Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Bleach Fiction - Wild Hunt ❯ Chapter 2
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: theablackthorn 
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Fantasy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.20.2012 | Updated On: 06.20.2012 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 209 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Fantasy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.20.2012 | Updated On: 06.20.2012 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 209 | Status: Work In Progress
Part 2
Grimmjow’s eyes slammed shut, pain and savagery tore from his throat in a guttural howl. His body dropped to the floor, rippling and contorting into a new shape as he tried to breathe through the worst of it. It was the second time someone had forced Grimmjow’s change, the first time seemed like eons ago. The fool had died because he hadn’t had the sense to utilise Grimmjow’s true name to do anything other than shift, all because Grimmjow had denied him that intimacy. And that shift had ended with anger and blood. Crimson filled Grimmjow’s eyes as pain arched, pulsed and fused his body.
Aizen would pay for this, for the pain, the humiliation and the look of horror in that boy’s eyes. Amidst the pain that racked Grimmjow’s body he felt the insidious claws of shame sink deep into his gut. The feelings didn’t last, shoved aside almost as quickly as they had formed. Grimmjow couldn’t and wouldn’t allow himself to wallow in self pity - that just wasn’t who he was and he wouldn’t let Aizen take that from him. He shoved these thoughts brutally aside, relaxing his body as best he could with bones cracking and lengthening, muscles pulling and shifting. He sank into the change, disappearing inside the only calm place in his mind as he let the waves of cramping muscles and twisting bones flow through him, changing the very fabric of his being but never his mind.
He could feel his body lengthen, thick slabs of muscles shifting, as his arms rotated in their sockets with a sick squelch, his kneecaps joining the cacophony of sounds rending the air as they snapped and bent backwards. His muzzle lengthened, teeth crowding in, growing longer, sharper, deadlier. The change took long minutes, leaving him vulnerable, but it steadily ebbed away, the last few parts of his body easing into familiar yet wholly different forms. His hair formed a ridge of sky blue mane ran along his spine, white fluid seeped from his pores fusing to form flexible white plates of armour all over his body. His tail sprang free from the base of his spine, thick clubbed tip lashing with his pent up anger as he settled into his new shape.
There was no familiar easing stretch; he had been forced into this shape, forced into long moments of vulnerability that he had always kept behind sealed doors. Piercing blue eyes lined with slashes of slightly darker blue opened and fixed on the King. Grimmjow took in the crumpled form of the boy beside the throne, those haunting honey coloured eyes closed, and though the boys breathing was even it stirred his anger into a conflagration that built in his belly and roared through his blood - mine! Grimmjow’s lips parted, a feral sneer curling thin lips that stretched over sharp teeth, his words were a half growl, half shout, “You die!”
Grimmjow ran at Aizen, padded feet silent as he sprang across the room, hind legs bunching in preparation when he landed at the optimal distance from the throne and the figure that still sat completely at ease a top it. Cool, sizzling energy pooled in his belly, and as he breathed he channelled it, letting it chasing up his throat to zing across his tongue. The cold electrical charge filled his mouth, dancing across gums and tongue, tasting like ozone. Eyes’ narrowing to slits minimising the effects of the white light on his vision he zeroed in on Aizen and that empty smile on his face...
The Cerro built going supernova in his mouth and just as he went to release it Aizen spoke. “Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, 6th of my Arrancar, Master of the Wild Hunt, you will run as far as your strength can take you, you will run until exhaustion drives you to your knees and there in the open, exposed to the eyes of the mortal world you will change and only then. For you will learn that you cannot and will not defy me, you will learn that though you are a useful asset, for now, you may not always be. You will be humiliated, degraded and you will obey.”
That cold curve of lip made Grimmjow’s stomach drop, eyes widening as a pulse of sheer will forced its way through him. He felt Aizen in the depth of his soul, the cruel, slithering darkness of crude oil over water, a blanket of true evil and for the first time he felt a lick of fear.
The Cerro that had been growing, spinning and churning with energy blinked out and as the brilliance of that light faded from sight leaving dark spots, after images, on his retinas he knew the emptiness that sat atop the throne and anger at weakened self, at the boy and at Aizen burned in his heart. He gave a coughing cry of challenge even as he was forced tooth and nail, by his own body, to turn and run. He would go as far and as fast as his Master commanded him, but he would return, he would drive that fucker into the dust if it was the last thing he did.
Grimmjow turned a shriek of sound echoing in the silent room as his claws tried to gain purchase against the marble floor, a futile attempt to overrule the command that echoed in his very soul. He caught sight of those honey brown eyes that were barely open and he saw fear, pain and anguish and it took him through the door at a dead run. He could deny Aizen, could fight him until the throne or some other threat took him, but he would not subject that boy, could not subject that boy, to the horror of what Aizen would do if he did not obey. Grimmjow’s teeth ground hard, making his jaw creak as frustration and fury burned like dark coals inside him.
There had been a promise in those empty, calculating eyes - Aizen had found a weakness in him that even Grimmjow was only just coming to understand. And so he ran, as though his own hounds were at his heels because death chased him on dark wings.
88888
Minutes, hours, days, weeks Grimmjow wasn’t certain how much time had passed, his body was tireless in its pursuit of nothing on the orders of a sociopathic fae King.
He had been commanded to run into exhaustion and as a hunter, his strength, stamina and ferocity had become legendary. He had become the leader of most infamous Unseelie band - the Wild Hunt. It was known by many names across the continents and Grimmjow had taken charge of it with tooth and claw as tradition dictated. That was almost a century ago.
But right now his strength, rapid healing and stamina worked against him. The thick, leathery pads on his paws grew bloody and blistered only to heal again with new skin forming over stones and twigs that got stuck to the raw flesh. His throat was as barren of moisture as any desert, lips cracked, and tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. And yet, because there was still power in his limbs he continued onwards.
Grimmjow had flowed through fields, past hamlets, towns and cities and out the other side again. Rolling hills became thick forests and barren wastelands and still he ran as if there was no end to the Earth and he was destined to traverse its width forever. He had begun to wonder, in the hazy state between conscious mind and automatic motion, if the end of the Earth would be enough or if Aizen had meant for him to run himself into oblivion.
Grimmjow’s eyes slammed shut, pain and savagery tore from his throat in a guttural howl. His body dropped to the floor, rippling and contorting into a new shape as he tried to breathe through the worst of it. It was the second time someone had forced Grimmjow’s change, the first time seemed like eons ago. The fool had died because he hadn’t had the sense to utilise Grimmjow’s true name to do anything other than shift, all because Grimmjow had denied him that intimacy. And that shift had ended with anger and blood. Crimson filled Grimmjow’s eyes as pain arched, pulsed and fused his body.
Aizen would pay for this, for the pain, the humiliation and the look of horror in that boy’s eyes. Amidst the pain that racked Grimmjow’s body he felt the insidious claws of shame sink deep into his gut. The feelings didn’t last, shoved aside almost as quickly as they had formed. Grimmjow couldn’t and wouldn’t allow himself to wallow in self pity - that just wasn’t who he was and he wouldn’t let Aizen take that from him. He shoved these thoughts brutally aside, relaxing his body as best he could with bones cracking and lengthening, muscles pulling and shifting. He sank into the change, disappearing inside the only calm place in his mind as he let the waves of cramping muscles and twisting bones flow through him, changing the very fabric of his being but never his mind.
He could feel his body lengthen, thick slabs of muscles shifting, as his arms rotated in their sockets with a sick squelch, his kneecaps joining the cacophony of sounds rending the air as they snapped and bent backwards. His muzzle lengthened, teeth crowding in, growing longer, sharper, deadlier. The change took long minutes, leaving him vulnerable, but it steadily ebbed away, the last few parts of his body easing into familiar yet wholly different forms. His hair formed a ridge of sky blue mane ran along his spine, white fluid seeped from his pores fusing to form flexible white plates of armour all over his body. His tail sprang free from the base of his spine, thick clubbed tip lashing with his pent up anger as he settled into his new shape.
There was no familiar easing stretch; he had been forced into this shape, forced into long moments of vulnerability that he had always kept behind sealed doors. Piercing blue eyes lined with slashes of slightly darker blue opened and fixed on the King. Grimmjow took in the crumpled form of the boy beside the throne, those haunting honey coloured eyes closed, and though the boys breathing was even it stirred his anger into a conflagration that built in his belly and roared through his blood - mine! Grimmjow’s lips parted, a feral sneer curling thin lips that stretched over sharp teeth, his words were a half growl, half shout, “You die!”
Grimmjow ran at Aizen, padded feet silent as he sprang across the room, hind legs bunching in preparation when he landed at the optimal distance from the throne and the figure that still sat completely at ease a top it. Cool, sizzling energy pooled in his belly, and as he breathed he channelled it, letting it chasing up his throat to zing across his tongue. The cold electrical charge filled his mouth, dancing across gums and tongue, tasting like ozone. Eyes’ narrowing to slits minimising the effects of the white light on his vision he zeroed in on Aizen and that empty smile on his face...
The Cerro built going supernova in his mouth and just as he went to release it Aizen spoke. “Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, 6th of my Arrancar, Master of the Wild Hunt, you will run as far as your strength can take you, you will run until exhaustion drives you to your knees and there in the open, exposed to the eyes of the mortal world you will change and only then. For you will learn that you cannot and will not defy me, you will learn that though you are a useful asset, for now, you may not always be. You will be humiliated, degraded and you will obey.”
That cold curve of lip made Grimmjow’s stomach drop, eyes widening as a pulse of sheer will forced its way through him. He felt Aizen in the depth of his soul, the cruel, slithering darkness of crude oil over water, a blanket of true evil and for the first time he felt a lick of fear.
The Cerro that had been growing, spinning and churning with energy blinked out and as the brilliance of that light faded from sight leaving dark spots, after images, on his retinas he knew the emptiness that sat atop the throne and anger at weakened self, at the boy and at Aizen burned in his heart. He gave a coughing cry of challenge even as he was forced tooth and nail, by his own body, to turn and run. He would go as far and as fast as his Master commanded him, but he would return, he would drive that fucker into the dust if it was the last thing he did.
Grimmjow turned a shriek of sound echoing in the silent room as his claws tried to gain purchase against the marble floor, a futile attempt to overrule the command that echoed in his very soul. He caught sight of those honey brown eyes that were barely open and he saw fear, pain and anguish and it took him through the door at a dead run. He could deny Aizen, could fight him until the throne or some other threat took him, but he would not subject that boy, could not subject that boy, to the horror of what Aizen would do if he did not obey. Grimmjow’s teeth ground hard, making his jaw creak as frustration and fury burned like dark coals inside him.
There had been a promise in those empty, calculating eyes - Aizen had found a weakness in him that even Grimmjow was only just coming to understand. And so he ran, as though his own hounds were at his heels because death chased him on dark wings.
88888
Minutes, hours, days, weeks Grimmjow wasn’t certain how much time had passed, his body was tireless in its pursuit of nothing on the orders of a sociopathic fae King.
He had been commanded to run into exhaustion and as a hunter, his strength, stamina and ferocity had become legendary. He had become the leader of most infamous Unseelie band - the Wild Hunt. It was known by many names across the continents and Grimmjow had taken charge of it with tooth and claw as tradition dictated. That was almost a century ago.
But right now his strength, rapid healing and stamina worked against him. The thick, leathery pads on his paws grew bloody and blistered only to heal again with new skin forming over stones and twigs that got stuck to the raw flesh. His throat was as barren of moisture as any desert, lips cracked, and tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. And yet, because there was still power in his limbs he continued onwards.
Grimmjow had flowed through fields, past hamlets, towns and cities and out the other side again. Rolling hills became thick forests and barren wastelands and still he ran as if there was no end to the Earth and he was destined to traverse its width forever. He had begun to wonder, in the hazy state between conscious mind and automatic motion, if the end of the Earth would be enough or if Aizen had meant for him to run himself into oblivion.