Shidai Hiramitsu Matsushita



Shidai Hiramitsu Matsushita (死大平蜜末舌, Matsushita Shidai Hiramitsu) is a legendary endorsing responsibilities pertaining to the safekeeping of the. He was appointed the name Shidai (死大, Turbulent Death) by during the era of the Warring States for his uncharacteristic methods of dealing death by torture to his many opponents. Risen to the heavens, he was once fiercely affiliated with, gaining the latter's respect upon meeting him in battle —a battle in which he received a scar tracing through his left eye— before founding the of the , en route to ultimately serving as its very first captain for a period of several centuries. Together, alongside the rest of his peers, Hiramitsu played a crucial role in shaping the very foundations of the ; with regards to his gruesome strength, he was said to have conquered much of what is now by his lonesome, bringing it under the direct command of the, a staple which has since deteriorated, perhaps due to the sheer constraints of time that have eclipsed.

History
There was a time when man knew not what to do with his existence; those who roamed the world's stratosphere searched endlessly for a purpose. In time, through countless travels, man had learnt of emotions, the greatest of which was joy. To obtain such a glamorous festivity, or rather, to invoke such a heartfelt intuition, the individual in question had to fulfill his natural instinct, what he so strongly desired based on what came to him from his senses alone. Even now, that which remains the most earnest of natural instincts capable of stimulating joy is victory; yet —especially in a time in which thought itself was underdeveloped— victory as it is now has a completely separate meaning than it had back then. Back when the Kami ruled, back when all of mankind longed for the same treasure, back when rules had yet to be established. In such a time, there existed no words to differentiate between good or bad; there were only two concepts known to man, fundamentally embedded into his innate mind as life and death. Those who lived on to carry their legacy into the future did so through battle, forever etching their, while those who instead lost their lives were lost yet again for a second time, this time to time itself. Forgotten, made irrelevant, a dark era where heroes were those celebrated for the number or corpses beneath their feet. And while the modern era would see to this age as nothing more than a menial crisis, there were those who grew intimate under such conditions. Indeed, while more complex in comprehension, the flower of love kindled even then —perhaps blooming its most formidable petals.

Early Life
There was not yet any experience within the world. Those comprising it were in the midst of experimenting with possible outcomes, messing with one another in various ways to transcribe alternate meanings. What resulted was conflict the likes of which could not possibly be described; there was constant bloodshed but always, lives taken away just as easily as they had been deployed. From this manner alone did the art of burial become a proper tradition; in the face of the frequented wars that plastered the world, the opportunity to show condolences of even the slightest bit of gratitude never came to be. As a result, dead bodies were left as they were, taken away by the ground as their charred remains disintegrated into dust. As the word progressed onwards, this was but one of the many intricacies that was, for the most part, left unchanged. In the modern era, Shinigami continue to "honor" their late ancestors in the same manner, yet nowadays they have brought themselves to preserve the corpses of the deceased in an attempt to condemn the past.

This was the sort of world Hiramitsu was born within, where he learnt to cuff his hands into fists at a tender age. For a long while, he did not make much other use of them; they did not look to be good at anything aside from warfare early on, quite ironically, and nor did he possess the imaginitive sense at the time to have constructed any other method of utilization. As battles waged against one another, families were constructed; while rape would later be seen as being vile conduct, in the earliest phases of the world, it was one of the greatest pleasures of victory by far. Conquering a woman in battle meant being treated to their bodies; this was how children were made, how ties between the two genders ultimately came to be. Hiramitsu was of no exception; his father, Taiga Matsushita, had slain the father of Hiramitsu's mother, Sakura, and thus, had gained the right to his daughter. Sakura of course was honorable of her father's sacrifice, and just as the other women of her time did, she pledged complete loyalty to Taiga.

Though hard to believe by today's newcomers, love did indeed exist within such a torn world. It revealed itself early on in the form of defense; as in the case of Hiramitsu's parents, the two came to one another's aid at all times, ensuring that the other held on to the force upholding each of their lives. With every victory came a new prize; land was gained, territories, along with clans, were established. Rivalries ensued, one such being between Hiramitsu's clan and the infamous Kenshiko Tribe, who were known to be so ruthless as to take the lives of their own in the face of battle if it meant emerging triumphant. They did whatever it took to win: it was widely recognized that they had made a tradition out of the betrayal of their clan head to elect its next leader. Of the few that had clashed with the Kenshiko, the Matsushita had been able to confirm the obscenity of the Kenshiko's ways, having witnessed their wrath first hand.

At the behest of such horrors, time was of the most formidable of assets. With time came progression, progression being a quicker way to take a life. Man had learnt to use his hands for other subjects, namely for the sake of constructing weaponry. However yet, one of the prettier deeds being passed around was the revelation of the Zanpakutō, which only a select few souls up until then had accomplished to properly awaken. They were said to have come at the expense of a certain individual, who was said to have constructed them all of his own accord; not entirely, it came to be known, for there were others involved in its process, such as one other being who tasked himself in the naming of the fine weaponry. Because early on, while they would surely be recompromised later on, the Zanpakutō were used exclusively for purposes relating to battle: clans who came to wield their power survived into the next century, those who did not faded away, their legacies devoured by those that fell them.

Hiramitsu's love was divided equally amongst his parents for the better part of his childhood, yet any outsider peering in to his life would have surely believed him to have a greater affinity toward his father. For it was Taiga who spent the most time with Hiramitsu, forging him into the proud heir of the Matsushita. It was under the guidance of his father that Hiramitsu received his Asauchi, and under him that he had been told that his greatest ally through his lifetime would be his blade. Abiding solemnly to the teachings of Taiga, Hiramitsu would go on to live his life alongside his Zanpakutō, creating a powerful bond in the process, drawing power from the experiences between them. And this was how the nature of the Zanpakutō came to be; for a species who knew no other purpose of life beyond fighting with one another, the Zanpakutō was the most cunning invention. They were psychotic murderers, each and every one of them, so hell bent that they saw their own weapons as their closest of companions!

The World Wakes
The winners of war were the sinners of war, the difference between each was as negligent as the single letter that conotated alternate meanings for each word. There was nothing between the two that could have been distinguished. War was won through mischief; those that were cunning won the battles, leaving stunned opponents in their wake. For all the right reasons, the Kenshiko Clan emerged as the most fearsome family in all of the realm; they were so far ahead of their competition that their battle was not with the others, but rather with themselves. They relished in internal conflict, having comprised an atmosphere in which a boy was raised to slaughter his own father; it was with such ambitions that they produced warriors of the highest quality. Rivaling factions, if they could even be referred to as such, longed to return to prominence, though in truth, they longed to return to relevance. For that was how truly ahead the Kenshiko had ascended; they had no one to compete with them.

Overturned was the world by the might of the Kenshiko, until a very valuable lesson was to be had: that of imitation, that of mockery, flattery in an honorary fashion. Indeed, the rest of the world, in their respect of the Kenshiko, longed for their success. The easiest of ways to go about it seemed to be replicating their behavior. Even the most noble of clans, such as the Matsushita were caught within this upheaval, relations thrown asunder for the sake of progression. While Taiga refused such obscene ideals, drawing a line between senseless manslaughter and that which, according to him, had some small declaration of purpose, however faint. On the opposing end of the argument was Kiba Matsushita, Taiga's younger brother. Lesser perhaps in terms of age, but as Taiga would soon come to learn, lesser by no means in his ambition to prosper.

It was foretold that trust was the undisputed champion of betrayal, something Hiramitsu would not come to learn properly even upon seeing it with his own eyes. Taiga was well respected not only by his fellow kin, but further beyond even by the most honorable of advisaries, for the no reason beyond his strength. Simply put, he was a monster, a true force that demolished smaller families all of his own accord. Yet he had one grueling weakness: his experiences in the world had given to him a family, and with family was born love, with love was born trust. Taiga loved Kiba far too much to foresee any betrayal; so much so that even as he turned away from his brother, exposing to him his backside, even upon being struck down did he not believe Kiba to have been his enemy. In fact, in death he cried out to Kiba for assistance, asking him to return to his side so that the two of them could vanquish their opponent as they had done oh-so many times on the past.

The deed done, the task submitted, Kiba went on to collect the spoils of war. He lived his life in place of his brother, reigning over the Matsushita's name and land as his kingdom, all the while taking Matsushita's mother Sakura as his queen. He was to Matsushita his newly appointed father, all the while his mortal enemy. Longing to take his life to avenge the death of Taiga was of no appraisal; Kiba possessed centuries worth of knowledge, strength, and experience against him. There was no chance in besting him, nor was there truly any benefit; Sakura and the rest of the clan had rightfully pledged their allegiance to Kiba. Very swiftly, Hiramitsu's new father offered his contribution to their family. Very swiftly, Hiramitsu was no longer an only child.

Blood Runs Deep
Takamaru, as he was called upon his birth, did not quite look the villain he would be to Hiramitsu early on. As a matter of fact, he was frail, perhaps even delicate. Then again most infants were rather charming in their appeal; this was likely one of the reasons children were had at all. Still, though he could not speak nor look intentively in Hiramitsu's direction, Takamaru was an unfortunate circumstance in his life, an obstacle blocking the path. All he could have ventured in his mischief was throttled to Hiramitsu by Kiba, who began to look at Takamaru as his only child. Every phase of Takamaru's life was cradled by Hiramitsu thereafter; he was tended to when his body reeked with odors by Hiramitsu, when his stomach grumbled he was fed by Hiramitsu, and when tears filled his eyes, the blame was to be had by Hiramitsu. Yet Hiramitsu could not have remembered ever have asking of such obligations; if this was his brother, then why was it he who had been tasked to do his dirty work? Why was it he who had become its slave?

Though the fault was not directly appointed to Takamaru, Hiramitsu still came to despise him. How could he not? If it were not for him, then surely life would have painted a better canvas for himself. With so much time spent together within him, there came many an opportunity to deal death to the grave sin that was Takamaru; but that would have been much to easy. No, Hiramitsu wanted in no regard to be like Kiba. He would not take the life of his own brother no matter the amount of hardships he was brought to endure. Instead, he brought himself to face each individual challenge; the countless times Takamaru was given credit for Hiramitsu's endeavors, he endured. The numerous instances in which Takamaru was gifted with riches, priced lands and territories of his own to claim possession over, Hiramitsu endured. Even when Takamaru took his own place as the heir to the clan did Hiramitsu endure; the thought of revenge returned but always, though doing so would not only have made Hiramitsu a spitting image of Kiba, but more so disdain the legacy of Taiga, something which only Hiramitsu had held on to after all these years.

Even Sakura had seemed to have misplaced Taiga's sacrifice in her heart. She was no longer the woman Hiramitsu had remembered, likely as a result of all she had endured herself. She provided him with little comfort, if any, deferring more so toward Takamaru when the matters came upon them. And while Hiramitsu knew well that to her Takamaru was his equal, and that it was Kiba who had expected of her better treatment of his own bloodline, still yet did the emptiness of solitude plague his heart. He submerged himself into the void, growing ever independent. He used this time to unravel the mysteries that befell his Zanpakutō; as the two came to nurture a bond with one another, Hiramitsu learnt of its name, of its interests, its ambitions. In every sense, it was more of a brother to him than Takamaru. Tenryū Kichijou was his name, the spirit that comprised Hiramitsu's Zanpakutō. Devotion to him came in the form of strenuous meditation, which later came to be referred to as Jinzen. Performing Jinzen brought ease and comfort to Hiramitsu; in such instances, he was none other than himself, his mind separated from all the stress the comprised his life. Serene tranquility, peace akin to heaven, where his lips did all the talking and for once there was someone who cared to listen.

Head Over Heels
If in Jinzen Hiramitsu obtained tranquility, then it was only in the heat of battle that he received true joy; for after all, it was all he had known in his youth. Love in such a time followed in the pursuit of the blade; mates were elected from victory and from natural selection, which itself was more or less comprised of impressing a member of the opposing gender. He could never forget the first time he saw her, how her luscious black hair flowed carelessly like a blanket in the wind from behind her. The way her body moved in combat, how her hips curled, how the meats of her thighs shuffled back and forth, how her slim waist allowed her to so easily evade incoming projectiles; the way she laughed to herself when she came upon an opponent who could parry her swing. This was what Hiramitsu adored the most, the charming smile that sat upon her lips, when her eyes twinkled at the sight of smeared blood. It made him feel a new, revitalized, even aroused. He wanted nothing more than to keep it there, and so he did the only thing he could do to ensure that it remained there: he drew his blade upon her.

In their first meeting the two fought for days. Not a single word was spoken then, only blades were crossed and smiles exchanged. It was an odd sensation; neither had ever come upon another individual who could challenge them in such a regard. For both it was a first, a experience that had yet to be had. Naturally, they enjoyed every second of it, learning more and more about one another each and every time their Zanpakutō clashed against one another. It was sex on the very first date, powers flaring over large masses of land, innocent bystanders murdered for trespassing within kilometers of the fight. They were deadlocked, equal in might just as they were in will and wit. This was the sort of battle that no other being wanted to be apart of for the fear of his own wellbeing; neighboring clans, however vile in concept, could not bare to watch so much as a second of it. It was intolerable to all, yet to them a paradise.

The battle concluded at the brink of their exhaustion, when neither party could retain consciousness for much longer. On the ground they lay, motionless in pain, coursing one another with the heaviness of each passing gallop of air. Only their groans could be heard, reaching to breath and fill the body with the slightest constraint of energy they could muster. The sounds that bellowed in the aftermath of a war; this was how the two came to speak with one another on a regular basis, how the two began to converse. With each battle their bodies were bound closer together, as if fate itself had intertwined their souls as a match made in heaven. She was everything he could have ever possibly asked for and more. He was for her head over heels, blanketed by the beauty that was her prowess in war. And then he came to know of her name.