Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Moving Forward ❯ To Be Changed ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

By: melitza

In which Rukia realizes the consequences of her choice. Violence and a tiny bit of language, but only hints at the dark, twisted, almost smuttiness to come.

It's in her heart, the same desire

In another time - in another place -Kuchiki Rukia would have balked at the concept of fighting an unarmed man. She was a soldier - never a knave, even when running wild as a hound on the streets.

As a thirsting child on the streets of Rukongai, more than once she had debased herself to trickery and deceit to acquire the staples of life. But always against `them' - the upper echelon that sought to take everything that was good and hoard it away from all who were unfortunate.

Never, ever - not even once - had she thought to turn against even the nastiest, most spiteful of the other street urchins. They were all kin, in a way, even if only Renji and a select few were her nakama.

Even before having pedigree bestowed upon her, before inheriting all the upper Seireitei peering down elegantly crafted aristocratic noses to judge her every motion, Rukia had nobility, class, and character. These were things borne in your soul, not petty honorifics. They were inherent in her actions, always to protect those whom she deemed worthy - always to uphold an honor and justice that was higher than she.

She had turned her sword against creatures who were not hollows only twice before. First, she had killed a man she cared for very dearly. Second, she had given up everything to save a boy she did not know at all, and did not yet know she would grow to love.

Ichimaru Gin was a traitor. That was as stark as the crimson now, cooled anddripping from her fingertips, contrasting in artful splatters on the cold, marble-like expanse on which they now danced. But before being a traitor, he was a shinigami. He was kin, in a way, and it was not her right to pass judgment upon him. That was Soul Society's place - a right reserved for the Central 46, for the Captains, and for all the others Gin's treachery had hurt far more than her.

Ichimaru Gin's justice was something that rightfully belonged to Rangiku Matsumoto, perhaps, above all others.

But facing him here, in the dusty bowels of monster's paradise, far away from everything she knew, with no eyes to weigh her motions, there was no longer honor and justice higher than she. There was her nakama and the viper before her who had meant to hurt them.

And so even with no sword with which defend himself, Kuchiki Rukia did not balk.

That was not to say he was defenseless. At first, the arrancar came in waves, though whether to aid their master's partner, desperate to prove their strength against a new opponent, or simply in thirst for blood wasn't clear.

To his credit, Ichimaru did not take the opportunity to run. (Perhaps he knew that if he did, he would only die tired.) By the time the wave trickled away to just 5, then 3, then finally just left the two of them, Rukia cocked her head and noted that the other shinigami had picked up one of the arrancar's discarded swords. “They aren't coming for you anymore, Gin.”

“They say all good things come to an end,” he chided back, leering meaningfully at the steady drip of red trailing in her wake, trailing steadily down her arms from the wound in her chest.

She barely spared a glance, only irritably flicking the wetness from her fingertips. “It is not only good things that do.”

“That's what they'll say when they execute you for becoming this thing,” he taunted, childishly clinging back to his earlier tactics. Rukia smiled.

“Then it's a shame you won't live to attend. I know how much you'd enjoy it.”

And with that, she was upon him.

It was unwieldy in his hands. It was clear it had been a lifetime since he had lowered himself to even touch a sword other than his precious Shinso. This arrancar sword was all bone and jagged edges, nothing at all like the heft or the grace of his soul's blade. Not that it would have made a difference, but secretly she was disappointed there was no better suited blade with which he could die.

(But even deeper, she resented herself for displaying that power… the same that had claimed so many dear to her, so many long years ago. But she could not think of that. Now here, not now…)

Once, he was worlds above her in all four forms of shinigami combat. It was only logical, that a captain should be over a relatively young and indisputably low rank like herself, after all. In swordsmanship, hand-to-hand-combat, footwork - even kidou - he would have beaten her soundly by now, with or without his weapon of choice.

But she had transcended beyond shinigami or arrancar. She was something new, and her bursting spiritual pressure, blinding speed, and utter lack of remorse or indecision was the proof.

He was always wispy - she had never known his style of combat to be overpowering his opponents. But even so, when their swords crossed, she found herself surprised at how quickly he pulled back - (how quickly he retreated) -how easily he crumbled beneath her force.

At first, there was silence between them. Their cadence was an enticing beat of sword clangs, foot pads, heaving breaths and the odd patter of blood. When he realized the tide was turning, suddenly he began to speak. Harsh words - accusing words - growing more vicious and grasping desperately at every truth about her he knew as he grasped desperately for the one way he knew he could beat her.

One sloppy attack was followed hastily by three fleeing lunges before she lazily bothered to swat at him again. He was like a mouse caught easily within her paws. Though he managed to cut her - stab her - slice her - it was because she let him. They were worlds apart again, and Rukia actually regretted that she never had a chance to face the man who had taunted her for so long as an equal.

When she felt a spiritual pressure far greater than her current quarry's approaching, she was not foolish enough to think she could continue to play. She might have become more powerful, but she doubted she was immortal. And so, with little thought to it, she let loose, bursting from her own energy restriction like light into the darkness.

Perhaps he sensed the other presence too. Knowing she would be going for the kill, he tried first, finally going where she had known he would all along - her heart. “You didn't kill him because he became a hollow; you killed him to bury the evidence of your own shame, you goddamn whore.”

Shirayuki sliced through the arrancar sword as if it were butter, and through him... as if he was something less than butter.

She let Shirayuki catch on his hip, digging into the bone as she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Did you mean to defeat me from the inside out, Ichimaru?” Maliciously, she twisted the blade deeper into him, twirling entrails and guts in its wake; he groaned and sweated in his agony. “Is it not ironic, that it is I now within you?”

He whined something halfway between a retort and a beg. If she had not severed his lungs, she knew he would be screaming. Knowing this, she leered in his face. “If you yelp loud enough, will your master come save you, dog?”

She might have said more, but Shirayuki was whispering urgently in her ear, and realistically, Rukia already knew her true enemy was far too close now to slip up. And so, she jerked her sword from Ichimaru's stomach and stepped back, frowning disapprovingly as he collapsed into such a grotesque, boneless pool of gore. “This is too good and end for you,” she admitted. “But consider it a gift. An apology, for Shinso.”

`An apology, for Matsumoto.'

And when she released the new dance that was not hers and she did not fully understand yet, she was only disappointed there was so little blood and that he had not the breath to even scream.

She did not flee, or hide, or even shrink away when she felt his spiritual presence pressing down on her. She didn't even turn to face him, opting instead to glance over her shoulder and calling mockingly, “Your number one is as nothing but a blizzard of ash, Aizen.”

As if to demonstrate, she extended a hand and made as if to blow a kiss; the biting wind that kicked up easily sent the white dust to buffet at his face.

His face: cool, calm, and collected, as ever. Soul Society hadn't realized his true talent lay in deceit until too late, but knowing that now all too well, Rukia was not fooled or put off by the indifferent, ever-in-control expression plastered thereupon. She was far more interested in that mild spark of doubt (disbelief, fear?) hiding in his eyes.

“Gin was careless. I am not.”

“Aren't you?” Disinterestedly, she sneaked a hand into her robe, hovering over her heart before withdrawing with the hougyoku. She regarded it with bored idleness for a few moments before strewing it carelessly towards him, leaving the tiny gem to bounce and skid on the unmarred marble floors between them.

He stared at it, and the emotions warring in his eyes were hard to read, though hers were not. `Pick it up,' she dared. He did not.

Rukia cocked her head. “You came for the bauble, didn't you?”

“What did you do to it?” He sounded more curious than angry, but she knew better than to take anything about Sosuke Aizen at face value.

“I used it,” she replied simply - honestly - and in his neutral glare, she could read the question his pride would never allow him to ask. `How did you use it so much differently than I?'

The grin tugging at her lips was feral and proud; her tone was haughty. “You meant to raise yourself to heaven by piling dirt on which to stand. I pulled a piece down and crafted it within myself.”

There was silence for a while between them. Finally, Aizen spoke, and his voice was no longer so calm. “It's empty,” he stated.

Though it wasn't a question, she felt compelled to answer anyway. “You're quite right. The hougyoku will be of no use to you anymore.” The corners of her lips tugged upwards just a hare.

He frowned, and she almost laughed out loud at the pettiness of the gesture. Did he think all women would simper and weep under his disapproval like his pretty little lieutenant back in Soul Society? “You have left me no choice, Kuchiki Rukia. This farce has gone on long enough. I will simply have to bind that new power of yours back into the stone. Your soul will be unmade in the process, I'm afraid.” His voice did not waver, but inside, his soul trembled. She was certain of it.

“Most unfortunate,” she primed dolefully, lips quirking a little more.

“Kudakero, KyÅka Suigetsu,” he commanded, and the man who single-handedly brought chaos and destruction upon all of Soul Society with his sword drew solely for her.

“Mai ien, Sode no Shirayki,” she replied, and it began.

Deep as the sea, wailing secrecies are burning in me

She had paid no mind to her robes until the moment she stepped through the gate into Soul Society. It was only at their gasps and whispers that she bothered to look upon herself.

Gone were her shinigami robes. In their stead was a sleeker cut jacket, once white in color though now sanguine in dried blood splatters both hers and not. The design was not unlike that worn in Ichigo's bankai - or, for that matter, the arrancar Aaroniero's.

The errant thought of Aaroniero instantly soured her mood, reminding her that there were questions she had yet to answer for herself that somehow tied back to him.

She allowed herself to be swallowed by the crowd and did not balk when they escorted her to the First Division Headquarters with suspicious eyes and anxious, unanswered inquiries. By the time they arrived at the Central Court, of course, word had traveled ahead, and it seemed the greater part of Soul Society was already waiting.

When Yamamoto asked of the fate of the traitors, Rukia did not blink.

“They are dead,” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

When Hinamori tentatively came forward, Aizen's name lingering unspoken on the tip of her tongue, Rukia searched for the guilt for having killed one so loved (even if manipulated and perversely so) and found none. “Aizen is dead,” she clarified unapologetically, and did not flinch when the girl openly wept and fled from her presence.

In fact, she didn't feel in the slightest bit put off until she noticed Matsumoto hovering quietly at the back of the crowd. There wasn't even a hint of accusation or resentment hiding in the older woman's soft aquamarine gaze, just a melancholy, quiet acceptance.

Rukia cared for Matsumoto. This, she knew. Matsumoto had helped protect Karakura town and its residents countless times; she had provided comfort when needed, and more importantly, harsh reprimands when necessary. Matsumoto was her friend, role model - sister-in-arms.

But seeing the other woman's despair and knowing she was the direct cause of it oddly stirred nothing inside her. Rukia did not feel sorry for having killed Gin, even though she was uncertain as to extent to which her attack had affected him. (Had she merely `killed' him, or did her new abilities go beyond just that? Had she somehow unmade his soul? There was certainly nothing left of his body…) The ramifications were breathtaking.

No; Rukia did not feel sorry, but she certainly felt something unsettling, whining incessantly in the back of her consciousness. Pitched just enough to be bothersome, but not enough to really pinpoint and hear.

There were quiet murmurs of doubt and speculation, but no one spoke directly to her, and so she was left alone in the hissing basket of snakes until a firm hand took hold of her arm and directed her from the throng.

Byakuya likely been insistent that his right as her caretaker left him to build the `honor-guard' meant to watch her when she returned. The others did not trust her, she now realized - they watched her with wide eyes mixed with equal parts fear, misgiving, and loathing. At one time, it would have bothered her, but as she watched them watch her, she found herself disinterested, somehow aloof and unable to bring herself to care about the whispers set off like so many waves in her wake.

`She was alone in Heuco Mundo for three entire days,' they whispered, shuddered, and flinched away as she passed as if they might open some portal there if they touched her. As if she was cursed, contagiously so. As if they saw hells gate opened in her.

The walk through the Seireitei to the manor was a long and silent one, permeated only by the hushed voices of others, not once by hers or his. When they entered the manor, she was not surprised when the hand-picked guards halted to form a line on the outside rather than following within; undoubtedly, to keep his own sister under such scrupulous lock and key within his very home was too grave an insult for the noble captain to bear.

When the silence between them was finally broken, Byakuya's voice was barely audible over the sliding of the shoji screen as he bared her quarters to her. “The servants will attend to your needs -“

“I will require nothing. Please send them away,” Rukia interrupted impatiently, not even bothering to contemplate the words before sending them flying from her mouth. When he turned and gave her a wide-eyed, disbelieving stare, it took her several moments to realize why.

`I interrupted him.' At one time, she likely would have died of embarrassment, or at least knelt prostrate before him and begged forgiveness for such an insult. But even after recognizing her faux paux, she found herself returning his gaze indifferently, daring him to challenge her - hoping, even, that he would.

It was then that she realized what had been unsettling her so since her return. She was no longer shinigami. That, she already knew. But what more, she realized with sudden pointed clarity, in a way she was no longer Kuchiki Rukia either.

So wide a sea, may I overcome

The moment Byakuya left her to her own devices, she similarly left the Seireitei to its own. Kneeling calmly on the plain wooden floor, Rukia closed her eyes and reflected within. What once took scores of minutes or even hours now was instantaneous.

Somehow, she had already known what she was going to find even before she regressed into her own inner world.

It hadn't changed much, really. The landscape was still barren, a wintry tundra. The sun still set the horizon ablaze with frost that appeared as so much diamond dusting the surface. Impossibly, the tundra was bared to her when she pushed aside a delicate shoji screen. From where she was coming, she wasn't entirely sure, but the screen was always there, and so she slid it open and descended from on high towards the white purity below.

Shirayuki shadowed one step behind and a half to her right, standing tall and proud in a way Rukia knew she would never emulate, even after forty years of relentless training by the Kuchiki elders. The sword was quiet, speculative, but a supportive force to be reckoned as she shadowed Rukia's agitated stride towards the one thing that wasn't the same.

The intruder.

“Aaroniero.” She spat the name like a vile poison. The blade in her hand was icy fire, and if she didn't require him for answers, she would have cut off that familiar face he did not deserve to wear.

Once she had her answers, however, she would. And if he could regenerate his features even here, in the depths of her realm, then she would tear that visage from him again and again until his powers failed him.

He blinked at her as if in surprise; if he sensed the imminent threat, his guileless expression did not reflect it. “Aaroniero is dead. You killed him, Kuchiki-sama.”

The honorifics did nothing to placate her. Something about hearing his voice use such a high title towards her perverted the very foundation of her lingering fondness for him. Kaien-dono had treated her as an ordinary subordinate. If even once in her future she should remember his voice and recall `Kuchiki-sama' rather than simply `Kuchiki' or `Rukia', she would kill this beast a million times again and still not be quenched.

“Then who are you? What manner of fool would dare to wear his face, here, in my domain?” she snarled, and her hand was in his robes (oh god, his shinigami robes, not that frilly white thing the arrancar had donned - Kaien-dono's robes, not Aaeoniero's), and the sword in her hand was recoiled and drawn and prepared to drive through his throat.

She was livid, an angry writhing sun next to Shirayuki's cool impassive moon. She almost didn't care to hear his reply; almost.

But she hesitated, and he spoke. “I am… something like Metastacia, I believe.” Though he was placatory it only angered her further; her fingers dug deeper into his kosode.

His skin was warm.

“Do not speak in riddles to me, Hollow,” she snarled through clenched teeth. “Who are you?”

She looked into his eyes (his soft, honest eyes), and she knew he was not weaving half-truths for her. At least not purposefully.

“I am Metastacia, who absorbed the shinigami Kaien and Miyako among many others, and was absorbed in turn by the gillian Aaroniero Arleri - and then by you, it seems, upon your victory over him.”

She blinked, flexed her hand; considered cutting off his head just for spite. In the end, she was only able to revert back to denial. “You lie.”

“You told the traitor Aizen that you made heaven a part of yourself. But that was not the full truth of it; you captured no small part of hell and wove it into your soul as well.” He was watching her earnestly as he paused in his narration, not quite long enough for her to interrupt. “You were too close to Aaroniero when you changed. In the last, grasping for spiritual energy, you unmade him… and remade him, into a part of yourself.”

“That is a lie,” Rukia hissed, but her anger was borne of fear that his words were true.

“When you first awoke, you were able to see visions not your own. Aaroniero was able to project what was happening to his comrades; you can receive. You were expounding spiritual energy that you recognized wasn't your own, but was coming from you nonetheless. Aaroniero absorbed hollows and enslaved them, tapping into them like a reservoir of unlimited power. You are able to absorb hollows… but as far as I can tell, you aren't enslaving them, but rather setting them free. Purifying them.”

“That can't be,” she whispered, and hated him for his twisted logic that made too much sense. Hated Aaroniero for somehow managing to survive, if only in essence. Hated herself, for allowing it to happen.

“A shinigami's zanpakuto instantly cleanses a hollow of sins committed after death, leaving the tortured soul to move on in peace. Think of all that dark angst and energy that is let go, in a single stab. All of the energy that is wasted,” he continued, tone echoing eerily of Kaien-dono's firm lectures. He spoke patiently with her, as if a teacher and not a monster lurking here in the depths of her very soul. “You've… taken some liberties in making the process… more efficient, one might say.”

Something clawed at her throat, and in the suddenly uncomfortable hush, she realized the wind here was no longer tranquil. How could she have missed those distant screams before? How could she have not noticed their moans and wails, chill on the gentle breeze?

And his skin was so warm against her knuckles…

Repulsed, she let go, but his eyes trailed in her wake as she backed hastily away.

“Less the ones who were purified and moved on already during your battles in Hueco Mundo, the 33,650 hollows he absorbed are here. Inside you,” he finally finished, and she knew his words were truth.

The wetness around her eyes was as biting as the bile in her throat. “What… have I done?”

The creature-who-was-not-Kaien opened his mouth to speak, but his words were drowned out by a sudden gust of wind and a familiar voice carried on it. “Rukia!”

Her stomach lurched, and had she been in her real body, she would have thrown up. “Ichigo.” How could she have been so naive, going to meditate so quickly? Of course Ichigo would still be in Soul Society. Of course he would be looking for her upon hearing of her return.

(Of course, she couldn't bear to have him look at her. Not now. Not like this. Not with this inside of her.)

“Oi! Rukia!” His voice carried much stronger this time, and his agitation was apparent. In the far, far distance, she thought she heard a struggle. (Probably with the honor-guard posted at the manor gates.)

The creature across from her smiled (so genuinely she almost wanted to believe). When he spoke this time, his words were not carried away by the unforgiving wind. “You should go to him.” When she remained frozen staring at him, his eyes curled in amusement. “I will be here when you come back,” he assured, as if to mollify.

`That what I'm afraid of,' she wanted to reply, but then Ichigo's resounding “Oi!” tore through her world again, and this time there was no ignoring it.

Read it? Review it!

Heh… you see where this is going, don't you? Picking up on the hints yet? I'm not sure how to have Ichigo react to seeing her again, or Rukia act, so suggestions, suggestions people! And I would like to change the name of the story, so suggestions are welcome there as well.

Author's Notes:

This story now brought to you freshly beta-ed by Kilonji. So big thanks to her, go read her stuff, it's amazing.

I wasn't going to include the Ichimaru Gin fight, and just skip right to Aizen, but I added it just for Kilonji's review of the last chapter. I hope it added to the ambiance. And see, people? If you make me happy with reviews, I'll try to bend over backwards to accommodate you as well! ^_^

Not good with Japanese. I wanted to use “Transcend” or “Transcendence” as some sort of a command associated with Rukia's different release state, but I couldn't find any such word, so instead I went with her actual command mai, dance and ien, for beyond.