Dreams of devastation 2

No one really minded the first arrest. As a matter of fact, it had people saying things like: ‘They can’t be that bad, the gray-robes.’ (Gray-robe being the nickname for officers of the SLE Corps, because of the gray, hooded kimono they wore.)

A mere two weeks after the official forming of the corps, Kurotsuchi Mayuri was arrested to be tried for no less than seven hundred different offences, small and large. The sheer numbers of accusations, and the very real evidence to back it up, astounded even those among the captains who knew exactly how rotten Mayuri was. He had been warned the very same night he had gotten his medallion, since he had taken it off and tinkered with it.

The officers of the SLEC had been chased out of his lab by Mayuri himself, who in his fury had drawn his blade on them. Though no-one was harmed, this had put him under close scrutiny; and soon, a formal arrest was made. This time by Soifon-taicho herself, to prevent any unnecessary casualties. To everybody’s surprise, Mayuri had calmly accepted the arrest and had allowed them to take him into custody. He seemed completely unafraid of judgement.

The charges were so many and so appalling, Ichigo considered not reading them at all, but they were part of his captain’s briefing. They included almost two hundred charges of assault- nearly all of which were directed at his vice-captain- murder, unnatural experimenting,  the genocide of the quincies (after the seireitei-quincy wars)and other crimes against humanity… some of the atrocities didn’t even have a proper legal name.

The trial itself took less time than people expected. In the course of two weeks, the mad scientist had been found guilty of everything he was accused of, and the sentence was simple: Death. The central 46 ruled that it be Yamamoto himself who beheaded him. It was not to be.
On the day of the execution, as Mayuri walked towards his doom, he broke free.
In moments, the guards around him lay dead, victims to some toxic gas. Several captains were eager to hunt him down themselves, but the order was given to Soifon, the seireitei’s head assassin.
Ichigo was the only one keeping up, his bankai making him one of the fastest things in existence. Mayuri twisted and turned, ran and feinted, covering an extraordinary distance before she caught up- but in the end, no-one can outrun Soifon.

The battle was brief, and mercifully painless. Mayuri, for all his tricks, were the least schooled in the martial arts of all the captains, while Soifon’s prowess in hand to hand combat was second only to one.
Three strikes, three homonka. Some kido back and forth, some sword fighting, and five minutes later, the second mark was placed on Kurotsuchi’s skin. He died instantly.

The whole affair had been messy, but at least the resident madman of the gotei 13 was out of the way. Still, relieved though he was, Ichigo couldn’t help but feel uneasy. It was as if there was more to the whole thing than just crime and justice. He brought it up to Renji a few days later, when the two of them had managed a whole in their oh-so-busy captain’s schedules, or rather, had found a way to escape their dutiful fukutaicho.




“This whole affair stinks.” Ichigo said. “Something’s not right, I tell you.”

“What do you care about twelfth?” Renji asked. “Everyone’s practically ready to throw a party celebrating his death. Hell, I think some of the guys in twelfth actually are!”

“It isn’t twelfth in particular. I hated that bastard’s guts as much as anybody, but he has always been safe before. And much as I hate to admit it, he was a competent and genial captain. And god knows we need our captains.”

“Relax, Ichigo. He was weak, anyways. Perhaps this means the grays aren’t so bad, not letting bad things happen right under their noses just because the bad guys have protection from above.”

“What I’m saying is, twelfth is leaderless. Did you know what happened to poor Nemu when she heard he was dead?”

“No, what?”

“She went comatose. I stopped by at fourth earlier today. Apparently she just regained consciousness. She won’t be doing any work anytime soon, though. She’s just one straw away from being completely insane.”

“Twelfth will have it hard for a while then, I guess.” Renji shrugged.

“You could say that again. Right now, their third, fourth and fifth seats are working themselves into an early grave just keeping things together. And I sincerely doubt there will be a new captain anytime soon, seeing as how the leader of twelfth must be clever enough to lead the research bureau. We are dead short of geniuses with bankai.”

“What about Urahara? He was captain once, wasn’t he? And everyone knows he’s innocent.”

“Yeeah…” Ichigo said, dryly. “I doubt he would just go back even if he could return to the soul society. The banishment was for all time, and not only would the central 46 lose face if they took him back, the spell put on him makes it impossible. He can’t return. And besides, I don’t even know if he would want to.”

After that, their conversation steered towards lighter subjects, like who would win if a pirate and a ninja fought, and other ridiculous speculation. But still, Ichigo couldn’t shake that paranoid feeling that something wasn’t quite right.




Unohana Retsu sighed. Her patient was being difficult, in more than one way. She was used to treating horrible injuries, anything from torsos split open to severed limbs. All of those things would bend to the will of Minazuki- she had once returned a soldier to normal that had been little more than bits spread all over the vicinity. But mental damage… it was not quite as her area of expertise. She knew how to treat a patient who had suffered psychological trauma of course, but Nemu was something of a special case.
Yes, doubtless she was unique in how much abuse she had taken. The girl was such a mess; she didn’t know where to begin. Fortunately, Isane was a great therapist, better suited for this than Unohana herself. Now, if only she would get here…

Isane stumbled through the door. She knew she was late, but it couldn’t be helped. There were always wounded people to take care of. Fortunately, it was mostly eleventh division members who got overeager in their sparring, but it was still demanding work.

“I am so sorry I am late, captain.”

“It’s all right, Isane. She was a little difficult before you got here, I had to restrain her. She went into a fit of hysterics.”

“I see. I’ll talk to her, then.”

As Unohana left the room, Isane walked towards the sad figure of Kurotsuchi Nemu. She was wearing a straightjacket. Apparently, Unohana hadn’t been joking about the ‘difficult’ part. Right now, she lay perfectly still on the bed, an apathetic look on her face.

“Nemu.” Isane said quietly.

“Nemu, can you hear me?”

“Ma… yuri… sama…” Nemu said. It was all she had said for a long time now, according to the medical journal.

“I want to talk to you, Nemu.” Isane said in her kindest voice. “And we don’t have to talk about him.”

Nemu was quiet for a while, but then continued:

“I’m… nothing. I am useless. I am nothing without Mayuri-sama.”

“Now, that’s not true, Nemu.” Isane assured her, but was interrupted.

“I’m not worth the trouble.”

Isane sighed. This was going to be very difficult.

Two hours later, she walked out of the room. Unohana stood outside, waiting.


“How is she?” she asked.

“Terrible. But she is calm, at least. Unless we treat her very carefully, I’m afraid she will go into apathy completely.”

“Do you think it is possible for her to recover at all?”

“That is a good question.” Isane said, looking thoughtful. “It depends on two things, really. First off, how she was designed. She is the result of top-notch mod soul and gigai technology. If Kurotsuchi created her soul just as a normal soul, and she just happened to be useful enough to be his vice-captain slash punching bag, then I think there is hope. Because then, her misplaced devotion to him was a result of her ‘upbringing’ rather than design. But if she was designed to be his loyal servant, then she will never be able to return to normal.”

“Secondly” she continued, “if she was designed as a normal soul, then it is up to her if she wants to stand on her own feet in life.”

“I will consult twelfth, then, to see what notes Mayuri left on his creation. He always was very careful to write any and all knowledge down, at least.”



Somewhere else, at another time, Ichigo sat in a moonlit garden. He always did, at this day of every year. It was the day Orihime had died, at the cuarta espada’s blade. Everything was a perfect calm, and when he was in this place, fully relaxed, he could appreciate the beauty of his surroundings despite his blindness. As he leaned his back towards the trunk of the tree he sat under, he slowly drifted into sleep, dreaming dreams most familiar… no, not dreams so much as memories, that he was certain. Memories of that fateful day, when Aizen had stormed the king’s palace, and Ichigo had followed like the brash, overconfident youth he was.

A dream. He was walking through the corridors of the palace. The walls and roof were adorned with exquisite ornaments, but he could not remember them, so they were all a blur. What was clear was the bodies of the mighty fallen of the royal guard- once-captain soldiers whose prowess were second to none, chosen to guard the most important being in all of soul society. All dead now, fallen to the blades of Aizen’s lieutenants; and the vizards. How he hated them now, in these moments, those cursed masked soldiers. He had never guessed that they might turn on soul society as they did. He did not know then, as a boy of sixteen, how wronged they had been.

Time and space blurred in his dreams, and anything between seconds and long hours went missing. He supposed that he and Byakuya, who had followed into the palace with a few other captains, had been searching the corridors until they found the intruders. And found them, they did. Once again, his memory warped time, and somehow Byakuya was gone. Downed? Dead? He could not remember properly, not until he waked.
He stood face to face now with the group he had been searching for: Aizen. His lieutenants, Gin and Tosen. The four vizards Shinji, Love, Rose, and Kensei. Tosen was saying something, his memory couldn’t decipher just what- likely, he was volunteering to deal with Ichigo.
Then began the clearest part of his memories. Aizen himself stepped forward, and spoke to him.

“How persistent you are,” he said. “Perhaps it is time I dealt with you personally? You have grown strong; and it has been a while since I fought anyone seriously.”

They fought. From the start, he had gone all out. Mask on, every move he knew. He had even been as cunning as to pretend that he had let the traitor captain’s taunts get to him. He saw through the illusion; when it came to swordplay, Aizen was a simpler man than he would have thought. It took a few nasty gashes, but he learned to stop the effects of Kyoka Suigetsu tolerably. First, Aizen had commended him on his growth since last they met. Then, he had said: Ban kai.

Once again, things got blurry. Only a minute could have been lost, but when things were clear to his memory again, he saw himself blown away. The awesome might of Aizen’s bankai had been to much- he had barely been able to block it. He expected himself to fall and die any second, even if he knew that wouldn’t happen. This was him dreaming; he was still alive after all these years.

And lo and behold, if not a full five minutes went without him dying. He kept the fight strong, even if his opponent dominated the match. Turning more and more hollow-like, Ichigo had managed to keep his reiatsu constantly rising. But eventually, he was cut just one time too many. Aizen had suffered only one blow, and his bankai allowed him to pretty much become invisible, trick his senses, and even control parts of his body. It seemed hopeless.
It was then that the hollow showed up. His memory, his dream, turned now to the realm of his zanpakuto, where the hollow stood, laughing.

“Not going well, King?”

Despite the immediate mortal peril, he seemed quite amused with the fight. It was as if he knew something he didn’t, and he looked as smug as he sounded.

“You called me here.” Ichigo replied. “So why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“You were getting yourself killed out there.” The hollow said, grinning. “Give me control, and I’ll turn this around.”

“No.” came his reply, firm and simple.

The hollow went quiet for a while, seemingly thinking. Then, he rose to his feet, and walked towards him.

“What were you thinking when you rushed after Aizen, Ichigo? That you had a chance of defeating him?”

“I- I wasn’t thinking. Maybe that I could stall for time, give room for reinforcements…?” Ichigo replied, weakly.

“Liar!” the hollow shouted. “Ever since the day I started existing, even since before that, you have always wanted to fight- fight to protect, fight for personal glory, whatever the reason. You came here, even though you knew it was impossible, with hope that you could stand up to him. Admit it!”

Ichigo was silent. The hollow was more or less right. He had had a few very vague thoughts when he followed Aizen, but deep down, he had hoped to best Aizen. He had triumphed against impossible odds before- why not now?

“You are a fool.” The hollow sneered. Then, he gave a huge grin. “But then again, so is he.”

“What do you mean?” He was puzzled, now.

“I know a secret…” the hollow said in a mischievous voice.

“Just tell me then!” Ichigo snapped.

The hollow let out a cackling laughter.

“Do you know why you haven’t gotten killed yet? Have you thought about why somebody with twice the reiatsu of a captain, full mastery of all the shinigami arts and a zanpakuto whose power is uniquely devastating in its nature did not outright kill you with the first blow?”

Ichigo was about to say something, but the hollow cut him off.

“He’s holding back! You emit more hollow reiatsu than shinigami, and it unsettles him!”

“What-“

“Why does it unsettle him? Because the fool has awakened a hollow of his own. I can feel it! He wants the power you have, but unlike you, he cannot control it. He keeps his locked up in his mind, but it strains and tears, yearning to be free. And the more you push him, the stronger it gets!”

“So that’s what he meant…” Ichigo mumbled, thinking of the day he had seen Aizen on the Sokyoko hill, extracting the hogyoko from Rukia.

“To cross the boundaries of shinigami and hollow…”

“Yes!” the hollow cried, gleefully. “It wasn’t just for the creation of an army of arrancar. He wanted a hollow’s mask, and a hollow’s power!”

“But he can’t control his… do I stand a chance of winning, then?”

“Not bloody likely.” The hollow scoffed. “If you want to be free of the things his bankai does, there’s something you need to do, and you’re not gonna like it.”

“What is it?”

Again, thing became a blur, and his memories became obscure. After some time, he once again saw himself, now at the scene of the battle once more. Aizen stood some ten feet away, sword ready. Ichigo was down on one knee, bleeding from every place imaginable. His mask was breaking. He saw himself take out his free hand. It had become clawed and white, with a few black stripes running down the length of the arm. A hollow’s arm.
And then, he did it. With thumb an index finger, he thrust into his eye pits, ripping out first one eye, then the other. Casually- as if he was in no pain, not bleeding- he took a stripe of cloth from his ripped shihakusho and tied it around his head, covering his nonexistent eyes.
Then, he exploded with power. The mask grew fully back, with a set of horns. There was nothing about him that looked even remotely shinigami any longer- the only proof of that was the black form of Tensa Zangetsu in his hands. He was fully hollow, with both the powers of a Vasto Lorde and a shinigami.
The next few minutes were less than clear; throughout the blur of this dream of memories he saw fighting back and forth, blood being shed. This time, Aizen bled for good measure as well, though the fight still went in his favour. Ichigo fought with all the savagery and berserk of a cornered animal who knows that, either it dies here and now, or live at the expense of its limbs. Finally, after what (probably) was an hour, the hollowified form of Ichigo dropped to the floor, all but dead. Aizen was breathing heavily, and had taken a few nasty blows, but he stood victorious.
Superior as ever, Aizen settled for saying a few words before beheading his opponent.

“You are interesting, Kurosaki. I wish I could keep you alive. Perhaps you could have been a useful specimen in my research of hollowification. But you are much too bothersome- aah”

Aizen’s little speech was cut short. The vizards had attacked him from behind, holding him steady while running their swords through him. It was funny, Ichigo thought, how the look of a katana pincushion seemed to suit the villain.

Again, it was a blur. He saw himself being healed by the Vizards. Aizen’s corpse burning. Tosen dying. Gin disappeared. He remembered vaguely how Shinji explained that they had sided with Aizen hoping to kill him. Now, Shinji continued, they could continue to live on wherever they wanted to, never having to deal with the seireitei again. He also remembered Shinji asking him for something unusual: Ichigo would take credit for killing Aizen. For all the soul society would know, the vizards would be gone forever.
He remembered agreeing, though reluctantly. And then-


Ichigo suddenly woke.

Somebody else had entered the garden. Knowing that it had to be somebody he knew for that person to get close without him noticing, he relaxed himself. It was Rukia.

“You are always here at this night ever year, aren’t you?” she said.

Ichigo, still a little drowsy from his sleep, didn’t answer.

“Every year, you sit under this tree and sulk, drowning yourself in sadness and self-loathing because you couldn’t save her.”

A little surprised at Rukia’s brutally honest words, he began to talk back.

“Well, aren’t you being honest today?” He said angrily. “Do you think it’s pitiful, or what? Do you pity me?”

Rukia just smiled, and before he knew what was happening, she had punched him in the face.

“Ouch! What the hell was that, you annoying little midget?” he snapped, about ready to throw a tantrum.

“You idiot.” She said calmly, completely disarming him. “I was just telling the truth. You sit and brood, never letting go, never letting anyone close. She was my friend too, you know.”

“I…” Ichigo began, taken aback, “I…”

“And you’ve become a captain. That burden of responsibility always suited you. But you could never accept that you can’t protect everyone, all the time, could you?”

Ichigo remained silent.

“Could you?” she repeated, while taking a seat oppose to him.

He was quiet for a while, and then his blind face broke into a grin. This time, it was Rukia’s turn to be surprised.

“What’s so funny?!” She demanded, sounding a bit offended.

“I… I’m just glad I have you.” He said.

“What?” Rukia flushed.

“Someone who has the guts to punch me, to snap me out of it.” Ichigo got up. You were right, Rukia. I really was sulking. Thank you.”

“Ah- you’re welcome.”


Suddenly, this gloomy night of death was not so gloomy to Ichigo.