Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Minutes to Midnight ❯ At World's End Part II ( Chapter 37 )

Title: At World's End

Characters: Everybody and their brother just about

Rating: T

Warning: Spoilers, Character Death (though if you weathered The Twilight Hour you should be fine), Language

Words: 4,435

Description: The dust settles, the earth quiets, and the results of Aizen Sousuke's ascension become clear to all.

 

AN: Vaguely refers to Seireitei Monogatari drabble 80.

 

 

Ichigo blinked, looking around pointedly. Urahara was still holding his breath as if waiting for something miraculous to occur, and Gin's hand had tightened in his. All three of them had seen Aizen sit on the throne.

 

And all three of them had seen absolutely nothing happen.

 

The teenager blinked, furrowing his brow. “Well, that was anti-climatic,” he muttered, disappointed that nothing more telling had occurred.

 

“Quite,” the shopkeeper agreed and lifted one hand to thumb at his chin. “I expected fireworks at least.” There was a hint of amusement to his tone, though worry was in his eyes.

 

The press of reiatsu in the air, the feeling of an ancient power was still rising. Nearly breathtaking.

 

“Angels singin',” Gin chimed in, twisting his jaw in his own brand of confusion. “Big halos of light.”

 

“Or even a freakin' burst of lightning.” Ichigo gestured with his free hand towards the throne. “Not... nothing.”

 

None of them wanted to say aloud what they feared. That the world had rejected their leader and the lack of response was proof of it. Out of all of them, it seemed that Aizen would be the most likely to be accepted. They didn't want to think that everything they had been fighting for was pointless.

 

Urahara took a step towards the throne hat pulled so far forward that his eyes were almost completely hidden. It was then that the room swelled with so much power that it sent even the three of them to their knees, completely swamping their reiatsu, and the blond suffered the worst of it; he didn't have the dark swell of a Hollow's energy helping him. Benihime dropped from his nerveless fingers, clattering to the floor as the blond gasped for breath.

 

Despite the pain and the pressure, Kisuke still felt a sense of relief and victory. This wasn't a rejection; this was acceptance. The world had chosen Aizen Sousuke.

 

He forced his head upwards, trying to see his dearest friend and yanking off his hat so that it wouldn't obscure his vision. Behind him, Gin was murmuring to Ichigo, the latter struggling as he tried to balance his mixed Shinigami and Hollow reiatsu. They would be fine, despite the warmth of the blanketing reiatsu, and Sousuke...

 

Sousuke sat perfectly still on the throne, though his hands were a white-knuckled grip on the arms. His eyes had pinched closed, and he breathed harshly, little short and gasping breaths. As Kisuke watched, he swore he could see little tendrils of spirit energy in all shades - green, brown, blue, black, red, too many to name - creeping across the floor. Sinuously winding their way to the throne, merging as they crept over his flesh until his body was surrounded by a halo.

 

There was a flex of power, like an outpouring wave of blinding white light that smacked into Urahara, stealing his breath. It was both warm and cold, making him shiver as his fingers scraped at the dust-covered stone. And then, the temple itself started to rumble, shaking and causing bits of stone and dust to drop from the ceiling.

 

Kisuke's mouth dropped as a flood seemed to sweep into the area. Before his eyes, the temple disintegrated, sinking back into the earth. The cobwebs and grime that vanished, and gleaming silver appeared beneath the dirt. The dais rose up several more levels as Sousuke sat upon it, adding more stairs. The reiatsu was less pressing now, though heavily present, and Urahara struggled to his feet and blinked as everything around him began to alter. To rise and fall, shift in shape, brighten. The temple sank into the ground, and beneath his feet, the stone shifted to a field of thick grass. Sunlight poured down on them, bright and warming as the grey clouds dispersed, glimpses of bright blue peeking through.

 

Kisuke whirled to track the changes, a sense of elation striking his heart. In the distance, the temples were all sinking into the ground, vegetation springing up in their place. The concealing fog had vanished to be replaced by flowering trees and scattered benches. And behind Sousuke, springing up in a semi-circle, a building began to take shape, formed from absolute thin air.

 

No! Formed from spirit particles, just like in Seireitei.

 

Stone swelled and carved, forming windows without glass, and a stage took shape. The name of the structure rose in Kisuke's mind.

 

An amphitheater.

 

Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

 

“What is this?” Ichigo demanded, sucking in a heavy breath as he forcefully shoved himself to his feet by willpower alone. His body shook under the strain and weight, but he refused to witness this cowering on the floor.

 

“Heaven,” Kisuke breathed, too awed to bother with mysteriousness. “It's shifting to reflect him. It's becoming his world.”

 

The smile on Gin's face was rare indeed, one of true happiness rather than faint derision. “He succeeded,” the man said unnecessarily, though somehow the words managed to have an echoing ring to them. “Aizen-taichou's a king now.”

 

“Not just a king,” Kisuke returned with a mischievous twinkle to his eyes. “The king. Our king.”

 

Beneath his feet, the earth gradually settled, the last of the spirit particles shifting into place, leaving them standing in a world that seemed brand new. Freshly made with an untouched start. Blue skies and open fields, a large amphitheater, and Sousuke's throne rising above it all. He still sat upon it.

 

The debilitating press of reiatsu became more manageable, and Urahara was able to stand fully, Ichigo and Gin doing much the same behind him. All three stood in awe of the sudden changes Aizen's ascension had wrought. And then, the shopkeeper's eyes flicked back to the overlord-now-king, opening his mouth to speak.

 

But Ichigo beat him to it. “What the hell just happened?” he demanded in typical Ichigo-fashion, brushing bits of debris from the folds of his clothing.

 

Upon his throne, Aizen smirked, his gaze falling on them and glimmering with achievement. He seemed entirely unchanged were it not for the depth to his brown eyes now. A dark glimmer of power that rippled beneath the surface, seeming bottomless. He lifted his fingers where they rested on the arm of his throne, and Kisuke swore he saw electricity crackle between his skin and the wood.

 

The lord - no, the king - looked as if he were about to respond until his eyes flicked past his allies and beyond. The three men turned, catching sight of a Shinigami standing behind them. Not just any Shinigami, but the captain of the second division, Soifon herself. Outrage clearly outlined her features, though she looked a little worse for wear. Captain's haori completely gone and rips in her hakama.

 

Somehow, it didn't surprise Kisuke that she would be the first to find them. Undoubtedly, Soifon had trailed them from the start but at a far enough distance that none of them would have noticed.

 

Her face twisted into something furious, eyes narrowing. And Soifon slowly drew her zanpakutou, needing no words to convey her intent.

 

“Jinteki shakusetsu, Suzumebachi,” Soifon hissed, reiatsu swelling around her as she attempted to slide into shikai.

 

Aizen's lips pulled into a gesture of amusement. He focused his gaze on the second division captain, and without a word, she dropped, knees striking the soft, springy grass. Horror and fury flickered onto her face as her zanpakutou slipped from her fingers and rolled uselessly off to the side.

 

Soifon tracked the movement with her eyes, reaching for the zanpakutou, which seemed to rock away from her hand as though it had a mind of its own. “Why won't you listen to me?” the captain demanded, and if there was a shrill touch to her voice, no one commented on it.

 

For the first time, Kisuke began to understand the true depth of the power Aizen had inherited.

 

“Every subject knows to obey his king.” Sousuke's smooth voice poured over the open expanse, amused and lofty. “Your zanpakutou is no exception.”

 

The look of unrelenting horror on Soifon's face almost made Kisuke laugh. She reached for a zanpakutou that refused to listen to her and couldn't manage to rise to her feet. It was truly a situation in which she could do nothing.

 

Sousuke seemed to share his amusement as he tipped his head to the side and lifted his fingers in only a small movement. There was the subtle sense of power rising, drifting over them like an air current. It felt as if it were trying to pull him towards the empty grass clearing that stretched out in front of the raised dais.

 

He turned, watching as Aizen's reiatsu stirred and mixed with a much older, deeper power. And then, to his shock and amazement, the air seemed to ripple above the empty plains. Like a heat mirage in the middle of summer, indistinct and hazy. Seconds later, a bevy of Shinigami appeared in the midst of the field, many stumbling in place as they took in the sudden change of position from wherever they had been to here.

 

Standing several feet before the crowd of Shinigami was Yamamoto-soutaichou himself. He held his posture strong and with dignity, hands crossed over the head of his staff. His gaze seemed for Aizen alone, proud and arrogant. He certainly didn't look the part of a man who had been utterly defeated in almost every way possible.

 

Aizen met his gaze, and for a moment, something flickered across the king's expression. He rose to his feet, his words dropping like a command that could not be ignored.

 

“On your knees.”

 

Without a sound, without hesitation, the gathered Shinigami abruptly dropped. The sound of their knees striking the thick grass echoed through the vastness of Heaven, tolling like the sound of victory. And try as they might, the few who reached for their zanpakutou found that they wouldn't respond. Kisuke could see the horror in their expressions, mirroring what Soifon had already come to learn.

 

They were just now beginning to realize how utterly defeated they truly were.

 

Yamamoto was no less affected. He too had fallen to his knees, though he had given great effort to resist the command. Sweat dotted his forehead, and his hands remained locked around his staff, which now towered over his head. His eyes held nothing but anger, glimmering deeply with surging hate.

 

Aizen watched them as they silently glared, looking all indignant for their loss. “You have a choice,” he began, his allies moving to the base of his throne, Kisuke standing to one side of him and Gin to the other with Ichigo just a handsbreadth away. “You can accept me as the rightful king and help create a new Soul Society. Or you can give up your Shinigami abilities and be content to an existence without them.”

 

He was no idle murderer, after all. He couldn't fault any of the Shinigami for protecting themselves and their home. They did what they had to do as did he. He would let them live. With some stipulations of course. He couldn't have former enemies retaining their abilities; it would create unnecessary conflict.

 

Out of the crowd of defeated Shinigami, there was a burble of discontent. “That's tyranny!” a voice protested, indistinguishable from the rest.

 

“Madness!” another claimed.

 

“You're no better than the corruption you're claiming to cleanse.”

 

Kisuke stepped forward, gesturing to the throne behind him. “The world has chosen him. That is absolute. You can't deny that.”

 

Silence fell at his statement as they tried to refute the truth. But there was no denying Kisuke's words. Aizen had been sitting on the throne. Heaven had changed to reflect him. And the power emanating from his form was incontestable. He was the king whether they liked it or not.

 

“Your zanpakutou are mine now,” Aizen added, moving to step down from the throne. As he did, it shifted beneath his touch and formed stairs that would allow him to descend. “They will refuse to work against their king. The reiatsu that creates your very lives--” He paused to lift a hand, twining his fingers around some invisible force. “--is under my command. Until the world decides otherwise, I am your king. You've no choice but to accept it.”

 

A ripple of discontent spread around the gathered Shinigami, many trading uncomfortable glances and mutinous glares. His feet finally touching the ground, Aizen moved to stand before them, looking down at his former enemies. They returned the gaze with rage and rebellion.

 

“You will destroy the balance,” the old man finally stated, voice echoing onerously through the changed heaven. “You will cause both the living world and Soul Society to fall, destroying everything.”

 

The king tilted his chin. “If that were true, then the world would not have chosen me at all. Perhaps it is simply that you are ashamed that a man such as I would be selected, long before your vaunted royal family.”

 

Yamamoto's lips thinned, jaw tightening with his anger. “Your reign will not last, Aizen Sousuke. I will find way to bring you down.”

 

“I almost think that I would look forward to that,” Aizen replied simply, something warning in his tone. “But that would only bring strife that Soul Society does not need.”

 

“That you caused the most of it does not seem to faze you, Aizen.” Yamamoto's gruff tone spoke no quarter. He would not back down, and he would not surrender. He was making that perfectly clear.

 

Aizen clucked his tone, shaking his head as the onlookers continued to watch the power play between the two very herculean men. No one seemed fit to comment or interfere, knowing it was a battle they had no place stepping between. Even Kisuke was stunned into silence, simply watching the two men with breathless anticipation.

 

“The strife started long before I was born. Even you should know that. Can I be blamed for being the only one attempting to fix it?”

 

Gnarled fingers clenched around the head of his zanpakutou-come-staff. “We are justice,” Yamamoto stated with absolute finality. “We are the guardians of the afterlife. Sacrifices on occasion--”

 

“--need to be made. Yes, I know. I have heard such drivel before.” Aizen's jaw hardened, his eyes turning firm and merciless. “I'm sure you spouted the same garbage before committing Shigure to death. And to others, who lost their life for the sake of Seireitei's false peace and justice.”

 

“Then, this is just revenge. How petty.”

 

Brown eyes narrowed, even as energy crackled behind them, weaving up and around Aizen's body as though he were composed entirely of power. “Revenge would involve me driving my zanpakutou through you without any hesitation and at this very moment. But I have always sought something more. And if your justice were so pure, then the world would not have chosen me in the first place. It wouldn't have even needed to do so.”

 

An eyebrow twitched, the old bastard falling silent under Aizen's absolute truth. He was defeated, and he knew it, but his warrior's pride would not let him accept it until the absolute end. When there were no other paths left for him to take.

 

“You are defeated.” Aizen rose to his full height. And with the sun shining directly behind him, wreathing him in an ethereal glow, he looked even more the part of a king. “Wholly and completely. Drop your sword.”

 

It wasn't so much a command as it was a suggestion. Aizen was giving him the opportunity to do so of his own accord rather than force Yamamoto to cease hostilities. Dark eyes warred with Aizen's, determined to the last. And then, gnarled fingers - still containing an absurd amount of strength - uncurled around the head of his staff and let his zanpakutou drop, falling to the side in front of him.

 

“Your victory is only temporary,” the captain-commander claimed steadily, expression unflinching. “We will not be forgotten.”

 

It was unclear to those watching, just who he meant. But Aizen seemed to understand, inclining his head in acceptance of Yamamoto's words.

 

He gestured briefly to the zanpakutou before the old man, gaze betraying nothing. “You should do the honorable thing, soutaichou,” he replied solidly. “If indeed, you have the courage within you to do so.”

 

Another ripple of discontent surged in the crowd of Shinigami, but at a single look from Aizen, they were silenced. Whether it was because of the massive amount of reiatsu surging from his form or if he had given some inner command, Urahara wasn't certain.

 

He gave Yamamoto another searching glance before stepping around the captain-commander and focusing his gaze on the other Shinigami. He dismissed Yamamoto as though he were merely nothing, unworried for his own safety. The old man was simply a defeated soldier, after all. Worthy of no more thought.

 

Silence had swept over the clearing, and because of it, the soft whisper of a blade being drawn from its sheath was all too loud.

 

Aizen didn't flinch, didn't pause in his footsteps. Not even when the sound of steel sinking into flesh followed by a low grunt, echoed behind him. The smell of blood was sharp and pungent on the fresh breeze as many of the Shinigami flinched but held their ground.

 

Pausing before them, the new king folded his arms behind his back, looking over the defeated appraisingly. For the first time, he addressed them directly.

 

“Now, my friends,” he began, voice even as reiatsu trickled from the ground and wove around his frame in visible tendrils. “You have been given your choice. I do hope that you will join me in the creation of a new, better Soul Society.”

 

- - -

 

“What're ya thinkin'?”

 

Gin's voice pulled Ichigo from his thoughtful reverie, and he frowned. “I was just thinking that Aizen's too powerful, you know. Too god-like.” Ichigo shook his head. “And then, I realized… Well, duh, that's cause he is a god now. The king.”

 

He felt Gin's gaze fall on him, almost searchingly. Unconsciously, Ichigo's hand found itself seeking out his lover, and he twined his fingers with the other man's much longer ones. He had been watching Aizen state his intentions, and he had watched as Yamamoto made his decision. He knew that he should be probably feeling something - grief, regret, anger - but instead, a part of Ichigo felt empty.

 

There was victory here, yes. But in many ways, it was hollow. That it should have to come to this was very regrettable. That Soul Society and Seireitei had become so corrupt that both needed to be rebuilt was unfortunate as well. Ichigo didn't feel sorry for what he had done, but in the face of the emotions racing across the Shinigami faces, he thought he understood for a moment.

 

Right or wrong didn't exist in war. Each side fought for what they believed in, risked their lives for their faith. He understood why in that moment, why Aizen had given the Shinigami a choice.

 

Gin's fingers squeezed his. “Ya see now, don't ya?”

 

“It wasn't that I doubted him,” Ichigo replied, his gaze locked on the new king. “Or his intentions. I trust Aizen.”

 

“I know tha'.” Gin pulled him closer, settling his chin on Ichigo's shoulder as he too watched Aizen speak to the throng of defeated soldiers. “But it wasn't so long ago that ya wondered wha' Aizen really meant ta do.”

 

His lover had a point. Once, long ago, right after he had decided to skip off to Hueco Mundo, he had wondered what Aizen's purpose had been. And though he had accepted his place in Las Noches and had found himself fighting for Aizen's side, there had always been a small part of him that wondered. He should have hated the Shinigami, but he didn't want to see them die. Many had been his friends. And many had been told lies, cloaked entirely from the truth.

 

Ichigo nodded in agreement and shifted his attention back to their allies, who were watching the proceedings with various emotions. Stark looked to be near asleep on his feet, bored by the events as he leaned on Halibel's shoulder. Behind them in a cluster and speaking in low tones were their fraccion, headed by Tesla.

 

A short distance away Barragan was studying his nails, looking a mite worse for wear but otherwise alive. It was almost a pity. Ichigo didn't really like the third Espada that much. And it appeared his sentiment was shared by most of his friends.

 

Ukitake-san, strangely enough, was standing on their side, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. Grief was evident in his dark eyes, which had only left that of his mentor to watch his best friend in the crowd of Shinigami. Kira was next to him, tending to a wound on the elder Shinigami's arm. And Ishida was—

 

Ichigo's mouth dropped.

 

Was he kissing Szayel? Or scratch that because it seemed to be the other way around. Szayel had both gloved hands wrapped around Ishida's face, bringing their lips together in a way that made even Ichigo feel embarrassed. Well, that was certainly one way to celebrate their victory. And frankly, he didn't know if he should congratulate the two or tell them to get a room.

 

Wisely averting his eyes, Ichigo continued scanning. But he didn't see Nel anywhere. Or Ulquiorra and Grimmjow for that matter. They were conspicuously absent. In fact, the only other one from their side that he noticed was Yoruichi, who was stepping up beside Urahara and speaking in a low tone.

 

Ichigo felt something like cold dread settle in his belly. “Gin,” he whispered, swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat. “Where's Nel?”

 

In answer, a hand slid around his waist, pulling him back into Gin's embrace. “Aizen-taichou's th' king now,” his lover said by way of answer, voice quiet. “All th' power of the world's at his disposal.”

 

“Grimmjow is missing, too,” Ichigo added and felt his fingers tighten around Gin. “And Ulquiorra. I can't even sense them. They're not here.” Realization trickled over him with dizzying speed.

 

“I know.” Gin's hand was a warm comfort around him. “We'll get them back. Aizen-taichou'll make sure of it.”

 

Somehow, that didn't serve to comfort Ichigo. He believed in Aizen's abilities, but it still didn't seem possible to raise the dead. That had to be the only reason they weren't present. Someone, a Shinigami, had killed them.

 

Ichigo's heart ached with the thought of losing Nel, the small Espada one of his dearest friends. And Grimmjow, who was his sort-of friend. Or Ulquiorra, who kind of respected him. He truly hoped that Gin was right, that Aizen could bring them back. It didn't seem a victory without them.

 

Gathering up his strength, he searched the sea of familiar faces amongst the Shinigami. It served him little delight to see that several were missing there as well. It seemed both sides had lost in the conflict. But that didn't ease his pain in the slightest.

 

“Beleive in 'im,” Gin murmured against his ear.

 

And really, Ichigo couldn't argue. Believing in Aizen had gotten him this far. There really was no reason to stop now. The war was over; victory had been found. And Ichigo had discovered his place. Finally.

 

He smiled faintly, eyes searching out Aizen's form. The king was finishing his speech to the beaten Shinigami. But there was something beside him, a form dressed in a dark blue yukata and barefoot of all things. Ichigo blinked, trying to focus on the hazy image. It didn't seem to be a real person, not with the way Ichigo could see right through him.

 

The brunet turned towards him, facing Ichigo's direction, a grin splitting his face. There was a sense of ageless wisdom in stormy eyes, which seemed to focus unerringly on Ichigo. It sent a shiver up his spine, thought not one of dread. Nor was it unpleasant. Just there.

 

Even as he watched the image seemed to shimmer, to change form. Brown hair shifted to longer locks of a subtle orange, the body turning shapelier, womanly. And merry eyes twinkled at him, set in a most familiar face. Ichigo's jaw dropped as he saw what could have only been his mother gazing back at him. Masaki smiled in the same way that he remembered, and Ichigo felt his heart give a little clench.

 

“Kaa-san...” The title slipped from his lips before he could stop it, barely above a whisper.

 

Gin stirred behind him. “Ichigo?”

 

But he wasn't even listening, too busy watching his mother's form. It appeared to shimmer, wavering in the bright sunlight. And then, she lifted a hand to her lips, as if shushing him. He raised his hand, perhaps thinking to reach for her. But Masaki only winked at him like they shared some special secret and abruptly vanished.

 

“Ichigo?”

 

He jumped a little, shaking his head, even as he stared at the spot where his mother had been standing.

 

“Nothing,” Ichigo assured his lover as he blinked and saw her afterimage on his closed lids. “It's nothing.”

 

And yet, he was so sure it was something because nothing wouldn't leave him with a warmth inside.

 

He forced himself to add, “Aizen's talking again.”

 

He felt Gin give him a strange look, but he wisely didn't press further. Ichigo would explain later in greater detail after he'd processed it. But for now, he savored the image. She had looked so happy and well...

 

“The time for fighting amongst ourselves has passed,” Aizen was saying with an almost grandiose gesture. He half-turned, facing both the Shinigami and his own allies. “From now on, we work together.”

 

He smiled, a surge of reiatsu seeming to accompany his words. It trickled over Ichigo's feet, and judging from the expressions on the faces of others, they felt it, too. It was as if something had awakened for the first time after many long years of sleeping. Waiting patiently for something to break its slumber. And that something, that someone, had finally come.

 

Aizen lowered his hands, and his voice filled the clearing to echo around them. “Our new world has come.”

 

Behind Ichigo, Gin chuckled. “Just like Aizen-taichou to make some sort of grand statement. Come on, Ichi. Let's go congratulate 'im.”

 

Stifling his own sound of amusement, Ichigo merely nodded in agreement. Their new world had come indeed.

 

It was about damn time.

 

- - - - -