Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ BLEACH Side Story: Chain/Gun/Gear ❯ Part 1.1: Down in Jungleland ( Chapter 2 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: SpectralTime 
Containing a Hollow, two Wholes, and three firearms.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Comedy / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.09.2009 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 141 | Status: Work In Progress
Containing a Hollow, two Wholes, and three firearms.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Comedy / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.09.2009 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.0K | Visits: 141 | Status: Work In Progress
The midnight gangs assembled and picked a rendezvous for the night
They'll meet `neath that giant Exxon sign that brings this fair city light
Man there's an opera out on the turnpike
There's a ballet being fought out in the alley
Until the local cops, cherry tops, rips this holy night
The street's alive as secret debts are paid
Contacts made, they vanish unseen
Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades, hustling for the record machine
The hungry and the hunted explode into rock'n'roll bands
That face off against each other out in the street down in Jungleland
--Bruce Springsteen
"The Boss"
Look down at the suburb at night. Observe the quiet, mostly sleeping town, its lights few and dim, its mood peaceful in the light of a waning crescent moon. Nothing out of the ordinary can be seen in Karakura to frighten the eye or the mind. All is right with the world.
Now look again.
Somewhere, just beneath the veil of the visible, the sky is screaming in pain. Cracks have appeared across a two-dimensional section of sky, bulging outwards like an obscene, cancerous growth. Even now, it rips open like a wound, and something scuttles through into the world.
It lands atop a skyscraper and lifts its head, taking in the lay of quick jerky motions this way and that. Its mighty nostrils draw twice, snuffling. The mask upon its face, made to resemble a turtle’s beaked skull, seems to pull back into an obscene grin. It stands on its six legs, the shell on its back stretching along the L-shaped curve of its spine
Scent.
Flavor.
Prey.
The creature had been hunting for a long time, nearly fifteen years, and had consumed many souls, both living and dead. It could barely remember being Yorikiro Wataro, professional katana stuntman and loving husband. However, the pain of the accident that had taken Yorikiro’s life remained very fresh, as did the sorrow at seeing his dear wife Ina Wataro née Senshin pining away for him, and the rage at seeing his brother Eijiro slowly connecting with her, helping her heal, teaching her to love again.
It had almost felt right when something inside of him had snapped, causing him to become it.
It had broken into the world in their old bedroom and eaten Ina, body and soul. Then, it had chased down what had been Yorikiro’s brother and eaten him too. Then their father, Hirotomo, old and withering, and his parents-in-law, Masuhiro and Kagome, and his dearest friends, Cho Teko and Kenta Daiske, then…
Oh how the names and faces had blent together, a nightmarish haze of joy beyond measure, hate beyond reason, pain eased only with the eating of souls. It had found the ghosts of the dead walking upon the Earth, and learned they filled its need as well as the living. Eventually, it had found living people that could see it, and oh but those were the best of all: strong and flavorful on the tongue, full of strength in the belly. It had gained much power, many abilities, and a certain degree of wisdom, reason returning as slowly but as surely as the ages of ice upon the earth.
It had seen the black-clad warrior-priests taking the dead through the gate and slaying others like itself, though perhaps less wise, with weapons it had known well in life, and had plotted clever plans. It practiced carefully, and one day it had caught and eaten one. The explosion of power and cleansing of pain was indescribable. It had almost tried to find another right away, but wisdom told it of the danger of such a plan. These strange meals were to be picked with care, eaten with speed, and digested with thought.
Now, ten years after that day, it scented a rich prize. A soul, bodiless but full of so much flavor that it must have been truly sensitive while alive. This town had many such treats in it, both living and dead.
Leaping from one rooftop to another, the creature pursued the scent, glorying in the ever-strengthening scent of prey, the pain at the core of its being seeming very far away. It leaped into an alley. With her back to it stood a middle-aged woman, still clad in her bloody business suit after the traffic accident that had killed her, crouching by the side of the road, looking at a distant, retreating car. The broken chain that bound spirit to matter dangled from her chest, waving back and forth as she watched.
The creature slowly stalked up behind her, rearing up on its hind legs. Huge, muscular arms with short but sharp claws flexed themselves in preparation. The things beak opened and shut, its long tongue sliding around its viciously hooked edge.
The woman turned and caught the creature out of the corner of her eye. She whirled to face it, eyes wide, mouth open—
The creature lunged at her, mouth and arms barely missing her as she began to run, trying frantically to escape the beast behind her. It lumbered after her, surprisingly quick for its size and body structure. The creature was enjoying the hunt and hardly moving at top speed. It let her try to dodge around and through parked cars as it swatted them away with ease, its energy-dense hide able to smash the matter she could only pass through.
It soon tired of its game and snatched her up by hooking a claw through the lapel of her coat. A decent meal, it thought as she screamed and pleaded, to stave off pain. It opened its beak and threw back its head…
BOOM!
A shot blasted a blinding hole in the universe and terrible pain filled the creature’s arm. It dropped the woman and cradled it, noting with some amazement the black ichor gushing from the wound. Turning to face the direction of the shot, it saw perhaps the most unexpected thing it could have imagined.
Its opponent was a gaijin man of medium height, dressed in a simple cloth coat and black pants. Twin double barrel shotguns, sawn off like long pistols, were held in either hand at his sides, smoking. A third, pump-action, was slung over his back with a long cloth cord. His opponent smiled at him from under a black bandana tied around his forehead, dull brown eyes belying cunning intelligence. His severed chain dangled from his chest, but there was something strange about it, something the creature could not quite place.
“Might wanna run for it, ma’am,” the apparition said in atrocious Japanese. It hefted its guns again. “This is gonna get nasty.”
The woman’s shade needed no encouraging. Pausing only to bow thanks with great speed, she fled into the night behind him.
“So, just the two of us, huh?” the man asked, slowly beginning to shuffle to the right. The creature followed him with its eyes. “Gotta say, you’re one ugly piece of elephant shit, even for a Hollow. God, a turtle head on a six-legged body? How the hell does that happen? Do you guys pick your shape, or does it just sort—”
Don’t listen to him, thought the beast, also beginning to circle. His wounded arm had already healed. The words are there to infuriate, or, failing that, to distract. Watch his eyes. Watch for the moment when—
The man suddenly leapt to the left, counter to his previous motion. He discharged both shotguns, firing a wide wall of projectiles at the creature’s exposed flank. Though it could never have moved quickly enough to dodge, it had other defenses.
The shell on its back suddenly unfolded, greatly extending its area, and a thick pillar of almost protoplasmical flesh extended and angled it to shield the creature from harm. The pellets of the blast bounced harmlessly off, scattering on the ground. The beast leapt at the man, twisting in midair and swiping with clawed arms, but he merely dodged backwards, firing both guns again and forcing the creature to stretch its shell in front of itself.
Strange. The creature could sense that this ghost of a man had almost no spirit energy. He probably couldn’t even have seen spirits in life. How was he keeping up so well? The creature mused on these things, but quickly sensed the presence of an approaching black-clad killer. No more time for playing. Even a light meal would keep this trip from being a total disaster.
The creature suddenly reared up on its thick hind legs and swiped at the man with its mid-legs, each of which was topped with a thick, curved blade that comprised nearly half its length. The bladed limbs snapped together like a pair of nightmarish scissors, slicing the man in half. His torso shot up into the air, a stunned look on its face, guns still held in its fists.
The creature allowed itself a brief feeling of victory. It roared in triumph as the upper half of the man’s body drew level with its head, missing the pair of strange objects retracting into the lower half.
Suddenly, the torso came to life, grinning evilly in the moonlight. It fired another two gun blast directly into the shocked creature’s face. Pain filled its mind, and it reared forward, clutching a damaged eye with its stubby, useless, turtle-like forearms. It missed seeing the muscle-red hands shoot out of the man’s pelvis and into his trunk, pulling the halves together so that he landed on his feet.
The beast lunged at him again, furious this time, only to have its opponent seemingly vanish. Whirling its shield-shell into position, the beast was barely able to escape a rain of shot as its infuriatingly agile opponent leapt impossibly high into the air, somersaulting over it and raining fire downward. The creature slashed with a spike-tipped tail, but the man vanished again, winking into being on one of its arms. He fired at the injured side of its head one-handed the other having holstered its weapon in a specially fitted slot to grip the scaly white-purple flesh of the arm.
“Halt!” cried a loud voice in perfect Japanese. A black-clad killed stood there, thick sphere of hair on his head and hand on his sword-hilt. “Identify yourself!”
The man suddenly looked panicked. “Crap!” he yelled. “The fuzz got here early!” He instantly winked out of existence again, before suddenly placing the muzzle of a gun directly into the mask-hole of its remaining eye. “Let him take you to peace,” the man whispered, his voice now soothing and calm. He squeezed the trigger, putting out the creature’s remaining eye.
Now blinded, the creature screamed like an animal, lashing out around it in a futile attempt to catch the man-ghost that had taken his sight. It could not have seen its enemy wink out of sight one last time. And, as it turned to face this new foe for whom it would prove easy prey, this foe that would indeed offer it peace, as well as sanity, and, eventually, reunion with Ina, the creature suddenly realized what had been strange about the man-ghost’s chain.
Rather than ending in a broken link, it had had a cube-shaped iron plug. The broken chain had been capped!
They'll meet `neath that giant Exxon sign that brings this fair city light
Man there's an opera out on the turnpike
There's a ballet being fought out in the alley
Until the local cops, cherry tops, rips this holy night
The street's alive as secret debts are paid
Contacts made, they vanish unseen
Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades, hustling for the record machine
The hungry and the hunted explode into rock'n'roll bands
That face off against each other out in the street down in Jungleland
--Bruce Springsteen
"The Boss"
Look down at the suburb at night. Observe the quiet, mostly sleeping town, its lights few and dim, its mood peaceful in the light of a waning crescent moon. Nothing out of the ordinary can be seen in Karakura to frighten the eye or the mind. All is right with the world.
Now look again.
Somewhere, just beneath the veil of the visible, the sky is screaming in pain. Cracks have appeared across a two-dimensional section of sky, bulging outwards like an obscene, cancerous growth. Even now, it rips open like a wound, and something scuttles through into the world.
It lands atop a skyscraper and lifts its head, taking in the lay of quick jerky motions this way and that. Its mighty nostrils draw twice, snuffling. The mask upon its face, made to resemble a turtle’s beaked skull, seems to pull back into an obscene grin. It stands on its six legs, the shell on its back stretching along the L-shaped curve of its spine
Scent.
Flavor.
Prey.
The creature had been hunting for a long time, nearly fifteen years, and had consumed many souls, both living and dead. It could barely remember being Yorikiro Wataro, professional katana stuntman and loving husband. However, the pain of the accident that had taken Yorikiro’s life remained very fresh, as did the sorrow at seeing his dear wife Ina Wataro née Senshin pining away for him, and the rage at seeing his brother Eijiro slowly connecting with her, helping her heal, teaching her to love again.
It had almost felt right when something inside of him had snapped, causing him to become it.
It had broken into the world in their old bedroom and eaten Ina, body and soul. Then, it had chased down what had been Yorikiro’s brother and eaten him too. Then their father, Hirotomo, old and withering, and his parents-in-law, Masuhiro and Kagome, and his dearest friends, Cho Teko and Kenta Daiske, then…
Oh how the names and faces had blent together, a nightmarish haze of joy beyond measure, hate beyond reason, pain eased only with the eating of souls. It had found the ghosts of the dead walking upon the Earth, and learned they filled its need as well as the living. Eventually, it had found living people that could see it, and oh but those were the best of all: strong and flavorful on the tongue, full of strength in the belly. It had gained much power, many abilities, and a certain degree of wisdom, reason returning as slowly but as surely as the ages of ice upon the earth.
It had seen the black-clad warrior-priests taking the dead through the gate and slaying others like itself, though perhaps less wise, with weapons it had known well in life, and had plotted clever plans. It practiced carefully, and one day it had caught and eaten one. The explosion of power and cleansing of pain was indescribable. It had almost tried to find another right away, but wisdom told it of the danger of such a plan. These strange meals were to be picked with care, eaten with speed, and digested with thought.
Now, ten years after that day, it scented a rich prize. A soul, bodiless but full of so much flavor that it must have been truly sensitive while alive. This town had many such treats in it, both living and dead.
Leaping from one rooftop to another, the creature pursued the scent, glorying in the ever-strengthening scent of prey, the pain at the core of its being seeming very far away. It leaped into an alley. With her back to it stood a middle-aged woman, still clad in her bloody business suit after the traffic accident that had killed her, crouching by the side of the road, looking at a distant, retreating car. The broken chain that bound spirit to matter dangled from her chest, waving back and forth as she watched.
The creature slowly stalked up behind her, rearing up on its hind legs. Huge, muscular arms with short but sharp claws flexed themselves in preparation. The things beak opened and shut, its long tongue sliding around its viciously hooked edge.
The woman turned and caught the creature out of the corner of her eye. She whirled to face it, eyes wide, mouth open—
The creature lunged at her, mouth and arms barely missing her as she began to run, trying frantically to escape the beast behind her. It lumbered after her, surprisingly quick for its size and body structure. The creature was enjoying the hunt and hardly moving at top speed. It let her try to dodge around and through parked cars as it swatted them away with ease, its energy-dense hide able to smash the matter she could only pass through.
It soon tired of its game and snatched her up by hooking a claw through the lapel of her coat. A decent meal, it thought as she screamed and pleaded, to stave off pain. It opened its beak and threw back its head…
BOOM!
A shot blasted a blinding hole in the universe and terrible pain filled the creature’s arm. It dropped the woman and cradled it, noting with some amazement the black ichor gushing from the wound. Turning to face the direction of the shot, it saw perhaps the most unexpected thing it could have imagined.
Its opponent was a gaijin man of medium height, dressed in a simple cloth coat and black pants. Twin double barrel shotguns, sawn off like long pistols, were held in either hand at his sides, smoking. A third, pump-action, was slung over his back with a long cloth cord. His opponent smiled at him from under a black bandana tied around his forehead, dull brown eyes belying cunning intelligence. His severed chain dangled from his chest, but there was something strange about it, something the creature could not quite place.
“Might wanna run for it, ma’am,” the apparition said in atrocious Japanese. It hefted its guns again. “This is gonna get nasty.”
The woman’s shade needed no encouraging. Pausing only to bow thanks with great speed, she fled into the night behind him.
“So, just the two of us, huh?” the man asked, slowly beginning to shuffle to the right. The creature followed him with its eyes. “Gotta say, you’re one ugly piece of elephant shit, even for a Hollow. God, a turtle head on a six-legged body? How the hell does that happen? Do you guys pick your shape, or does it just sort—”
Don’t listen to him, thought the beast, also beginning to circle. His wounded arm had already healed. The words are there to infuriate, or, failing that, to distract. Watch his eyes. Watch for the moment when—
The man suddenly leapt to the left, counter to his previous motion. He discharged both shotguns, firing a wide wall of projectiles at the creature’s exposed flank. Though it could never have moved quickly enough to dodge, it had other defenses.
The shell on its back suddenly unfolded, greatly extending its area, and a thick pillar of almost protoplasmical flesh extended and angled it to shield the creature from harm. The pellets of the blast bounced harmlessly off, scattering on the ground. The beast leapt at the man, twisting in midair and swiping with clawed arms, but he merely dodged backwards, firing both guns again and forcing the creature to stretch its shell in front of itself.
Strange. The creature could sense that this ghost of a man had almost no spirit energy. He probably couldn’t even have seen spirits in life. How was he keeping up so well? The creature mused on these things, but quickly sensed the presence of an approaching black-clad killer. No more time for playing. Even a light meal would keep this trip from being a total disaster.
The creature suddenly reared up on its thick hind legs and swiped at the man with its mid-legs, each of which was topped with a thick, curved blade that comprised nearly half its length. The bladed limbs snapped together like a pair of nightmarish scissors, slicing the man in half. His torso shot up into the air, a stunned look on its face, guns still held in its fists.
The creature allowed itself a brief feeling of victory. It roared in triumph as the upper half of the man’s body drew level with its head, missing the pair of strange objects retracting into the lower half.
Suddenly, the torso came to life, grinning evilly in the moonlight. It fired another two gun blast directly into the shocked creature’s face. Pain filled its mind, and it reared forward, clutching a damaged eye with its stubby, useless, turtle-like forearms. It missed seeing the muscle-red hands shoot out of the man’s pelvis and into his trunk, pulling the halves together so that he landed on his feet.
The beast lunged at him again, furious this time, only to have its opponent seemingly vanish. Whirling its shield-shell into position, the beast was barely able to escape a rain of shot as its infuriatingly agile opponent leapt impossibly high into the air, somersaulting over it and raining fire downward. The creature slashed with a spike-tipped tail, but the man vanished again, winking into being on one of its arms. He fired at the injured side of its head one-handed the other having holstered its weapon in a specially fitted slot to grip the scaly white-purple flesh of the arm.
“Halt!” cried a loud voice in perfect Japanese. A black-clad killed stood there, thick sphere of hair on his head and hand on his sword-hilt. “Identify yourself!”
The man suddenly looked panicked. “Crap!” he yelled. “The fuzz got here early!” He instantly winked out of existence again, before suddenly placing the muzzle of a gun directly into the mask-hole of its remaining eye. “Let him take you to peace,” the man whispered, his voice now soothing and calm. He squeezed the trigger, putting out the creature’s remaining eye.
Now blinded, the creature screamed like an animal, lashing out around it in a futile attempt to catch the man-ghost that had taken his sight. It could not have seen its enemy wink out of sight one last time. And, as it turned to face this new foe for whom it would prove easy prey, this foe that would indeed offer it peace, as well as sanity, and, eventually, reunion with Ina, the creature suddenly realized what had been strange about the man-ghost’s chain.
Rather than ending in a broken link, it had had a cube-shaped iron plug. The broken chain had been capped!