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This article, Blade without Edge, is the co-property of both Shifūha and ShonenChicoBoy. |
Whisper
The sun was setting on the western horizon, turning the watery rows of rice in the fields to snaking ribbons of burnt gold. The sky was blood-orange and a dry wind scraped across the surface of the ground, pushing small plumes of dust into the air. The river whispered deep threats as it ran its course, crickets cried bitter warnings in the dead grass of late summer, and a small party of black-robed Shinigami, dark silhouettes against the burning hues of the fading day, cautiously approached the small water mill at the edge of the village.
The place was still and deserted. From the faded-gray of the splintered wood siding, thick weeds and the drooping straw roof, it was obvious that the mill had stood abandoned for some years. The water wheel creaked as it was pushed by the current of the river, and all stood alert, anxiously scanning the area for any sign of movement.
There were eight members in the task force, most of whom were low in rank or unseated and generally untried in actual combat. The one exception was the lieutenant assigned to oversee the mission, now directing three of the Shinigami to the east side, then motioning for one of the other team members to approach from across the river. He would remain behind, however, allowing the others to prove their worth in what he hoped would be an easy victory. The assignment was not a complicated one: a way-ward Hollow had taken up residence at the water mill and from there had terrorized the surrounding farmlands. They were here, in other words, for an exorcism.
Each seemed nervous, their breaths coming short and quick, hearts pounding in the dry silence. As the group of three moved towards the mill, their movement through the rustling grass startled a flock of crows, who took to the sky with harsh cries that seemed only to heighten the sense of animosity and danger already thick in the atmosphere. But far above even the crows, a flash of gold and red could be seen where a hawk circled the mill, and the lieutenant, Takashi Sakuma, nodded to a young man who crouched near him.
“As soon as they determine the Hollow’s location, you, Shibata and Wakiya will cut to the west to distract it. Wait for my signal before you strike.” he said in a low voice.
“Uhm, Sakuma-fukutaichō, will I act as support to Shibata-san and Wakiya-san?” Kishō responded lowly to his lieutenant. He hesitantly rested the palm of his hand on the hilt of his sheathed Zanpakutō. It’s an act out of nervousness. The sense of being in danger scared him, but not as much as to have to engage in combat. After all, it only brought back the memories of his sin.
His lieutenant seemed taken aback by his response, enough to where he tore his eyes away from observing the movements of the team to frown at Kishō.
“You will all support each other,” he stated, “If the show of force isn’t convincing, the enemy will notice immediately and the maneuver will end in failure. Is that understood?” his tone was firm, although he did not seem angry. But after a moment his expression softened, and he turned back to watch the scene at hand. “If Wakiya and Shibata agree, it may be possible for you to pull back from the initial strike and provide back-up, if your skill in kidō is somewhat passable.” he said, “But there isn’t much time, you’ll need to...” he trailed off, and then his entire body went stiff.
Something had appeared from beneath the shadowy eaves of the mill. Takashi waved for Kishō and the others to move out, his attention locked on the frail figure before them.
It was a woman. She was pale, with limbs so thin she seemed skeletal. Her long, matted hair covered her face and the simple, gray robe she wore was stained, torn, and barely clinging to her slender frame. As she appeared in the door frame, she slumped heavily to one side. Her head lolled back and, parting blue lips to reveal black-stained teeth, she moaned. The sound carried across the field, low, haunting, and distinctively inhuman. But before Kishō could move, Takashi caught him by the sleeve and whispered, urgently:
“Despite her appearance, she may still be alive, I want you to try and capture her without harm.” he quickly directed. Then, with a sharp whistle that mimicked a meadowlark, Takashi caught Wakiya’s attention and motioned for her to move to the front. She nodded, then stood up and calmly approached the woman in the mill, although her mouth was set in a drawn line and her hands were visibly shaking.
“G-good evening, ma’m.” she stammered. “Are you... are you alright?” In response, the cadaverous woman turned her attention towards her and gurgled.
Takashi groaned and rubbed the scar running between his eyebrows in complete frustration.
Kishō still shook out of fear. He nearly jumped once his lieutenant halted him by his sleeve to inform him about the pale woman ahead of them. Words could not leave his mouth, as such, he merely nodded at him. Lifting himself a bit up from his crouching position, he motioned Shibata to follow him away from Takashi. He had formed a plan to ambush the woman and, hopefully, successfully rescue Wakiya from her dumb action.
“Shibata-san, I will restrict the movements of the woman. Please save Wakiya-san then.” His voice didn’t waver, yet Shibata could see the quivering of the smaller Shinigami. He slightly frowned at that.
“Fine. I’ll trust you on this, Hōsōshi.” He never liked the name of the boy next to him. Both names shared something diabolic, and in a sense, Shibata immediately distrusted his comrade. But before he could ask what signal Kishō would use, the smaller Shinigami had already disappeared from his side, stunning him.
What is she doing? Kohaku, the hawk who drifted above the river, asked Takashi.
I haven’t the slightest idea… he replied inwardly. Has Miyazuki moved any closer? He was unable to see the man across the river due to the high grass.
Not yet... Came the reply. Hōsōshi just disappeared. She added. Takashi frowned, and extending his senses, he searched for Kishō’s presence. While there was the faintest taste of perceptible Reiatsu, he could not tell where Kishō was, or even what direction he was headed in. He must have used kidō to, for all intents and purposes, erase himself from detectable existence.
“Impressive…” Takashi muttered to himself, although his brow was still furrowed. There was now no way to communicate with Kishō, and unless he had effectively relayed his plan to his teammate, they were all at a loss as to what, exactly, he was going to do. Essentially he had shifted the entire burden of the assignment onto himself, and Takashi was unsure if the nervous, hesitating Shinigami who had barely responded to him just moments before could handle it. He had better not let us down. He told his hawk gravely.
Kyokkō, Kishō mumbled inwardly. I hope I can hold it out until I reach across of Shibata-san. It was one of the spells that the Shinigami had yet to ‘master’, as one would say. He can feel the spell weakening; it started to warp with the world, the illusion rupturing, which, slowly, allowed his Reiatsu to be detected. Quickly, Kishō concentrated to mend the spell, strengthening it by muttering the incantations once more, repeating it several times. He mentally focused on keeping Kyokkō up until he was in between his destination, across of Shibata, and the back of the pale woman. Kishō allowed a rift in his spell, nearly rendering the functions of Kyokkō completely useless. Standing steadily, Kishō draws the symbol of his next spell in the air, forming the kanji of strike, and he starts to be surrounded by red energy.
“Bakudō 9: Geki!” He mumbled after the incantation of the spell. With the paralysation, and the red glow that the monstrous woman currently possessed, hopefully gave away to Shibata to charge in to save Wakiya.
And the next moment, several things happened at once.
Kishō had cast his spell not a moment too soon, as the instant before the woman was enveloped in the binding, red aura she shrieked and leapt towards Wakiya, fingers extended like claws. The kidō halted her in her tracks, and Wakiya stumbled back, fumbling to draw her Zanpakutō. At the same time, Miyazuki decided to make his move, using Shunpo to make one, quick glide across the river and enter the mill, his efficiency befitting of a Tenth Seat. Shibata finally seemed to get a hold of himself, at least more-so than Wakiya, and flanked the woman from one side, readying himself to deliver another kidō spell in case she managed to break free of the Geki. From his stance it appeared as though he would use Hainawa.
There was a brief pause as the action stalled. Wakiya’s hands continued to shake, causing her drawn blade to waver dangerously, but she nonetheless took a step closer to the immobilized woman.
“Wakiya-san!” Kishō yelled, his voice raised for once. He clenched his jaws together, fear gnarling inside of him to go closer to his comrades. I have to do something, the Shinigami minded himself. If I don’t... then... Kishō had made up his mind. It had been decades, no, even centuries since the incident. He took a step forward. There was no plan. Similar to Miyazuki, Kishō used Shunpo to flash in front of Wakiya, his hand nearly touching her blade that caused her to be repelled away from the woman. His free hand was holding the sheathed katana; albeit, Kishō slightly quivered while merely holding it. But the tone of his voice was anything but sounding afraid, “I’ll be your opponent.”
The woman snarled at him in response, straining against the kidō that still bound her in one spot. She demonstrated a surprising amount of strength considering her emaciated condition, and, gradually, the spell began to unravel under the force of her exerted Reiatsu.
But before either of them could act, a bloodcurdling scream tore through the air. Then Miyazuki emerged from the mill, stumbling out into the field and clutching the mangled remains of his right arm. He had been the source of the scream, and now he turned to glance behind him, his face a wash of fear.
There was a tremor. A deep vibration that ran through the ground, and then the predator emerged. Long, spindly legs pierced through the boards on the front of the building and slowly, heavily, the Hollow broke free into the open air. Folded wings followed its legs, and its hooked beak split open in a horrendous smirk as it surveyed the group of Shinigami before it. Wide, crimson eyes glowed from the skull-like sockets of its mask, and it breathed out one word that overflowed with hatred:
“Shin... i... gami...” it hissed before tilting back its monstrous head and howling a wordless curse. With a groaning of wood it finally pushed the rest of its body through the opening it had created for itself in the front of the mill and its tongue snaked out to savor the fear imbued in the air. It curled and uncurled, dripping with thick, purple saliva, and with each breath the cloying scent of decay wafted through the air. Now, in the full light of the dying sun, its black, locust-like carapace gleamed gold, and the antennae fringing its neck trembled and shivered in the breeze. The woman seemed to respond to the movements of the Hollow, and she broke free from the kidō without warning, hurling herself towards Shibata.
And then, before anyone could react, the Hollow moved with a speed that should have been impossible for its size. It shimmered into existence before Wakiya, and without formality or grace plunged its rasping tongue down into her shoulder, driving the appendage beneath her collarbone and deep into her chest. She dropped her Zanpakutō, her fingers curled and arms flayed out in a grimace of pain, and she collapsed to her knees without a sound. Blood splattered across her chest, from the wound itself and what she coughed up from her lungs.
Wakiya turned towards Kishō, her eyes wide and pleading, before they rolled back into her head and she fell face-first into the dust. The Hollow withdrew rapidly and vanished, only to reappear a split second later behind Kishō in order to replicate the attack. Its tongue shot towards his neck as it uttered a guttural growl of delight.
The voices sounded louder than ever. Warning him. No, it was tempting Kishō to give into them. They wanted him to trust them, to call out their names. Yet, the Shinigami could only tremble more, witnessing the death of another comrade, who had drawn him into looking his eyes with them. Wakiya, Kishō wanted to scream her name, yet, his voice was lost, as his lips had tightened together and breath heavened through his nostrils. I failed you, he thought to himself.
Indeed ya have. His trembles continued, I am to blame. The voices quieted down. If I hadn’t yearned to live… I, I would have never taken their lives. Dark thoughts arose. And, Kishō blinded himself with it.
Hōsōshi! someone was calling out to him, although their voice was muted and barely audible in the distance of his drifting mind.
“Kishō,” It wasn’t the same as the childish voice he heard earlier. Ghostly faint was the voice, seemingly belonging to a rough man, yet, Kishō barely understood it. “Lis..ten.. me.” How mysterious the voice might have been, it enthralled the Shinigami to obey to his words. It urged him to raise his sheathed katana that he wielded in his dominant hand. “Strength…” His eyes weren’t seeing what others were seeing.
The immobilised Shinigami was under the control of his Zanpakutō. The one soul he feared the most. He saw the image of his former comrades, smiling, before their mission to exterminate a group of low-classed Hollows. “Forget…” His eyes opened, the pressure becoming too much. Kishō then realised what the weight came from, his eyes meeting that of the Hollow’s glowing red ones. His strength faded away, yet, Kishō made his attempt to dodge to his right the moment he partially deflected the attack. The movement was a last-ditch effort on Kishō’s part, but it was enough to deflect the Hollow’s tongue and push it up over his shoulder. It shot past him and embedded itself in the soft earth behind him, and for a moment the monster paused to regain its footing.
If, in that singular moment, Kishō chose to unleash his blade it would have been over. The Hollow’s neck was bare before him: it would have been a simple matter to cut right through it. His hand moved to the hilt of his Zanpakutō. He was a breath away from pulling it from its saya, yet he hesitated. And in that brief span of time the Hollow regained its balance and vanished. He had missed his chance.
“Wakiya-kun!” the desperate cries of his teammates echoed around him. Shibata was crouched by the fallen Shinigami’s side, trying desperately to stem the bleeding by pressing a piece of cloth torn from his uniform down on her ribs. Miyazuki simply sat in the dirt, stunned and rapidly approaching a state of numb shock from his own pain. They had been utterly unprepared for the attack, and these were the gruesome results.
A single step forward was enough to collapse the terrified Shinigami to his knees. His heterochromatic pair of eyes, golden and red, looked at Wakiya with misery. He panted harshly, clutching his free hand to his chest as Kishō tried to even his breath. His mind raced through the events of what just happened; he could not recall. It reminded him of that event, yet, the unseated Shinigami knew that it wasn’t him that injured Wakiya. Finally he was able to tear his eyes away from the unconscious lady, focusing his heterochromatic pair on the sheathed katana, abruptly he threw it in front of him. Once again, Kishō became afraid of his own weapon; his partner. Now free with his dominant hand, he gently smacked it against his eyes, covering his sight from witnessing his surroundings. Slightly, his breath stabilised, yet, still not enough to say that the scarred Shinigami was in a restful and functioning state.
He did not notice as the woman who had originally attacked them, the one who should have been paralyzed by Kishō’s spell, broke free and stumbled forwards. The weight of her arms seemed to drag her down, and she stooped over at the waist. Gradually, however, she began to regain her strength. The Shinigami could not hear it as the pitch was too high to be audible: but a whirring chirp sounded through the air. It was the call of the Hollow, and the woman was a slave to it. She straightened up, becoming aware of her surroundings, and turned her deep black eyes towards Miyazuki a short distance away.
“Hōsōshi, look to your left!” the voice belonged to Takashi, who was sprinting towards the clearing. He had finally decided to intervene when the Hollow had struck Wakiya, but in reality only a few moments had passed since it had emerged from the mill, although it had felt like hours. Now he sprang forwards just as she hurled herself at Miyazuki, and with one forceful blow to the solar plexus, sent her flying in the opposite direction.
“You must assist Wakiya immediately.” the lieutenant concentrated on the soul who, moaning and shuddering, slowly got to her feet, but he turned his head to the side to speak to Kishō. “Use kaido to keep her stable until we’ve cleared the area of danger.” the command was quick, sharp. “Do not move her unless absolutely necessary.”
The woman in front of Takashi shrieked and crouched over once more, preparing another strike, and he pointed the index and middle finger of his right hand at her in response.
“Bakudō number one… Sai!” he declared, strengthening the spell with added Reiatsu. Her arms seemed to move of their own volition, twisting behind her back and pinning themselves in place. “Bakudō number four,” he continued, “Hainawa.” A rope of yellow energy curled around his fists, and he threw it towards her. The cord wrapped around her being and pulled her to the ground, where he firmly attached it with an pre-inscribed kidō tag. Not known for his prowess in spellcasting, Takashi had only been able to move with such efficiency after observing the initial battle, as short as it had been. Hopefully, the extra efforts he had taken would keep the woman bound until they could dispatch the Hollow and find a way to break her from her trance. To preserve the safety of all parties involved was obviously his current priority, and he would by any means possible ensure that life was spared.
What is the Hollow’s current location? he asked Kohaku who had been observing the fight below. It has retreated to the field across the river. She answered. Good.
Pulling his sword a little ways from its scabbard, he cut his palm on the edge of his sword and allowed the blood to fall onto the ground. Then, as quickly and deliberately as possible, he wrote the characters for “mirror,” “door,” “earth”, and “bulwark” in rapid succession, spreading the blood through the dust as ink. He slammed his palm onto the circular seal and the characters began to glow with a violet light before thick veins of visible Reiatsu shot up from the ground in a wide radius. They met in a net far above the watermill, and a shimmering barrier of translucent energy rippled into existence. It was a modified form of Kyōmon, meant as an impenetrable ward to keep those inside safe from attack. With that task completed, Takashi rushed off to join the three remaining task force members as they chased after the fleeing Hollow, leaving Kishō, Shibata, and the two injured Shinigami behind the softly glowing wall of kidō.
The voice of his Lieutenant snapped Kishō out of his dilemma, immediately slipping his hand from his eyes, as he now watched the Shinigami sending the woman the opposite way. But it wasn’t what Takashi wanted from Kishō, who failed to register what was wanted from him, and moments later, curled his fingers around the scabbard of the katana. “Understood, Sakuma-fukutaichō.” Yet, Kishō could not muster the strength to rise up from his knees, even with effort by supporting himself with his free hand wasn’t a successful attempt either. We’re safe. Sakuma-fukutaichō dealt with her. Finally, the strength returned to his legs to stand, still slightly quivering, as he walked towards Shibata and the injured Wakiya.
“Shibata-san, as Sakuma-fukutaichō ordered, I’ll tend to Wakiya-san. Could I ask you to check on Miyazuki-san?” He placed the scabbard with the katana on the ground next to him, and, out of comfort, Kishō pulled the smaller scabbard of his wakizashi from his waistband, placing it on the katana’s. “If you could, please, use kaido on Miyazuki-san. If you can’t do that, bring him to me, I’ll tend to him after Wakiya-san is in a more stable state.” At last, he hovered his hands on the wound, concentrating deeply, to do what Takashi wanted him to do.
Perhaps Shibata was wrong about the smaller Shinigami. His name is misleading, and that is was a factor for the rougher Shinigami to be suspicious of Kishō. However, the skill the Shinigami displayed wasn’t something that someone of his rank would see, especially first handedly. It was enough for the suspicion to rise more: who is Hōsōshi Kishō really? But Shibata shrugged it away for now, there were more important matters at hand, “Sure thing, Hōsōshi-kun.”
The green aura of energy surrounded Wakiya’s wound, and the kidō began its delicate work in stopping the flow of blood and pulling skin back together. Wakiya, in turn, moaned softly. She was still clinging to life, although her skin had turned to ash-white and her pulse was faint and fluttering.
But then there was a slight tremor in the atmosphere as her Reiatsu began to pour outwards. It was subtle at first, and then, without warning, it spiked in an explosion of energy. The force of the release was enough to push Kishō away from her. Then, before his very eyes, she pulled herself to her feet and turned towards her.
The spiritual pressure did not belong to her. It was tainted, felt heavy like the decay of death, and was distinctively Hollow. Her eyes were now black wells brimming with malice, and she blinked at him before snarling, peeling back her lips in a horrific grimace. She behaved in a manner identical to the woman from before, and it had become obvious that Wakiya had also fallen under the Hollow’s spell. Grinning with predatorial euphoria, she stretched out her fingers and lunged for his throat.
“Wakiya-san?” Shock was evident in his voice, he never expected the woman to recover that fast, or at least, pour her Reiatsu out. Suddenly, the explosion pushed him away, his scabbards falling conveniently next to him. “Oi… Wakiya-san?” The quivering that had stopped began again. “This isn’t funny anymore,” Kishō tried to reason with her; albeit, he knew that this wasn’t her either. He didn’t move from his position, this couldn’t be happening… allowing the deranged Wakiya to reach him.
Before he had a chance to react her hands were around his throat, her fingers digging deeply into his jugular. Her grip was iron and she latched on to him with a fatal ferocity. Wakiya thrashed about wildly, but still she did not speak as she concentrated on strangling him. If he did not do something soon, it could soon become too late to save even himself.
Kishō gurgled at the lack of oxygen he was receiving. Obviously, Wakiya’s strength was more than he anticipated, the strangled Shinigami failed to push her away with his strength. “Wa… kiya,” he managed to utter out. His hands peeled at her arms, trying to weaken her grip on him, much to his avail. Forgive me, Kishō thought to himself as he kicked his feet towards the side of her knee. He hadn’t forgotten that his daishō hadn’t fallen too far from him by the blast of energy. If he could manage to knock her off her feet and bring them both to the ground, perhaps he could reach it.
The blow contacted as he had planned, and he felt her leg buckle in on itself and give way. She crashed down heavily, still clutching him by the neck, and pulled him to the ground with her.
His breaths were cut short, the colours of his cheeks fading. He felt himself becoming weaker, his thrashing beneath her coming to a stop. Kishō made another weak attempt to push Wakiya away from him with his hand, fingers scratching her jugular, yet, it did nothing towards the woman. However, the voice he faintly heard before whispered to him again, it was calling out to him. Influenced by these whispers, his vision becoming blurrier in the meanwhile, Kishō’s dominant arm stretched towards the daishō pair, searching for the wakizashi that was the nearest. Finally, his fingertips touched a familiar material, the lint that was bound to the smaller blade allowed Kishō to pull it towards him. And as it was within distance, the Shinigami drew the wakizashi from its scabbard, a miracle, as he aimed to stab the lady fatally at her chest.
Specks of blood flew through the air, catching the golden rays of a dying sun as cold steel, pure and glittering, continued to follow the course it had taken through one of the Hollow’s limbs. The monster reeled back, and Takashi spread the warm, red liquid across the length of his blade with one sweeping motion.
“Plunge into flesh, Aka no Tsume,” he commanded as he activated his Shikai. The other three task force members came up beside him to hedge in their target, and he quickly relayed a series of instructions to the inexperienced Shinigami.
Using wide, aggressive movements, Takashi managed to distract the Hollow’s attention from the others and train it instead on himself. Kohaku was above him, and yet she was right beside him, her spirit empowering him as he dodged a blow from the Hollow’s tongue. Taking the hilt of his Zanpakutō in both hands, he brought it down and severed the appendage. There was a scream of pain and the creature stumbled back, beating its insectoid wings in the air as it prepared to take flight.
“Strike now!” he yelled. The three Shinigami leapt from the field at the same time and, with barely coordinated blows managed to cut three lines across the body of the Hollow. A split-second later and the fissures became visible: its mask split in two, blood burst from its neck, and someone had left a hole in its abdomen. But even as they stood gaping at the damage they had caused, its great, black body began to dissipate before their very eyes, and it turned to ash that drifted away on the breeze.
The executioners began to congratulate themselves, but Takashi was nowhere to be found. After confirming that they had the situation under control, he had rushed back to where he had left the injured members of the team. Fortunately it had not taken as long as he had predicted to dispatch the Hollow. But time was of the essence, and every second counted when Wakiya’s life was slowly slipping away from her...
But when he reached the barrier he stopped, gaping in abject horror.
He saw Kisho’s blade flash against the sunlight as it plunged towards Wakiya’s chest, and though he screamed for him to stop, he knew that it was too late.
“Stop! Hōsōshi, enough!”
But it was too late.
Frantically he tried to unbind the spell holding the barrier in place and reach them.
But it was too late.
Kishō.
It was too late.
“W-why?” Wakiya could barely speak, and her blood fell across Kishō’s face. He saw his hand around the hilt of his wakizashi, clenched so tightly the knuckles had turned white, and realized that he was shaking. “Hō--sōshi… kun,” she gasped out as she reached out and took his hand-- the hand holding the blade-- in her own.
She could say no more, but her eyes said enough. Brimming with silent tears and bewildered innocence. She was pleading with him. Begging for him to take back what he had done.
Why.
Her voice chimed in his ears. His voice was lost, mouth moving, yet, Kishō could not form or utter any words. Speechless. The boy didn’t want to watch her pleading eyes any longer, cowardly he closed them. He wouldn’t cry, yet, the tears of blood mirrored his grief for Wakiya.
“Wa-Wakiya-san,” Kishō finally found the strength to speak, forcing himself to open his eyes. Golden and red stared at the glassy eyes of Wakiya. His free hand that rested on her shoulder, considering he attempted to claw at her jugular before, slowly raised to gently cup her cheek. “I’m… I--.”
He couldn’t say it.
No apologies could undo this.
All he could do, what Wakiya alone would see, were his tears of grief.
Takashi took one step forwards and brought his Zanpakutō down in an overhead slash, the force of which was enough to send a shockwave rippling across the surface of the barrier. He had realized too late that he had no knowledge of how to undo the kidō using spellcasting, and so had resorted to brute force.
As expected, it ended in failure.
He could see Kishō and Wakiya through the wall. They were so close and yet immeasurable distance stretched between them.
Damn it.
He struck at the wall again, again to know avail. He could not reach them. Panic gripped his chest.
Kohaku. He cried out to her, turning now to her in his moment of uncertainty. In return the hawk came to him, settling on his shoulder with a reassuring presence. You can do this, she told him, after all, you are the one who built it.
But Takashi was too agitated to grasp what she was saying, and did not reply.
Focus on the bonds between the spiritual particles, the voice of his Zanpakutō continued, Is it not a simple matter to cut through them?
She was right. He could do this, he had done it before. With deep breaths Takashi calmed himself. He closed his eyes and readjusted his stance, concentrating his Reiryoku into the very cutting edge of the blade which he held firmly in front of him. In the stillness he could feel his heart beating, and he was in resonance with the Aka no Tsume, their wills now one as they both cut through the wall before them. It was no longer a wall but a mere obstacle, and one with bonds that could be broken if he only concentrated on moving through it, on the act of cutting itself; without any hint of discrimination.
As one the sword and wielder moved. As one they severed the bonds holding the barrier together. And as one it burst from its invisible ties, disappearing suddenly rather than dissolving into pieces due to the cleanness of the strike. But Takashi did not notice. He sprinted to where Wakiya was wordlessly pantomiming her own death. The silence was drowned out by Shibata’s scream.
How could this be happening? A heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach. It was not supposed to turn out this way. He had failed. He had failed…
There are more pressing matters to attend here, Takashi. The steady voice of Kohaku reminded him. So, with as much strength as he could muster, he pushed his guilt aside, swallowed his shame and fear and grief, and knelt by Wakiya’s side. As gently as possible he pried Kishō’s hand away from the wakizashi protruding from her chest and then, with a face devoid of expression, carried the limp body a short distance away before laying it on the ground.
The blade had penetrated deeply, he could see that much. It took an extraordinary amount of power to kill a Shinigami, and yet her life had been snuffed out with one blow. Yet from the location of the wound and angle of the sword, he could see that her soul chain had most likely been severed and the Hakusui pierced. All with one fell strike.
Takashi straightened up, squared his shoulders, and turned towards Kishō.
“I believe this is yours,” he stated flatly as he held out the bloodied wakizashi. His hand trembled slightly: not from shock or fear, but from the pure, white-hot anger that burned in his eyes.
Once again, Kishō had his hand, the one that caressed Wakiya’s cheek, covering his eyes. The tears that slipped past his fingers blended with the blood, from the injury he caused, on his face. He only muttered inaudibly, sorry, repeatedly after Takashi gently took her away from him.
It was moments later that the Shinigami pushed himself into a sitting position by using his free hand. I did it again, Kishō thought to himself. The fresh memories mixed with his discoveries from centuries ago: the exact reason that he feared his Zanpakutō. He balled his hand into a fist, clenching it tightly, “Wakiya-san… forgive me.”
His bitter thoughts were interrupted by his fukutaichō. Normally, he’d address them neatly, however, this time, Kishō could not be bothered.
“Yeah, whatever.” he mumbled distantly. He didn’t register Takashi’s words. Nor did he acknowledge that the wakizashi was his.
The Shinigami that killed his comrades was ashamed. He didn’t dare to look at Takashi. “I apologise. I’ve failed you, Sakuma.” It was one of the first times that Kishō didn’t formally address his superior. “I couldn’t save her. I... did it again.”
Reluctantly, Kishō allowed his hand, which hid his different pair of eyes from sight, to falter to his side. Brimming eyes looked at Takashi, something that the Shinigami tried to hide before. And as Kishō turned more towards his lieutenant, the deep, painful red claw marks were visible around his neck. “I am sorry, so...sorry.” Words couldn’t describe the turmoil that the young man went through right now, his voice lowered, almost inaudible, “I wish I could sacrifice myself for Wakiya-san. She… doesn’t deserve this. I should’ve been the one.”
Kishō’s lieutenant had allowed him to speak his mind, but now he tossed the sword onto the ground beside him with an air of disgust. Without warning he walked to where Kishō sat on the ground, grabbed him by the front of his uniform, and twisting it around his fist, pulled him to his feet.
Their eyes locked, and for a moment it seemed as though Takashi were about to say something. He opened his mouth, but then closed it again in a firm line. There were no doubt thousands of things he could have said, but, sighing deeply, he wordlessly set Kishō back on the ground.
“Shibata, you will assist Miyazuki during our return to the Seireitei,” he said, and there was a certain sharpness to his voice that had not been there before. He directed the other three Shinigami who had just arrived to ensure the kidō-bound woman was returned to her home safely, and then, barely glancing in Wakiya’s direction as he added: “I will carry the body.”
The Shinigami moved about their respective tasks silently, robotically, but before they left Takashi, without even looking at him, said to Kishō:
“There will be no names mentioned in the official report. We all failed, and so each of us shares a part of the blame.” his hands clenched at his sides as he added, “However, I cannot so lightly excuse what you have done. A Shinigami who fears baring himself to his own sword has no right to bare a sword.”
With his shoulders slumped in defeat, Takashi cradled Wakiya in his arms and began the long, solemn march back to the Seireitei. The wind brushed softly through dry reeds, but Kishō did not hear it.
The bloodied wakizashi screamed at Kishō, wanting to return the side of its master. Yet, he could only glare coldly at it, the Shinigami had an utter detest for his supposed partner, whom sensed his pain and sorrow.
“Hiroseike,” he muttered softly, with despisement, Kishō revealed the name of his Zanpakutō.
He had known its name… all along.
“Sakuma-fukutaichō is right.” He stepped closer to the wakizashi, reluctantly curling his fingers around the hilt. Next he went towards its scabbard, where the katana awaited to return to his waistband. “I’m really the worst.”
Kishō chortled.
It wasn’t out of happiness. It sounded sinister.
“I’m not worthy of you,” he calmly spoke. His pair of different eyes, now, looked lifelessly at the bloodied wakizashi that he held out in front of him. “I loathe you. I wish I never desired to live on that day.” He sighed. His lips curling slightly up as he smiled at the wakizashi, “I can’t blame you. I did it. You only were there for me.”
It felt as if it knew what was coming. Crying out at Kishō, the Zanpakutō tried to reason with him. The childish voice screamed louder than before, “Shō-nii, don’t do this!”
He finally understood one of the souls. It only made him smile,
“Goodbye Hiroseike.”
The whisper of the wakizashi,
It apologised.
Yet, its master never understood.