Warning: Darkness ahead! Warning, Darkness ahead!

No seriously, this chapter goes to some pretty dark even grim-dark places. It was bound to happen with this story, after all, the Dothraki are just comically evil and at one point or another, Ichigo, Yuzu and Karin needed to learn that. So again be warned:

Mentions of Assault, Gore and just generally horrific depravity ahead.

~XxX~

~A Song for the Reaper~

~XxX~

The tent was silent after Ichigo's last words, the weight of reality weighing down upon their shoulders.

Ichigo exhaled slowly, rubbing his face as if the motion could clear away the overwhelming situation he'd found himself in. His mind was a battlefield of warring thoughts—one part of him wanted nothing to do with this mess, to walk away and let the Dothraki solve their own problems. But another part, the part that had never once turned away from protecting those who couldn't protect themselves, knew he couldn't do that.

And that was the part that would win. It always did.

He looked over at his sister and saw it in their eyes, there was resolve there. The resolve to make a difference. It was innocent, not like the resolve he had but the twins wanted to do something to better these people.

Even if he suspected that they hardly deserved it.

Karin crossed her arms. "So, what now? It's not like they're going to just accept you because you beat their Khal. Even if they do, how do we stop them from acting like a bunch of rabid animals?"

Yuzu, sitting beside her, frowned. "If they only respect strength, how do we make them change? Can we?"

Sarea let out a sharp, derisive laugh, drawing the attention of all three siblings. She looked Karin and Yuzu up and down, her lip curling ever so slightly. "You speak of change as if your words mean anything. You wear soft fabrics, bright colors—ornaments better suited to the wives of a merchant than to any woman of worth."

Karin bristled. "Excuse me?"

Sarea did not so much as blink. "You talk as if you were men, as If you had any right to raise your voice as an equal. You are small, untested, and fragile. To the Dothraki, you are nothing more than property—a man's claim to wealth. You do not fight. You do not ride. You do not command. You exist to be given, to be taken, to be owned."

Yuzu stiffened, and Karin's face twisted in fury. "Like hell we are!" Karin snapped, fists clenched. "I'd rather die than let anyone own me."

Sarea only shrugged. "You have no say in it. That is the truth of the Great Grass Sea." Sarea's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "A woman among the Dothraki is property. She is taken, given, traded like a horse or a sword. If she is lucky, she belongs to a strong rider, one who will keep her fed and safe. If she is not—" She shrugged, as if the rest did not need to be said. "She is broken, and discarded."

Yuzu recoiled, "that's disgusting!"

Sarea tilted her head, "that is life." Her eyes narrowed as she beheld the two girls sitting on a pile of fur, their skin unblemished, their hair clean, their eyes bright, their clothes fine and comfortable compared to her rough dress, it was so unfair.

"You just think yourselves above them," Sarea deduced and chuckled yet there was no humor in her tone. "You think you can come here and fix them, talking as if you are better than them. But you know nothing. You are idealistic little girls who haven't yet been broken." Her voice sharpened, her eyes narrowing with a glint of something personal, something bitter. "I was five when I was sold. A good price, they said. Pretty face. I was ten when my first master decided I was old enough to serve in his tent. I was twelve when he traded me for a Dothraki horse." She leaned forward, voice low and sharp as a blade. "Where were your grand ideas of right and wrong then? Where was your brother when I screamed?"

Yuzu flinched as if struck, while Karin's hands curled into fists at her sides. "That's not fair," Yuzu whispered. "We—we didn't know—"

"You didn't have to." Sarea spat harshly, "you had him." She pointed at Ichigo who was silently seething, unbeknownst to anyone but the spirits within. "A strong man, giving you an easy life for weak little girls, and now you think you have the right to talk like you were men and his equal."

Ichigo clenched his jaw so hard it ached. His nails bit into his palms, his breath a slow, measured thing as the anger swelled in his chest like a roiling storm. Every instinct screamed at him to shut Sarea up, to tell her she was out of line, to defend his sisters from the venom dripping from her lips.

But he didn't.

Because she wasn't wrong.

They needed this. They needed to understand that words weren't enough, that change wasn't something they could simply demand. His baby sister, his beautiful strong and righteous sisters, wanted to go up against a culture of domination and wanton destruction, and they wanted to change those people.

And Ichigo knew enough about history that he could say that his sisters weren't really in the wrong. He didn't think that the Dothraki were any more savage than any other war like culture was on Earth. The thing with all people is, that they go as far as they were allowed too. As far as was expected off them, and in many cases, as far as they were ordered to go.

Genghis Khan famously ordered each and every one of his warriors to collect a certain number of heads, those that refused or failed were horrifically killed. Their own country of Japan committed some of the worst war crimes in human history, and those acts were committed by normal average men who were simply allowed to let loose.

And here they were, talking about changing a civilization, a people whose entire culture revolved around the strong being allowed to do whatever they damn well pleased…

Karin, however, was having none of it.

"Shut the hell up!" she snarled, lunging to her feet. She was furious, her body tight with barely restrained violence. "I don't give a damn what you think—what your twisted little world-view thinks—I'm not some piece of meat, and I don't need my brother to be there to be worth something!"

Sarea didn't even flinch. If anything, she looked amused, tilting her head like one might when observing a particularly stupid animal. "You believe your anger makes you strong? That your rage will protect you? That your barking makes you a warrior?" She chuckled, low and humorless. "Do you want to fight me, little girl? Is that it?"

Karin's hands curled into fists, her breathing sharp, unsteady. But before she could do anything reckless, Yuzu grabbed her arm, shaking her head. "Karin, stop." Her voice wavered, but her eyes were pleading. "This isn't helping. Fighting her won't change anything."

Sarea's gaze flicked to Yuzu, something unreadable in her expression. "At least one of you has sense."

Yuzu swallowed, struggling to meet her gaze. "I don't agree with you, Sarea. I refuse to believe that people can't change. That things can't be better." Her voice was soft but firm. "Ichigo isn't cruel like them. And the Dothraki—they can be more than what they are. Maybe it'll take time, maybe it'll be hard, but-"

Sarea cut her off with a laugh, sharp and hollow. "You think you know cruelty? You think you understand what you were spared from?" Her eyes darkened, and her lips curled into something ugly, something cruel. "Let me tell you what would have happened if your brother had fallen instead of Khal Drogo."

The air in the tent seemed to still, thick with something rancid, suffocating. The flickering torchlight cast jagged shadows, making the space feel smaller, as if the walls were closing in.

Ichigo was just about to raise his voice in protest when both of his spirits interrupted him. 'Don't interrupt her King. I know you want too, I want too as well, but the princesses need this. This isn't home. This isn't a manga, like Karin put it.'

'This is real.' Old man Zangetsu affirmed, 'our enemy is no corrupt Hollow, and for this battle you will not wield a Zanpaktuo as a tool of salvation which will send your prey onto a better place. Nor will you be fighting an enemy that is content with simply killing you. Losing this battle means facing a reality that is worse than death.'

'So let them hear it. Let the princesses understand the path they have chosen. This is something they need to hear, and they will be stronger for it, as will you. Because King, you too haven't fully grasped the situation you are in now. This time you are the King. A true King, and you should realize what that entails, and you can start by letting your sisters grow up.'

Sarea leaned forward, her voice dropping into a whisper, each word sharp enough to flay skin from bone.

"They would have taken you first, little Yuzu. You, with your soft hands and gentle eyes. They like to break the delicate ones first." Yuzu paled, but Sarea didn't stop.

"They would have torn your clothes from you before your brothers body even hit the ground. They would have held you down, laughing while you screamed, your face pressed into the dirt. The first would have been quick, eager. The second less so. The third would have taken his time. The rest would have lined up, waiting their turn."

Yuzu let out a strangled gasp, her hands flying to her mouth, her body trembling. Karin was seething in rage, and Ichigo...Ichigo was grinding his teeth hard enough that some cracked beneath the pressure.

Sarea turned to Karin next. "You?" She scoffed. "You would have fought. Kicked, bit, screamed. I know girls like you, trying to act like you were born with a cock. The Dothraki, they like that. It excites them." She leaned in, eyes gleaming. "They would have broken your arms first, just to watch you try to fight with nothing but your teeth. They would have taken bets on who could make you scream the loudest. And when they were finished? When they were done rutting into you like animals?" She tilted her head. "They would have given you to the horses. Just for fun."

Karin made a strangled noise, staggering back as if she'd been struck. Anger drained out of her, her face was frozen in horror.

"And after?" Sarea whispered, voice almost gentle. "After they tired of you, after they tore your bodies apart for their amusement? You would have been strung up on pikes at the edge of camp, a warning to any other women who thought they were more than property. Your corpses would have fed the carrion birds while the men feasted and fucked beneath you." She smiled wistfully, "if you ended up being one of the lucky ones. I've seen some who weren't."

Silence.

The tent was deathly quiet, save for the harsh, unsteady breathing of the sisters. Yuzu's eyes were brimming with tears, her body curled inward as if trying to make herself smaller, as if trying to disappear. Karin looked shell-shocked, her fury burned away, leaving only hollow horror in its wake.

Sarea sat back, her expression unreadable. "That," she said, voice devoid of emotion, "is what the Dothraki would have done to you. That's who they are."

She let the words sink in, let them fester, let them rot in the open air. Then, finally, she rose to her feet, looking down at them with something almost like pity.

"You are not men," she said, voice quiet, firm. "You are not warriors. You are not equals. You are meat. And the only reason you are still breathing is because your brother is strong enough to keep you that way."

She turned, moving toward the tent's entrance. "Pray that he stays that way."

~XxX~

Sarea stepped out of the tent and into the chaos of the shattered khalasar. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke, sweat, and blood, the remnants of a great horde now reduced to something wild and unruly. This was not silence, not grief—this was fury without direction, an army without a master.

Khal Drogo's khalasar had been one of the greatest in the history of the Dothraki, forty thousand warriors strong, and with them, over a hundred thousand followers—women, children, elders, slaves, and the herd of horses and drought animals that sustained the monstrous horde. Now, with the bloodriders and nearly half the warriors gone, what remained was a wounded beast, lashing out in all directions, trying to understand whether it had survived or simply been left to die.

Fires burned out of control in places, where drunken men had let them grow wild. Arguments turned to screaming matches, screaming matches turned to brawls, brawls turned into fights to the death. The metallic tang of blood filled the air as feuds that had been long buried under Drogo's rule now erupted unchecked. No one was stopping them. No one could.

The horses, the heart of the Dothraki, were restless. The herd had not been taken by the departing bloodriders—there were still tens of thousands of them, enough to shake the ground when they moved as one. But they had no master now. Some had been stolen in the confusion, others had been fought over. She could hear them shrieking in the distance, their uneasy whinnies echoing through the night. If this continued, the herd would fracture, and that would be the death of them all.

She turned her gaze toward the women. Some clung to their warriors, desperate for protection, while others watched with wary, calculating eyes, knowing that the balance of power had shifted, and with it, their own fates. Some of the slaves had already tried to run, and the bodies of those who failed were strewn near the edge of the camp, left as warnings. Others were being fought over, possessions now without an owner. Their screams blended into the night, another sound of suffering among many.

Children huddled near their mothers, eyes wide, watching as men who had once ridden together now fought with reckless abandon. Some wept. Some simply stared, already learning that this was their world now, where the strong did as they pleased, and the weak endured what they must.

Sarea's stomach twisted, but she forced it down. This was the truth of the Great Grass Sea. Without a Khal, the Dothraki were not a people—they were a storm waiting to consume itself.

And yet, amid the destruction, she saw the ones who were waiting. Warriors who had not joined the senseless violence, men who sat sharpening their arakhs, watching the madness unfold with cold eyes. They had not followed the bloodriders, but they had not pledged to Ichigo either. They were waiting to see what he would do. If he would rise. If he would fall.

A rough hand caught her wrist, yanking her from her thoughts. She spun, teeth bared, only to meet the hard stare of an older woman, her face lined with years of hardship.

"Foolish girl," the woman spat, her grip like iron. "You think your words matter?"

Sarea exhaled sharply. "They need to understand."

"We need a Khal," the woman snapped. She gestured around them, at the anarchy, at the ruin that had once been the greatest khalasar on the Great Grass Sea. "Without one, they will tear each other apart. And when the others return, they will slaughter what's left."

Sarea knew that. She had seen it before. She had survived it before.

Her gaze shifted toward the tent she had just left, toward the man who had slain a Khal and now hesitated to claim his victory.

If he did not act soon, he would not have a Khalasar left to rule.

Her gaze wandered once more, a cold pit forming in her stomach. In there, in the safety of Khal Drogo's tent, those foolish children talked about bringing forth change, and out here in the Chaos they wrought, hundreds suffered and died all the while...

~XxX~

Inside the tent, the silence was thick, pressing against the siblings like a weight.

Ichigo sat in Drogos's throne-like chair, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. His hands were still fists, his knuckles white with restrained fury. He forced himself to breathe, to push down the rage simmering beneath his skin. Now wasn't the time for anger. Now he had to be a brother.

Yuzu was curled in on herself, her shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands. Karin sat beside her, stiff and unyielding, but her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

Ichigo exhaled slowly and shifted forward, reaching out. Yuzu flinched at the touch, but when she realized it was him, she collapsed into his arms, her quiet sobs muffled against his chest. He held her tightly, his free hand reaching for Karin, but she jerked away, her fists clenching at her sides.

"This is bullshit," Karin muttered, her voice raw. "All of it."

Ichigo didn't disagree. He just held Yuzu tighter, feeling how small, how fragile she was in his arms. He had spent his entire life protecting them, keeping them safe. But here… here he wasn't sure if he could, at least not completely.

"Ichigo," Yuzu's voice was barely above a whisper, thick with unshed tears. "Is she right? Are we really… nothing here?"

Ichigo's grip tightened. "No," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. "You're my sisters. That means something. That means everything."

Karin's shoulders trembled, but she scoffed. "That's not enough." Wet tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "That's nothing. That's just what she said we are. Things. Yours to do with as you want."

Ichigo looked at her, at the fire still burning in her eyes despite everything. But she was right. And he hated that as much as she did.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he said. "I swear it."

Karin's lips twisted, torn between anger and something else, something vulnerable. She looked away, her hands still shaking.

Yuzu sniffled, her fingers tightening around his tunic. "I just… I don't understand how people can be like this."

Ichigo had an answer for that, and he knew his sisters did too. The Dothraki may have been worse than some cultures on Earth, but were they really? It was hard to tell through the lens of outsiders who were not there when the great empires of ages long past were at their greatest.

"People are shit." Karin said wetly, sniffling and wiping her nose and eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. "But I'll prove that bitch wrong. I'll make those horse fuckers respect me and not just because I'm your little sister, Ichi-nii."

"Is that really what you want?" Ichigo repeated his earlier question to them, "we can move on, there is nothing holding us here."

"No!" Karin shouted while turning to face Ichigo with an almost feral look to her. "Don't you hear the noise out there? Men shouting, women screaming, children crying, that's because of us! There are people out there, thousands of them, all facing death or worse because you one-shot their once in a life-time ruler, and now you want to piss off and hide in a ditch somewhere!? Why, because you want to save us from having our feelings hurt?"

"I—"

"No Ichigo, I'm not running!" Karin continued and Ichigo felt Yuzu too stop shivering against his chest before he felt the lighter haired twin pull away from him. "We have put ourselves into this mess, now we have to own up to it. I'm not...I couldn't live with myself if I simply walked away. I don't really care about the Dothraki anymore, but there are more normal, innocent people than there are horse fuckers and you know...we've just been told what they do to the innocent."

Yuzu nodded, still shivering and pale but she was standing tall and proud next to her sister. "Karin is right. We...you need to stop this Ichi-nii. You can stop them, and I still believe that you can change them, even if…" Yuzu gulped and shivered, taking Karin's hand into her own and squeezing it tightly. "...even if you need to be cruel to change them."

Ichigo ran a hand down his face. "This isn't as simple as just stepping up," he muttered. "These people don't listen to reason. They listen to strength, and I…"

"You beat Drogo in a fight," Yuzu interrupted, her voice firmer than before. "You killed him. You proved you're stronger. They have no reason not to listen to you."

Ichigo exhaled sharply through his nose. "That's not how it works."

"But it could be," Yuzu pressed, stepping closer, her hands balled at her sides. "You're right that they only listen to strength—but you have that strength, Ichi-nii! And if that's the only thing they understand, then use it! If you don't, then someone else will, and do you really think they'll care about the people suffering out there?"

Ichigo hesitated, glancing toward the tent's entrance, where the sounds of the camp's chaos still bled through. The screams. The fighting. The desperation. He could feel it weighing on him, pulling at something deep inside his chest. Yuzu was right—he could stop this. But at what cost?

"Ichigo…" Yuzu's voice was quieter now, but just as strong. "I know this isn't fair. I know this isn't what you wanted. But that doesn't change the fact that it's happening. If you don't act, people will die. Not just the warriors. The women. The children. The ones who have no say in what happens to them." She swallowed hard. "You wouldn't just walk away from them if this was Karakura, would you?"

Ichigo clenched his jaw. "No."

"Then don't walk away now."

Karin let out a harsh breath, rubbing her arms as if trying to hold herself together. "Yuzu's right," she muttered. "As much as I hate it, she's right. But…" Her expression twisted, her voice cracking. "What am I supposed to do? What can I do? I don't have your strength, Ichigo. I don't have Yuzu's hope. I just…" She sucked in a sharp breath and turned away, her arms wrapped around herself. "I feel useless."

Ichigo felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. Karin had always been tough, always acted like nothing could shake her, but he knew better. He could see the way she was holding herself, see the frustration boiling under her skin.

"You're not useless," he said firmly. "You never have been."

Karin scoffed, but it was weak. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

Ichigo opened his mouth, but Yuzu beat him to it. "Be angry," she said. "Be furious. Use that. We need you, Karin." She stepped forward, taking her twin's other hand. "I need you. I'm scared too, but we can't let that stop us!"

Karin looked to be hesitating for a moment before she nodded, her face firming up and her shoulders squaring back.

She looked at Yuzu and then at Ichigo, her eyes alight with determination. "Train me, Ichi-nii. Train me to be like you. I want to learn how to use a sword, I want to learn how to kill those who would try to enslave Yuzu and I. Train me."

"I'm not sure how much I can teach you, it's not like I have much formal training myself." Ichigo admitted yet didn't deny her.

"You did Karate for years, and you have been swinging that giant ass sword of yours at monsters for who knows how long, I bet you can teach me something. And I have enough Spiritual Power to see ghosts and hollows, that should count for something right?" Karin stated surely.

"Alright, but first things first, let's get that crowd under control and then we can talk about training."

Karin looked at her sister, then at Ichigo, then down at her shaking hands. Slowly, she tightened them into fists. "Fine," she muttered. "But I swear to god, Ichigo, if you are screwing with me, I'm kicking your ass."

Ichigo snorted. "Noted." He then looked at his sisters and then at the flaps of the tent, the only thing separating him from something he never ever thought he would be.

There was no running from this. Not anymore.

He had to step up.

He had to act.

Now.

~XxX~

The grass sea whispered of death. Endless fields of tall grass swayed beneath the twilight sky, rippling like water under a restless wind. The scent of horse and sweat hung thick in the air, the earth beneath their hooves beaten hard by countless riders. In every direction, the land stretched unbroken, a vast and merciless expanse where only the strong took what they could. The horizon blurred into green and gold, endless and unchanging. But tonight, it felt hollow, stripped of honor, heavy with mourning.

Their Great Khal was dead.

Rakharo rode at the head of his warriors, grief twisting in his gut like a blade. He was tall and lean, flesh hardened by years in the saddle, his face sharp with youth but his eyes old with knowing. The hooves of a thousand horses pounded against the earth, but there was no pride in their thunder, no victory in their wake. This was not a Khalasar riding to war. This was not the charge of men who took what they willed. This was exile. This was shame.

And all because of one man. One boy. One coward.

Khal Drogo was dead. Blood of his blood, taken. Not by a great rival. Not in battle, his arakh red with the proof of his strength. No, Drogo had been felled in a single stroke, like a calf to the slaughter. His death was too fast, too clean, too empty. He was struck down by a warrior who did not howl, who did not claim, who did not even take what was his by right.

Instead, the boy stood, like some witless lamb, staring at what he had done.

Rakharo's fingers clenched around his reins, his knuckles white with fury. He had ridden beside Drogo since he was a boy, had watched him rise from warrior to Great Khal, had seen men cower at the mere sound of his name. Drogo was no simple man—he was storm, fire, and blood, a hand that shaped the world to his will. His Khalasar swelled under his rule, his enemies crushed beneath his hooves. He took what he pleased, and none could stop him.

And now he was gone.

The Stallion Who Mounts the World, slain like some common beast. Slain by an outsider who did not know the ways of men.

A Khal who could not ride was no Khal. But a man who took a Khal's life and did nothing? That was worse. That was weakness. That was madness.

That boy had strength, Rakharo did not deny that, for denying it would insult Khal Drogo's memory even further. But what did he do with that strength? He took two pale, soft girls and fled with them, clutching them like stolen trinkets. He did not even know their worth. He did not understand. A Khal's slaves were shared with his bloodriders, to the warriors that would swear to him, that would call him blood of their blood. Yet this boy, this outsider horded them like a child clutching a bauble.

They were meant to fight and to revel!

Rakharo and the blood of his blood, Cohollo and Pono should have had the right to challenge this outsider! To claim retribution for Khal Drogo's death, to test the mettle of the one who was to call himself their Khal!

But they were denied their vengeance, and Rakharo would see the debt repaid in blood.

And so he rode with his host. Carrying word of the outsider far and wide so that no one may claim ignorance. He rode and he planned, thoughts of retribution and sorrow driving him forward.

For the blood of his blood.

~XxX~

Ichigo exhaled slowly, his fists clenching at his sides. He had made his decision.

It was time to act.

He pushed past the heavy flaps of Drogo's tent and stepped into hell.

The Khalasar was drowning in chaos. Smoke curled from burning tents, the acrid stench of smoldering hides thick in the air. The cries of the wounded and the wails of grieving women mixed with the furious shouts of men fighting for dominance. Horses screamed, rearing and kicking, their riders struggling to control them as the camp devolved into anarchy.

A man was being dragged through the dirt, his arms wrenched behind his back as warriors jeered and spat at him. He screamed something Ichigo couldn't understand before a blade slashed across his throat, his lifeblood spilling onto the dry grass.

Nearby, a woman was yanked from a tent, her shrieks cutting through the din as rough hands tore at her clothes. Ichigo's stomach twisted, his fingers itching for Zangetsu—except he had no sword, no power, nothing but his own strength. But that would be enough.

Children clung to their mothers, eyes wide with terror as warriors fought over the spoils left behind by those who had fled. A boy no older than ten tried to defend a goat with a rusted knife, only to be knocked aside by a boot to the chest. A younger child sobbed beside the lifeless body of what had once been his father.

Ichigo had seen war before. He had fought monsters, both human and otherwise. But this… this was something else. This wasn't battle. It wasn't even slaughter.

This was what happened when men had no master.

His jaw tightened. The Dothraki only followed strength. They had lost their Khal, and no one had claimed them. This was the result.

And it would not continue.

Ichigo stepped forward, his presence barely noticed amidst the carnage. He wouldn't be ignored for long. Not once he made himself known. Not once he made it clear that this chaos would end—because he would end it.

One way or another.

His voice cut through the madness like steel.

"Enough."

And along with his voice he let go of all the anger that had festers in his soul, that had churned in his gut. A heavy pressure was cast over the entire camp, and all became silent. From man, to woman, to child, and not even the herd of horses at the edge of the camp dared to make a single sound as the world bore witness to a power it could not understand, as the people and these animals before him came closer to what they could only know as god than they ever did before.

It was hurting his frail human body, each second he used his Reiatsu was like a lance straight to his chest, like a fire in his abdomen, and like a hammer to the skull, but he was just too angry to care right now.

These were the people that he was forced to accept as his own, and they were acting like Hollows and not the powerful kind.

Ichigo let his reiatsu roll over the camp like a storm, pressing down on the Dothraki, forcing them to feel the weight of his presence. Some dropped to their knees, hands clawing at their throats as if struggling to breathe. Others froze where they stood, eyes wide with uncomprehending terror. The weakest simply collapsed, unconscious or too paralyzed to move.

But not all of them.

There were warriors among them who had known war, men who had bled and fought for their place in Khal Drogo's shadow. These were the ones who resisted, even as their bodies trembled, their hands gripping the hilts of their arakhs with white-knuckled determination.

Ichigo met their eyes, one by one. They were trying to fight it. Trying to stand against him.

Good.

A shudder ran through the ground as Ichigo released more of his reiatsu, pushing himself further. It was agony, his human body not built to bear such a weight, but he forced himself to endure it. This was the price he had to pay for control, for dominance, and he was ashamed of himself for resorting to such tactics.

Yet he continued all the same, drawing not just on the power of his Shinigami heritage, no, not this time. This time he allowed Shiro to let lose, tapping into the power of his inner Hollow. His eyes shining with golden malevolence.

A few of the stronger warriors managed to remain on their feet, though sweat poured down their faces, their knees shaking beneath them. Some bared their teeth in defiance, their pride refusing to let them bow to a foreigner, to a man who had stolen their Khal's life and given them nothing in return.

Ichigo's gaze swept over the camp, taking in the devastation. The fires still smoldered, the wounded still groaned in pain, the terrified still clutched at whatever shreds of protection they had left. The Dothraki only followed strength. They had seen him kill Drogo, but they had not accepted him because he had not made them accept him.

Now they would.

And then, through the sea of stunned and trembling bodies, he saw her.

Sarea.

She was standing near the edge of the chaos, her dark eyes locked onto him with something unreadable in them. Unlike the others, she wasn't on her knees, wasn't gasping for breath, but neither was she unaffected. There was tension in her frame, a stiffness in the way she stood, as if she could feel the weight of his presence pressing against her very bones.

She was the only one here who could speak for him. The only one who could make them understand.

Ichigo moved toward her, his steps slow, deliberate. The Dothraki parted before him like reeds bending in the wind, unable to resist the force that rolled off him, unable to meet his gaze.

When he finally stopped before Sarea, he didn't ask if she was ready. He didn't ask if she was willing. There was no time for that.

"Translate," he ordered, his voice like steel.

Sarea swallowed, looking away from his golden eyes, glancing at the warriors still standing—the ones who had refused to break. She hesitated only for a moment before nodding, straightening her back.

"What do you want them to know?" she asked, her voice steady despite the storm raging around them.

Ichigo turned back to the gathered Dothraki, to the warriors and the weak, to the proud and the desperate. He let them see him, let them feel him.

And then he spoke, "I'm right here, you stupid horse-fucking inbred parasites." For just a moment his voice echoed over itself, inhuman and terrifying. "And I am in charge now. If you have a problem with that, then fucking leave. If you think you can do it better, then here I stand." He spread his arms wide, no weapon anywhere on his body yet he looked like an immovable wall, standing between every Dothraki warrior and their ambitions and dreams. "Come and kill me, if you dare."

~XxX~

A/N: Well, and the hammer falls!

Phew, that was a wild one, wasn't it? I must admit, even though I felt awful writing some parts of this chapter, I also had fun exploring the fucked up culture of the Dothraki. And they are just the goddamn worst faction in Game of Thrones, no doubt about it.

George wrote them to be almost comically evil and I tried to reflect that here in this chapter.

I really had fun writing this one, and I hope you have fun reading it even if it might be a bit darker than I had originally intended, it just ran away from me.

Anyways, I'm thankful for the warm reception the last chapter received even after my long hiatus, and I hope that this chapter will get the same reaction.

Leave me a Follow, Favorite or simply tell me what you thought about the chapter with a nice and long review.

And you know the drill, watch out for yourselves, I wish y'all the best. Until next time!