's all. It's probably nothing, anyway."
Her words were like a knife through Rukia's heart. Maybe she should tell her what had really happened…
"I'm sure he just snuck out to see his girlfriend and is having a great time! He'll back after school tomorrow, Yuzu." Isshin cut Rukia off before she had a chance to tell her the truth. "You know he's always out with her every chance he gets. Nothing to worry about! Go back to bed! I'm sure he'll give you a great big hug tomorrow when he's back."
Yuzu gave him a sleepy smile and walked back upstairs. Rukia waited to hear her door close before she ushered Isshin outside where they wouldn't be interrupting, and let out her feelings.
"You're just going to lie to her? Like that? Are you serious?"
"What am I going to tell her? That her beloved big brother is badly hurt? I'll tell her tomorrow after I've been over myself and assessed the damage. No need to worry her."
"So you're not coming to see Ichigo now?"
Isshin shrugged noncommittally. "Ehh, he'll be there tomorrow. I've got work in the morning. Ichigo can wait."
He turned and closed the front door behind him before Rukia had a chance to say anything else, like how there was a very real chance that even with Orihime and Kisuke working hard Ichigo might not survive the night, or that he should be showing at least some concern that his eldest child was fatally wounded.
Rukia was starting to understand why Ichigo's relationship with his father was so strained.
The body of Ichigo Kurosaki was in critical condition, and every moment was of the essence.
Kisuke Urahara buzzed around the body that Rukia and Yoruichi had gently placed on a futon in his back room, investigating every square inch of injuries in a desperate attempt to determine what had gone so horribly wrong.
Tessai could seemingly sense the immense amount of stress his partner was under, and quietly slipped inside the back room with a cup of steaming fresh tea and a bag of the dried crab snacks that Kisuke always turned to when he was feeling particularly stressed.
If having the life of a kind-hearted seventeen year old boy resting firmly in his hands didn't stress him out, little else would.
Crunching on a small bite-size crab to clear his head, Kisuke leaned in to investigate the series of angry scratches lined up like a musical staff across his chest, two sets of five running diagonally, making it look like he'd been mauled by a panther.
He ran his fingers along the scratches, still bleeding fresh but mercifully shallow. They could be joined with sutures to staunch the majority of the blood, which should put Ichigo further ahead of where he was now.
His investigation quickly hit a snag, however, as he discovered the extent of the damage to his ribcage. Three broken ribs, to be exact; likely from some tremendous impact. It was a nasty injury, and putting his breathing severely off-kilter, but since they weren't causing any immediate blood loss they fell under the scratches on the list.
The bruises covering his face sat at the absolute bottom. Undesirable to be certain, but hardly as pressing as the shattered nose that was responsible for another, not insignificant amount of blood loss.
Kisuke grabbed another fistful of crabs. This was going to be a very long night.
Ichigo's breath was faint and shallow, barely fluttering with each breath.
Rukia had gone to get Orihime to help, and she couldn't arrive too soon. Kisuke was fine enough with healing kido, but lacked the natural talent she possessed. As it was, the most he could hope to do was staunch the bleeding, holding his hands gently over Ichigo's very broken nose. A gentle glow flickered across his face, casting lurid shadows into every crease and curve like something out of a horror movie.
It took longer than Kisuke was willing to admit, sealing up the remnants of his nose. It was still misshapen even when complete, but at least he was no longer losing blood through it.
Next he moved down to the claw marks, still bleeding at a frankly alarming rate and only slowly stopping when he placed his hands over them. Ichigo was usually so strong, so determined, so tough; seeing him ripped apart like a paper doll was simply sad.
The most he could do was watch as a tender layer of skin stretched over the wounds, thin but doing at least a bit to stop the flow of blood. His attacker, whoever they had been, was truly ruthless.
Kisuke tried to ignore the continued faintness of Ichigo's breathing, focusing instead on another pressing issue that he could do even less about. It was apparent from the complete lack of response to stimuli and cold skin that his spirit was clearly not in his body. This brought up another question: had he voluntarily left his body behind to face off against the Arrancars and someone had mauled it on the street, thinking he was still inside? Had someone forcefully ejected him from his body?
Either way, the mystery remained: where was Ichigo now?
Unfortunately, Kisuke thought as he gently felt along the fracture in Ichigo's ribs, trying not to jostle it more than he had to, the answer was fairly obvious. The Arrancars had come out of nowhere and retreated just as fast; they acted as if they were under strict orders. They had come to execute a mission, and why wouldn't that mission be to take Ichigo back with them into the world of Hollows?
Dread settled into Kisuke's stomach as he thought over the likely scenario, splinting Ichigo's ribs to keep them from moving too much before Orihime arrived. Aizen—for he knew he had to be the one behind all these Arrancar attacks, after such a long period of radio silence; he had the Hogyoku in his possession and only that would have allowed him to flawlessly shatter the masks of so many Menos-level Hollows—had to have known about Ichigo's inner Hollow, had to have been filled with a burning curiosity at the idea and once he was ready taken matters into his own hands and kidnapped him to use him as a test subject. In many ways, Ichigo was simply a more 'advanced' version of the Vizards Aizen had made all those years ago, with both halves cleaner and more thoroughly blended.
Kisuke mentally kicked himself. Of course Aizen would want to study Ichigo. He'd been dormant for fourteen months, and everyone's guards had slowly come down. He should have known better, should have been watching Ichigo like a hawk in case something like this happened. He may have been exceptionally powerful and notably skilled, but he was still little more than a child. But no, Aizen had deployed an excellent distraction after over a year of radio silence and caught everyone off balance, swooping in to snatch his prize out from everyone's noses.
He'd been extremely naïve and foolish, and now Ichigo was going to pay the price for it.
Kisuke grabbed another fistful of crabs, hoping the crunching would distract him from his mistake.
It didn't.
"You will follow me, Kurosaki."
Ichigo just stood there, stock-still, not wanting to give up any more ground to Aizen than he already had. He stared angrily at his captor, trying to channel every ounce of the rage he felt into a burning glare.
Aizen was thoroughly nonplussed by his prisoner's admittedly pitiful show of rebellion.
The truth was, with Zangetsu gone and his spiritual pressure virtually nothing, there wasn't much left that Ichigo could do to stand up to Aizen. He was certainly competent in the art of kicking and punching assholes unarmed, but he got the distinct feeling that Aizen would be quite immune to such mundane forms of attack.
To follow would be to admit defeat, though, and Ichigo absolutely refused to show the man such a display of weakness.
"I was not aware that you are hard of hearing, Kurosaki. You will come with me."
Aizen started walking a slow circle around Ichigo, his face still eerily calm. He held his hand out and brushed his fingertips across the stone band that still clung to Ichigo's wrist as he passed; the brush quickly became a firm grip, however, digging the bracelet's hard edges into Ichigo's skin.
"The sooner you learn to listen to what I say to you, the easier your time here in Las Noches will be. Do you understand me?"
Aizen's voice was dry ice, burning Ichigo with his simple expectation for him to obey. Ichigo was not going to bow down and take orders from a sadistic man like Aizen. Not if he could help it.
Although, maybe my time for that passed when I agreed to come with Ulquiorra.
Aizen applied gentle pressure to Ichigo's wrist, slowly but surely pulling him in the intended direction. It was an unpleasant decision, and it felt like he was giving up too much of his autonomy already, but Ichigo resigned himself to walking along behind, his feet moving to make sure he didn't end up dragging behind Aizen on the floor. As much as he loathed cooperating, the idea of being dragged appealed to him even less.
The room Aizen led him to was sterile white, barren of any character and any normal furnishings aside from a single cot off-center in the middle of the room, white stone cuffs placed on the side. The sight would have been harmless enough anywhere else, but when taken in context of the room it was in Ichigo had to suppress a shudder.
Lining the walls were several countertops, the exact same shade of blinding white as the rest of the room that meant Ichigo didn't notice them until the unnervingly cold light glanced off something silver and sparkled, drawing his attention sharply to the array of surgical implements lined up on all three of them, lurking on every wall except the one with the door.
A flight instinct rose in Ichigo, tightening his muscles in preparation to bolt the minute he got the chance. Had Aizen's grip not been so firm, and his spiritual pressure not been so heavily reduced, he would have made a run for it right then and there. Aizen had said he was going to make him into a weapon, and the selection of tools in the very first room he found himself in were doing an all too good job illustrating what the process of becoming one might be.
His options ran out all at once with the door slamming shut behind him and the loud click of a lock sliding in place. It was followed by another, underlining how little Aizen apparently trusted him.
"Is this the new toy?"
Ichigo had never been so disgusted by a person just from hearing their voice before. He hadn't seen the face of the person it belonged to, but the very words they spoke brought revulsion.
"Oh, he'll be fun to play with, won't he?"
A sadistic Arrancar strode into Ichigo's line of vision, hot pink hair so fluorescent in the lighting that it made his eyes hurt and smile so savage that it filled him with fear for his life. His golden eyes glinted like malice behind narrow white glasses, seemingly anticipating ten different ways to disembowel his newest plaything.
Ichigo had seen and been through a lot in his life, but this man—this Arrancar—terrified him in a way he hadn't been since he was a little child, watching his mother be run through by Grand Fisher. This Arrancar made him feel helpless.
Ichigo hated feeling helpless.
"Thank you, Lord Aizen. I can imagine we'll have a great time together, won't we?" The pink Arrancar started circling around Ichigo, his view unobstructed now that Aizen had let his wrist go and taken a few steps back.
"He's pretty!" The voice came from behind him, deranged.
Out of nowhere Pink Arrancar stuck his head out next to Ichigo's, sticking his tongue straight out into the air. The action made Ichigo jump about two inches off the ground, backwards into Pink Arrancar's body, who wasted no time in taking his shoulders and dragging him closer into his face. His tongue was still hanging out of his mouth, and he inched it towards Ichigo's face and drug it across his cheek. Ichigo struggled and tried to pull away, but Pink's grip was quite strong and his own strength was still suppressed. Instead, Pink simply forced him closer until their noses were almost touching and his tongue made a thorough investigation of his cheekbones.
Ichigo couldn't hide his fearful trembling anymore, even though he wished he could.
"I didn't expect to see you scared so soon, Kurosaki," Aizen commented nonchalantly from across the room. "You'll prove far easier to mould than I expected."
"Mould?" Ichigo's voice went up to a shriek as Pink's tongue wet the tip of his nose. After this he thankfully did pull it back, but his grip did not lessen no matter how much he strained to break it, simply migrating down to his hands like some cruel mockery of affection.
"Aizen, let me go home, you sadistic bastard!"
"Tsk, tsk. I thought Ulquiorra made that very clear, Kurosaki." Aizen inclined his head slightly in Pink's direction. "Let him loose, Szayelaporro."
Pink—Szayelaporro—seemed reluctant to let Ichigo free, but he still did, the indents of his fingers visible on Ichigo's pale and shaking hands.
"Don't think that the threat no longer stands just because you are here in Hueco Mundo, Kurosaki. The underlying conditions are the same: you stay here, my Arrancars leave Karakura alone and your loved ones are able to live out their lives happy. You break out of Las Noches? Well, there's nothing stopping me from sending Ulquiorra out and killing them all. I could turn their spirits into Hollows, too. The Hogyoku allows one to do wondrous things, once the main body is dead. I can imagine the process would be very painful indeed. Imagine finally seeing—what is the name of that Quincy boy you love? Uryū?—again, only ravaged by hollowfication and unable to remember who you are. Perhaps Szayelaporro could find room for him and your sisters among his servant Arrancars."
Ichigo ground his teeth, fully aware that Aizen's threats were not idle and that it was more than within his capabilities to do so.
"These are the terms of your agreement here. Do you understand?"
Ichigo nodded, willing himself to stand strong and not slip up. His weakness could not result in a cruel end for everyone else.
"Before we proceed, Kurosaki, there are a few things I need to clear up. I fear that you do not fully grasp your current situation, so let me spell it out for you. It's a lot to digest, I know, but do try to keep up."
A lump formed in Ichigo's throat in dread of what Aizen was going to say next.
"Your life will not be the same now that you are here in Las Noches with me. Before, you were used to running around on your own whims, acknowledging rules only when you felt like it. This is not how things work in Las Noches. When I say 'jump,' I expect your response to be 'how high.' Insolence will not be tolerated. Repeated flaunting of the rules will be appropriately punished. This is not Karakura Town anymore. Your margin for error here is significantly smaller than the pathetically forgiving one you're used to. In exchange for the safety of your loved ones, I expect your complete compliance."
It felt like a practiced speech, one that Aizen had written and edited and maybe practiced in the mirror a few times before Ichigo had woken up to ensure maximum intimidation.
Ichigo hated to admit that it was working.
"As of this moment, Ichigo Kurosaki, you are now under my dominion like any other Arrancar would be. You are mine. You are my experiment. You belong to me. You are no longer a Soul Reaper, substitute or otherwise. You are—or will be—an Arrancar, one of my finest, once I'm done with you. You are mine."
Chills raced down Ichigo's spine and gooseflesh rose on his skin at the words.
Aizen took a single step towards his prisoner, the clatter of his sandals filling the sudden silence of the room.
"Szayelaporro, would you please get the collar while I finish debriefing Kurosaki here?"
"Of course, Lord Aizen," Szayel purred, false honey grating on Ichigo's ears. He quickly left, leaving Ichigo to use all his self-restraint he had and more to not jump when the door slammed.
"Have I made your situation clear enough, Kurosaki?"
"What's all this about a collar?"
"I would think it was obvious."
"Sorry if this counts as 'subordinance,' but it's not." Ichigo's show of bravado was a desperate attempt to cover up the increasing dread building in the pit of his stomach.
"You're a wild card, Kurosaki. Your spiritual pressure levels are incredible, but I cannot trust that you'll keep yourself in check. I hope to, in time, but for now I need to ensure that you behave within Las Noches' walls. This collar, in conjunction with the bracelet on your wrist, is specifically designed to dampen your pressure and make sure you toe the line. I can't have my little pet Arrancar misbehaving, now can I?"
"I'm not your pet, Aizen. And I'm not a Hollow, either."
"Is that so?" Aizen cocked an innocent eyebrow. "A rather strange claim to make for someone with a Hollow inside him, now isn't it?"
His words were like icy cold droplets of water trickling down the back of Ichigo's spine. Zangetsu's Hollow nature had been sealed inside his zanpakuto for so long, he had almost—not forgotten it, but pushed it to the side of his mind. He didn't use his Hollow powers.
But of course, Aizen knows about them. All at once the betrayal at Sogyoku Hill came flooding his mind, as crisp as if it had only happened yesterday. He'd been out of control, baring his dirty little Hollow secret to Byakuya and anyone else that may have stumbled by.
Naturally, since apparently Aizen knew everything about everyone, he was aware of Ichigo's (not so) well-kept secret. And this fact shed a sudden ray of light on his current situation, illuminating it in startling clarity.
He didn't have a proper response, so he just stood there stiffly, waiting for the next horrifying comment Aizen would make, but it never came.
Instead, Aizen unsheathed his zanpakuto, letting the dead light of the room flicker across his blade as he moved it, little diamonds of light dancing across the floor. He murmured something under his breath that Ichigo couldn't make out, sending a little shiver of light flashing across its blade that was gone as quickly as it came. Striding towards Ichigo he held it bared, the tip eventually resting on the black sleeve of his shihakusho. Every muscle in Ichigo's body was corded tight, prepared to retaliate if Aizen made a move.
He didn't, though; at least not in the way he'd been anticipating. The blade's tip simply dragged along the inside of the cloth, picking at the individual threads and pulling them.
"This is a Soul Reaper's uniform, Kurosaki."
"Yes." Surely it had to be a rhetorical question.
He put more pressure into the sharp tip, piercing a hole through to the other side.
"Now, what would an Arrancar be doing with this?"
"I'm…" Ichigo's voice faltered.
"You're what?" Aizen pushed, turning the hole into a gash along the cuff. He kept going.
"Not an Arrancar."
"Is that so?" Honey laced his response, false honey that left a bitter taste in its wake. His zanpakuto switched to an overhand grasp and slid gracefully up the length of cloth that made Ichigo's sleeve. In a few places, it pricked tiny beads of blood.
"I'm not an Arrancar!" Ichigo's statement was stronger now, pulling away his arm from Aizen's slow taunting. He was quickly thwarted, however, when the sudden motion brought his arm in contact with the blade. The cut it created ran deeper, gushing fresh blood that rolled down his arm in a single crimson rivulet.
"You would do well to remember that resisting will only make things worse for you."
Aizen's left hand found purchase on Ichigo's wrist again, locking it tightly in place as he resumed his slow tearing of the cloth. He was dragging it out, seemingly revelling in the slow process of stripping Ichigo of the last remnants of his Soul Reaper title.
Not the last, he told himself firmly. I still have Zangetsu.
Never mind that he still didn't know where Zangetsu was in all this.
Aizen had reached the arm seam, and had started to rip the sleeve off. He accomplished this surprisingly fast considering the pace he'd been going at before, and before long a limp piece of black cloth fell to the floor, baring Ichigo's arm to the room and its collection of tiny cuts.
Aizen simply tilted his head to the side, an artist determining what to add next to his painting. It didn't take him too long, however. In just five clean cuts, the front of the uniform was in carefully destroyed tatters that he was able to pull away and let drop to the floor. Each one in their haste had passed through the fabric to pierce Ichigo's skin, his wounds a pattern showing their angle and direction in literal painful detail. His other sleeve slipped to the floor with a sixth.
His sash succumbed to Aizen's will in a single cut, leaving room to rip his hakama apart and throw the pieces on the floor, looking like Uryū's sewing projects did before he began to pin them together.
Ichigo was laid bare in the center of the room now, painfully aware of his sudden vulnerability and thanking anyone who would listen that his spirit form was sexless. Even as it was he could feel the eyes on him, sizing him up like a hunk of clay ready to be sculpted.
Aizen looked up and down at his prey appraisingly, a horrible smile growing at the corners of his mouth.
"This is much better, Kurosaki. Can't you see? We can't have an Arrancar walking around Las Noches in a black shihakusho, of course. I'm sure you understand. Hollows and Soul Reapers have an animosity towards one another, and to do so would immediately present you as a target. But now, you're free of that burden. Isn't it wonderful, to be unfettered?"
"I'm not free," Ichigo snarled, getting a sudden rush of instinct to bare his teeth that he could not hold down. "You're holding on to one wrist and on the other, you've sealed all my power away. Don't give me your 'unfettered' bullshit."
Aizen simply laughed. "Your denial is hilarious, Kurosaki. You scream to me that you are a Soul Reaper, free of even a single drop of Hollow; and yet here you are baring your teeth to me like some kind of wild animal. You are far more Hollow than you know. I can show you how to control it. It's not something to be sealed away. It should be embraced, a part of who you are. You should be proud to be an Arrancar."
A single brown lock fell loose in front of Aizen's cold eyes, and Ichigo chose it as his target instead of anywhere else. Those eyes were making animal instincts and fear he wanted to keep buried rise up, threatening to swallow him whole.
Maybe Ichigo really was a Hollow at heart, at least partially, but he refused to admit it or even give the possibility any serious thought.
Aizen let go of his wrist finally, taking a few slow steps back.
"You will accept yourself as an Arrancar, Kurosaki. It may take time, but I believe it will be more than worth the wait."
He clicked his fingers loudly, the sudden sound making Ichigo jump.
"Szayelaporro, could you please get me this Arrancar's zanpakuto we relieved him of earlier?"
Ichigo hadn't even noticed him coming back in, he'd been so distracted with the slow deconstruction of his clothing.
A twisted smile split his face at the request. "With due haste, Lord Aizen."
He turned to a small counter at the side of the room, his back turned to Ichigo as he bent down to pick something up.
He came back holding out a shape that was achingly familiar to Ichigo, wrapped in white cloth that dangled from the hilt to the floor.
"Rather cumbersome, isn't it?" Aizen sounded mildly interested as he took Zangetsu from Szayelaporro, finding the end of the cloth wrapper and slowly unwinding it. Every instinct in Ichigo's body was straining against his better judgement to not attack someone of Aizen's power level unarmed and drained of spiritual pressure, but it was difficult. He was touching Zangetsu. The sight made him sick to his stomach.
He took his time on the unwinding, evidently sensing how tense it made Ichigo and milking it for every drop he could get. The cloth was left to drop to the floor when it was done, discarded.
When he finished unravelling Ichigo's most prized possession, Aizen held Zangetsu up to the light, examining it as if it was a particularly interesting scientific specimen.
"So this is the manifestation of your soul, Kurosaki?"
"Let it go, you bastard." Ichigo wasn't able to hold his contempt in anymore, tensing in preparation for a lunge to knock Zangetsu out of his hands.
He doesn't deserve to touch him.
"Why should I? If it's yours, that makes it mine by extension. Remember, Kurosaki? You are mine. And so is your zanpakuto."
"Not. Yet."
Ichigo suddenly sprang up, aiming directly for Aizen's outstretched hand.
Before he could make it, however, he was intercepted with a slash of cold metal across his arm.
Startled, he stumbled back and watched as a bit of blood spilled from the cut and onto the white floor.
Staring at Aizen, Ichigo saw what had slashed his arm open.
And it sent pure, cold horror surging through his body.
Aizen had used his own zanpakuto against him.
"You won't be needing this anymore. My Arrancars have no use for such a pathetic little homemade zanpakuto."
Aizen's left hand grabbed the tip of Zangetsu's blade, holding it bared in front of him for Ichigo to see clearly.
"You are mine, Kurosaki, subject to my whims. And I say that you no longer need this." A surge of spiritual pressure came from Aizen suddenly, filling the room with a heady smell of water lily and a suffocating feeling to rival being underwater. Ichigo had never felt such an overwhelming level of spiritual energy from anyone before, and the intensity of it was clouding his mind and making his thoughts foggy. As was probably intended, he was out of it enough that it took him a few seconds to register the horror of what happened next.
Sosuke Aizen snapped Zangetsu down the middle, letting each half shatter into more pieces from the initial crack, the lifeless shards of metal falling to the floor.
When the spiritual pressure receded and time started to flow normally again, the impact hit Ichigo all at once like a brick to the chest, the sudden loss rendering him speechless and knocking him prone. How could something so precious to him, such a vital piece of who he was, be destroyed so easily? It had been one thing when Byakuya had severed his borrowed sealed blade; but this was his true zanpakuto, his shikai, broken like a stick over Aizen's knee. Zangetsu was a key component of what constituted Ichigo Kurosaki. Now that it was so irrevocably gone, what—where—who—did that leave him?
Ichigo was so dumbfounded that he couldn't bring himself to look away from the shards of his soul on the cold, unsympathetic white ground in front of him, black and silver and mixed with the red of his own blood. More signs of life and heart than Hueco Mundo had seen in decades.
He didn't even have the strength to fight back when Aizen took steps towards him, or even protest when he felt the cold, cruel hand nestle under his chin and finally wrench his gaze away from the broken pieces of his zanpakuto to meet Aizen's brown eyes, completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
A cruel smile curved the corners of his mouth, his eyes setting into an expression that Ichigo could firmly identify as satisfaction at causing him so much pain.
"Do not worry. I will give you a new sword. You did not need that remnant of your old life. Your new sword will be so much grander, befitting of one of my esteemed Espada."
"I…" Ichigo's mouth struggled to sound out the words he wanted to say, still weak and reeling. "I'm…not a Hollow…"
"But you will be."
"No…" The word died in his throat.
"From this moment forth, you are no longer Ichigo Kurosaki."
A cold stone suddenly gripped his neck, the collar he had fought so hard against taking advantage of his shock to seize its chance, sliding shut around its target. The cold drew what little warmth that was left in his body away, leaving him feeling more vulnerable than he had in a very long time.
Insuring that Ichigo, now nameless and broken-souled, would not dare disobey Lord Sosuke Aizen.
And in that very moment, Ichigo felt so dead inside he didn't know if he had the strength left in him to do so.
Directly following the collar was a syringe of some sort, sliding into Ichigo's arm with a slight pinch. It came from behind, likely from Szayelaporro.
At first Ichigo felt nothing, wondering if perhaps it had been simply a trick to get him more wound up. But then he started to feel weak, like his legs were going to drop out from under him. The spirit energy coiled deep inside him started withering away, cracking and falling apart into the chasm that had seemingly opened under his feet, where he knew he would never see it again. It was a nauseating process, and by the time the void had closed and his power had been at least halved he was shocked that he was still standing up. In a manner of speaking, anyway, as in his distress he'd fallen forward onto Aizen. He pushed himself away as soon as he could, disgusted by the contact but stumbling on his step back. The sudden loss of so much power had unbalanced him though, and Aizen took advantage, catching him and lifting Ichigo's chin up again, brown and amber eyes meeting in contrasting satisfaction and contempt.
"That's much better, now isn't it? No more Soul Reaper trappings to hold you down. Now you can be who you were truly meant to be. Isn't that wonderful?" He drew his thumb along Ichigo's cheekbone, the look on his face one of a sculptor admiring the newest hunk of clay for them to work.
"From this day forward, you will now be known as Ibara Tamashii. My newest Arrancar."
Author's note: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to follow if you want to find out what happens next.
Sneak preview: the next chapter's title will be 'Quincy Archer Loves You.' :)