Chapter One: 'Riven'
The gaze Ichigo fixed on the printed target was piercing. If eyes could rip through paper the target would be lying inert on the floor in shreds.
"What I want you to do is aim directly at the center of the target, with as little spillover as possible. Conserve energy, kid. Don't make your release any larger than it needs to be."
Ichigo nodded, feeling the tingling energy gather at his fingertips, pure pulsing light. He cast a brief glance over at Shinji, who was looking at him with a mildly interested expression.
"Don't look at me! Look at the target. I'd rather not accidentally end up on the receiving end of one of your releases, if you don't mind."
Taking his advice Ichigo began to focus on the golden bullseye on the paper target Shinji had tacked up on the metal wall, narrowing his focus until there was nothing else but it in his mind. A small orb of golden energy gathered in the palm of his right hand, blackening as he prepared to strike.
Of course, the orb's size wasn't consistent: it sputtered and grew to almost twice its original size by the time it left Ichigo's hand, hitting the predetermined target with a loud crack.
The paper printout was smoking now, not just the bullseye but half the rings consumed and blackened by the impact.
Shinji let out a rustling sigh. "I was hoping to not end up with another dent in the wall today, but no such luck. Sometimes I wonder if you even remember anything I tell you."
"I was fucking trying, you know. Sometimes my ability just doesn't listen."
"Obviously you're trying, but that doesn't change the fact that you've gotten nowhere. I've taught you the pinprick method, the trickle method, and now the stabilizer method. And each one just leads to more destruction of property."
"I thought that's why we were practicing in an abandoned warehouse."
"It is, but I can't help but get the feeling that I'm wasting my time when I see displays like that," Shinji said with a gesture to the smoking crater Ichigo had made in the wall.
"We could just practice speed enhancement or healing today," he said, watching the remaining energy wind up his arm in a golden lattice. "At least then you know I won't blow anything else up."
"You're already good at those. There's no point in practicing something you're already perfectly capable of when there's something you're failing miserably at to work on."
"Fine, then maybe we can just finish the session with some experimenting. You said yourself that there's probably still stuff I can do that we don't know about yet."
"We'll have time to experiment once I can safely assure your father that you're not a liability that could lead to accidental destruction of property or federal containment," Shinji told him, although he didn't sound particularly pleased with the assignment. "Need I remind you that the reason we're here at all, why I was hired to be your tutor in the first place, is because your ability is considered unstable and we need to make sure you can keep it under wraps. I know you're all too aware of what happens to people like us when we can't properly control ourselves."
Despite himself Ichigo shivered. The general public wasn't particularly kind to those who possessed abilities like theirs, but the two sides found themselves a stalemate between the typicals' numbers and the power of those referred to by the general public in hushed whispers as 'other,' or in more proper and refined cirles as 'sui generis,' the latter being the official and scientifically correct term for the subspecies of people like Ichigo and Shinji, even if they usually just called themselves the 'gifted.' A mature, well-controlled gifted individual didn't have much to fear from the typical people around them by pure virtue of fear. However, there were still a sizable amount of young gifted still grappling with their power that were taken away from their homes and families under the pretense of being a threat to the public. They tried to avoid mentioning such cases on the news, but growing up in a family of gifted had made Ichigo all too aware of when it happened. The targets were usually like him, young and headstrong and barely able to restrain their latent power. Most of the time they were let out after a few years, scared straight and with their ability having been medically restricted to half or less its original strength. No one ever talked about what exactly happened during those times, but he didn't want to find out. Ichigo was all too aware that if he kept up like this, wild and uncontrollable and blowing things up by accident, the more likely it was he'd be jumped in a sidestreet somewhere in Karakura by a secret government task force for being a national security risk, coming back in his early twenties (if he was lucky enough to come back at all) as a husk of himself. That was why he was having sessions with Shinji.
"Yeah. It's just frustrating." Despite himself a little flash of black shot from his right index finger, landing on a cracked piece of concrete floor and damaging it further.
"And things like that have me worried. How about we absorb the leftover energy and try again, okay? Then we can start again with a smaller amount and work on making sure nothing from your reserves leaks through to cause unnecessary collateral damage."
"My ability is unnecessary collateral damage," Ichigo muttered under his breath, hoping Shinji couldn't hear. He did, however, and cuffed Ichigo on his tapered ear.
"Now, I don't want to hear any more of that, ya hear? Being down on yourself and hating your ability is only going to make the situation worse. You can't control it if ya don't love it."
Ichigo had a love-hate relationship with his ability. It felt right on an intrinsic level to use it, feeling the energy pulse through his body; but at the same time he lived in fear of accidentally losing control and hurting someone he loved. He wasn't even allowed to use it in general public until he was an adult and fully in control, even if his useful healing ability was far more refined than his blasts were.
"I do love it, it's just…" Ichigo trailed off, not quite sure how to verbalize his complicated feelings on the subject. "Sometimes I just get scared of it."
"I understand," Shinji said sympathetically. "But try to harness that fear into learning how to use it properly, all right?"
"I'll try."
"Don't try. Just do it. I believe in ya, kid. Go on, want to give it one more go?"
Ichigo let out a heavy sigh. "Sure."
"All right. Absorb what you've got on hand right now and I'll get you just a small amount to work with this time, okay?"
Shinji walked across the room to get something, leaving Ichigo to take the energy humming and coiling around his right hand into his own personal store, something that had been growing since his fourteenth birthday when he'd first discovered what it was he could do. Simply absorbing was one thing he had become much better at with practice. With a few slow breaths he could feel it seep through his skin and track its way up through his veins into the core of his energy that sat just above his heart, thrumming and assimilating itself into the mass. The larger it got, the better and stronger he felt in general, or at least that was the theory. He'd been feeling like shit the last few weeks even with a highly charged core, but that was likely just the unseasonably warm summer and looming stress of learning to control his ability leading to his lacklustre sleeps. His sore muscles and increased appetite on the other hand were probably from some sort of last-minute growth spurt, and hopefully they'd be gone in a couple months' time. He couldn't deny he'd be grateful to see the back of those.
Shinji came back over carrying a battery-powered fan, setting it down between them with a loud thunk. Knowing the drill all too well by now Ichigo sat crosslegged in front of it, welcoming the cool movement of air as his mentor switched it on. Gently he closed his eyes, holding his right hand out in front of the air current and focusing.
"Remember, just a trickle. We don't want as much energy as you'd usually be putting into those strikes of yours."
Nodding slightly he continued to focus, feeling the slight kinetic motion of the air resonate against his skin, narrowing his focus to the vibrations in time with his own. Drawing such small amounts of energy had become almost second nature to him after two years, and in no time he could feel a small rivulet of concentrated energy brushing against the palm of his hand.
"Good." With a click Shinji turned the fan off. "That shouldn't be too destructive, even in your hands."
Ichigo stood up and aimed at the next paper printout target, gathering the energy from the fan into the palm of his hand again. With a tickle his own internal store nudged him, encouraging him to increase the intensity of the strike, but using his willpower he shoved it down, instead releasing the small black streak of energy directly towards the target where it landed firmly, only a bit of diagonal spillover into the red.
"Now that was much better. Good job, kid. Knew ya had it in ya." Shinji gave Ichigo a hearty slap on the back. "Keep it up like this, and you'll be able to use your ability freely once you hit eighteen. Won't that be nice?"
"Yeah." The idea of not having to hide his true self was definitely one Ichigo relished. It was tiring, having to pretend like he didn't have an ability to everyone but his friends and family all the time. Sure, people around might sometimes guess as much—his fauve red hair and pointed ears did him no favours in the masquerade of being normal, but in the grand scheme of it all his appearance still paled in comparison to some of the other gifted he knew, bright hair and eye colours marking them for what they were and many of them sporting ears like his own.
"You know, sometimes I find myself counting down the days before I can apply for a license to use my ability in public. Yeah, I know it means then they have all my data and everything and can assess my threat level, but it gets so tiring sometimes. I can only use it here, at my house, and Kaien's apartment when I go to visit. I'd just like to be able to be myself for once."
Shinji nodded. "It's tough, having an ability at this age. But you're tough too, kid. I have faith that you'll be fine. Who knows, you might even be one of the finest gifted of your generation." He smirked a little, and Ichigo awkwardly ran his fingers through his hair. "I wouldn't go that far, Shinji. I mean, come on. I'm sixteen and I can barely restrain myself from blowing a hole in the wall of this warehouse."
"Your ability is extremely rare. I've never met anyone gifted with something like Energy Transfer before. Plus, you're a very determined young man. I wouldn't put anything past you."
Briefly Shinji pulled out his phone to check the time and let out a sharp whistle. "Hey, Ichigo, didn't you say you had a doctor's appointment at five?"
He'd truthfully almost forgotten, so absorbed in his attempts to not blow the building sky-high. "Yeah."
"Well, you'd best get going. It's quarter to."
"Shit!" His words registering all at once, Ichigo scrambled to grab his bag from where he'd set it against the wall, nearly spilling the contents in his haste. "Sorry, Shinji, I really do need to get going, can we continue this tomorrow?"
Shinji shrugged. "Your father paid me for four hours this week. Doesn't matter when they happen, as long as they do."
"Thanks—really, thanks, that's the best I've done in a long time," Ichigo babbled, scrambling to the exit while giving his mentor an awkward wave.
"It is. Same time tomorrow, then?"
"Sure!" Ichigo called as he slipped out the warehouse door and onto the nearly deserted sidewalk, starting to powerwalk in the direction of his obligation to make sure he wasn't late. He was hardly paying attention to his surroundings, running off of pure adrenaline and the pulsing orb of energy in his chest.
Ichigo was only snapped back to reality when he felt himself collide with a passerby in his hurry, jamming his bag into his side.
"Sorry," he muttered, brushing himself off and feeling a little bit sheepish for his haste. He turned around and couldn't suppress his small gasp of shock, however, when he saw the face of who he'd bumped into.
Perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a muzzle as opposed to a face; the man looked at him with baleful grey eyes above a protruding canine nose.
"It's no problem," the wolf-man said with a casual shrug. He seemed rather unbothered by Ichigo's stare, something he only realized he was doing after several more awkward seconds and wrested his gaze away and continued his powerwalk to his appointment.
It was rude to stare at those that had been cursed. Ichigo knew that, tried not to be, but sometimes it was difficult to remember that people like that walked freely among society. He tried not to think of them as freaks, knowing that it wasn't polite to do so and that the 'affected' didn't approve the terminology, but training yourself to view them otherwise was no easy feat; especially when considering their existence was part of why his own was so contested.
There were several kinds of curses that one could either inherit from a parent or receive directly, but one thing united them all: they all came at some point, whether now or ten generations ago, from someone gifted with a particularly powerful ability like Ichigo or Shinji's, who had learned how to twist their natural gift into a cruel form. It was a heavily taboo practice among most of the gifted for obvious reasons, but society at large didn't seem to pay that much mind; instead they looked at anyone who displayed their latent ability like they were going to snap and start cursing every typical in the vicinity. The existence of curses was the root reason Ichigo had been taught to cover up what it was he could do. Someone at his power level was absolutely capable of learning to curse, a warning flag to paranoid typicals, never mind that he had no intention of ever doing so. It was morally wrong, plain and simple, and besides: he knew that if his mother was still around she'd be ashamed of him if he so much as thought of doing it.
Some curses were relatively benign, or minor inconveniences to the recipient. Those you could walk by and never know there was something off-colour about them. Others were much more severe, such as recurring incurable health issues like migraines or difficulty breathing. By far the most notorious, however, and by a large margin the most difficult to hide, were transformative curses like the one the wolfman must have had. Ichigo didn't care to know much about how they worked, but knew enough details from his training. Coming down with one of those made you endure a painful transformation into something clearly other than human, far more so than any of the gifted were. They thankfully weren't particularly common, usually only affecting the gifted and being rare even among their numbers, but their presence still made him shudder sometimes. Somehow knowing he was capable of doing something as grotesque as that was much worse than the knowledge that he could blow up a small building with a flick of his wrist.
The waiting room of the small clinic Ichigo found himself in was colourless and sterile, lacking any ambient sounds except for the humming of the air conditioner and the gentle but incessant ticking of the beige clock hanging on the wall. There were no magazines laid out for waiting patients, but then again there was only one other person in the room, and she was so absorbed in her own tabloid magazine it seemed a bit of a moot point.
Casually Ichigo sat in the grey seat nearest the air conditioner, taking comfort in its constant humming and enjoying the cool air it output at such a short range. This summer seemed much hotter than normal, and he was willing to take whatever he could get.
Boredly he held his hand in front of the air current, taking what little energy trickled out and collecting it like dew on blades of grass. A tiny, almost minute strand of golden energy encircled his index finger from his endeavour, almost nothing in the grand scheme of his capabilities but a fun plaything nonetheless. He made it wind and coil around his hand like a benevolent dragon, feeling the slight tickle as it passed over his skin. It never got old, fidgeting with energy like that; and because this was a clinic specializing in the gifted he didn't feel the obligation to keep it under wraps. Before his ability manifested he would have been reading the book he brought, and if he was anywhere with typical people around he still would have. But in an environment like this, he felt like he was allowed to loosen up and play a little bit.
He was so distracted with watching the residual energy from the air conditioner coil around his finger like a snake he almost didn't hear the office's second in command call for him.
"Ichigo Shiba?"
Letting the golden serpent run up to his core, he raised his head to meet her friendly face framed by long lavender hair.
"Doctor Unohana will see you now."
He scrambled for his bag on the seat next to him and followed her down a small white hallway to the room at the very end. It was furnished with two plain chairs, a fancier rolling one, a sterile desk and a small cot: standard clinic fare that didn't suggest anything about the extraordinary nature of the patients.
Awkwardly Ichigo sat down on another one of the plain grey chairs, casting awareness around the room but finding it devoid of any major energy source aside from the squat computer sitting on the desk. He wasn't particularly good at absorbing electricity; kinetic and heat energy came far more naturally to his call. Sure, he could tap into his inner stores of energy to make another plaything, but he liked keeping that topped up for emergencies when he didn't have time to charge himself and letting it get too low always put him at risk of feeling a bit off. Someday he would have enough stored that it would no longer be a problem, but that was a way off. Instead he pulled out his book, letting it fall open with a satisfying crack of the spine and absorbing himself in the pages.
He wasn't sure how long it was before someone else entered the room, but he hadn't gotten very far in reading.
Doctor Retsu Unohana was, to those in the know, one of the finest doctors available in the modern era when it came to ability matters.
Of course, she wasn't the only doctor in the area with an ability; Ichigo's own father Isshin was, after all, a 'medical professional' of a sort by some unknown metric and the elder Ishida ran the main regional hospital. However the former was someone that Ichigo was hardly comfortable letting investigate him, and the latter kept his own ability firmly sealed away in order to maintain a public image; hence, he catered to the general public. Besides, he'd been coming to Unohana's for a yearly check-in since he was a toddler. He saw no reason to break the habit now.
Luckily, Ichigo had already done his blood testing the week prior, meaning that all he was really there for was getting the results. Ideally it should be an in-and-out-in-ten-minutes-or-less sort of situation.
"Good afternoon, young Shiba," Unohana said, not bothering to make eye contact and instead scuffling through the pile of papers on her desk.
"Good afternoon, Doctor Unohana," Ichigo said with a dip of his head, sliding the book back into his trusty black leather satchel.
"Ah, here we are." She must have found his results, because she stacked them together and turned around to face Ichigo for the first time, a curt but kind smile on her face. "I have the results from your recent test right here. First of all, I am pleased to inform you that on the regular health front you are perfectly clear of any issues. Your body appears to be running as smoothly as clockwork."
"That's good. Unohana." Ichigo let a small smile cross his face; as much as he trusted her professional skill and judgment he'd be lying if he said she didn't make him just a little bit nervous.
"The data regarding your ability and the additional biological features that mark you as one of the sui generis are also in order."
Good. He hadn't been worried, per se, but a medical appointment always brought with it a certain air of anxious dread. Although, he had the distinct sense that a but was coming, Unohana shuffling papers around as if there was more data on them that had yet to be revealed. This feeling only intensified when she pursed her lips, clearly preparing to say something else.
"Is…is that all?"
"Actually, I was going to ask you something." Unohana's voice was eerily calm.
"Yeah?"
"I presume you are familiar with transformative curses?"
The question rattled Ichigo a bit. Why would she ask about those of all things? The canid man's muzzled face briefly flitted through his mind but he pushed it away.
"Sure," he said slowly, wondering why she had chosen to bring such a random topic up. She held a paper firmly in her hands, nodding in confirmation to his words.
"Good. I expected as much. That means I do not need to explain the situation to you."
Explain? Panic rattled through Ichigo's skull at the choice of words. Why would she need to explain transformative curses to him?
"I am afraid that it appears that you possess a dormant transformative curse, one genetically inherited from your mother's side, that has recently decided to show itself."
At first, Ichigo didn't even register what she had said. It was as if his mind had miraculously let the sentence slide in ear and out the other without leaving an impression. What she had said…it wasn't possible. It was some sort of cruel joke, never mind that Unohana was always entirely professional and never went for such fool things as jokes, especially not on this scale.
"I'm sorry," he said, still struggling to process the words. "What…what did you say?"
"I understand this may be a bit of a shocking statement to you, especially as it has been dormant and undetectable up until now," Unohana told him, face still solid but slightly sympathetic.
"Shocking? I…" Ichigo had no idea how he was going to end that sentence, instead letting his gaze wander to the papered cot, unable to make eye contact. His thoughts drifted back towards the off-putting canid hybrid he'd walked past earlier. The thought of potentially ending up like that for the rest of his life (already likely to be long even among the gifted due to his ability) was simultaneously unbelievable and nauseating.
"I ran some additional tests while I was at it, being curious to see how far along it was. Luckily it seems to have just manifested quite recently, in the last six weeks. Have you been feeling strange at all?"
His recent increase in appetite and brief bouts of limb pain flashed briefly in his mind. "I guess I've not exactly been feeling great the last few weeks, but I wouldn't call it a curse. Just some sore muscles."
"Mmm," Unohana murmured as she took notes on a clipboard. "Anything else like severe recurring headaches or increased appetite?"
"I mean, I'm usually pretty hungry."
More notes. Suddenly one of the sparse pieces of knowledge Ichigo had regarding curses flitted through his head.
"Wait, aren't curses treatable or something? I've heard about people getting treatment right after getting cursed and nothing ever happens to them. There's some sort of pill you can give me that will stop the curse before anything weird happens."
Unohana shook her head. "The treatments available only work on those who have been cursed themselves recently, or an active blood curse detected at a young age. Yours was dormant up until a very short time ago, which means that it has already had sixteen years to take root. To attempt to remove it now would not only be an exercise in futility, it would also risk damaging yourself and your ability on a deep, permanent level. However, if it makes you feel better, I can give you a prescription for a medication that will slow down the process. With it, you should have a year at least before the curse is finished."
A year before he became an inhuman monster was hardly a consolation prize.
"I also have some further reading for you. I understand this must be quite overwhelming news, but perhaps being armed with as much knowledge as possible will be helpful in easing the situation."
She swivelled to the desk again, turning back with an armload of colourful pamphlets and papers that she deposited in Ichigo's lap.
He cast a cursory glance at the stack of pamphlets, reading the top orange one emblazoned with bright white letters: So you have an incurable transformative curse? Here are five ways to come to terms with the changes your body will undergo! Just underneath was a cartoon anthropomorphic purple falcon giving the reader a feathery thumbs-up.
Actually, he couldn't think of a less helpful pamphlet. Was that his only option? Just lie down and accept that he was destined to turn into a cursed freak? He shook his head. No. He wouldn't give in so easily.
"I also included the meeting times of a local support group for affected," Unohana said kindly. "I would highly recommend you stop in next time they meet. It may help you feel a bit better."
Ichigo nodded, but he wasn't really planning on it. There was no way he was going to attend a meeting like that. To do that would be as good as admitting this curse was inevitable.
"And I will be seeing you back here in six weeks to check back in." The tone in her voice invited no argument. "The journey you're about to undergo will not be easy, but as your doctor it is my responsibility to make sure it goes as smoothly as possible for your own sake."
Ichigo made haste to leave the office after this dismissal, haphazardly jamming the armload of papers into his black satchel underneath his book and spare sweater before anyone in the waiting room could catch a glimpse of what they were. Instead he kept his head down and walked firmly to the door, trying to ignore the cheerful ringing of the bell on his way out.
He strode quickly in the general direction of home, planning on making a quick detour first to the pharmacy to pick up whatever prescription Unohana had given him, mind reeling from the information he'd just been given. His mother had never shown any signs of a curse, but that didn't necessarily mean anything; blood curses were infamous for skipping a generation or five before rearing their heads. Then again, maybe she had been afflicted by the same curse, just been young enough to take the proper prevention steps.
The whole thing felt like a surreal experience, Ichigo half convinced that at any moment he'd wake up in his bed, the entire day having been nothing but a particularly vivid dream of the sort that might hang with you for a few hours after waking before it dissolved. There was simply no way that he was carrying a dormant blood curse.
Ichigo was out of it enough that he nearly walked into oncoming traffic twice, the angry squawks of car horns only briefly breaking him out of his daze. He wasn't exactly intending on getting himself run over, but the usual procedure of safety was far from the front of his mind. It was pushed even further four blocks from home when he caught a glimpse into what was now his own alarming future.
The same cursed canid as before was sitting on a bench, now, simply watching passersby with a slightly bored look on his face. Despite himself Ichigo stopped and stared for a while, grateful that his informational papers were tucked firmly away in his backpack.
The canid noticed him, looking up and giving him a little wave with claw-tipped hands. A sad little smile was on his muzzle-like face.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Ichigo dipped his head and began walking, trying to hide his reddening face behind his ginger fringe.
"Sorry," he murmured just loud enough that he hoped the canid could hear.
"No need to worry," was the breezy response. Ichigo flicked his gaze over and saw the look was genuine.
"Get that all the time, probably."
The canid shrugged, not seeming particularly bothered by it. "I got used to it a long time ago."
Nodding, Ichigo pulled his bag up higher on his shoulder and made haste back in the direction of home, trying not to think that it might be him in that position in the very near future.
There has to be a way out.