Rukia took point, moving through the narrow streets like a shadow that had purpose. The midday light glanced off her raven colored hair, catching silver along the edges. I kept pace with her, finding myself grateful that I had retained some endurance for distance running over the lazy years, but not nearly as much as I would like.
"Lead the way," I said quietly. "So what's the point in recruiting if he's just gonna drain them? Wouldn't it be easier to just... drain them?"
She didn't slow down. "It's like farming," she said grimly. "He cultivates their spiritual energy—lets it grow stronger through 'training.' The more they develop, the more he can harvest."
Her voice carried that clinical detachment she used when the truth was ugly. I didn't miss the disgust in her eyes, though.
"And by isolating them, by making them depend on his guidance, they keep coming back," she added. "It's sustainable. Controlled."
The idea made my skin crawl. I glanced around the quiet street. "Sounds like a cult type shit, he's got to keep them somewhere."
Rukia nodded once, leading us toward the warehouse district. The air grew heavier the deeper we went. I could feel traces of reiryoku clinging to the air like ash after a storm — weak, fractured signatures that didn't belong to the living or the dead.
I frowned. "He was worked up back at the bookshop. I thought I did a decent job concealing myself. Maybe not?"
Rukia glanced back at me with a small smirk. "You did fine. He sensed the absence, not the presence — like noticing a missing sound in a noisy room." She stopped at the corner of a rusted chain-link fence and looked over her shoulder, eyes narrowing in focus. "Arresting him isn't enough. If he's hosting a parasite, we'll have to purify him… then send the host soul to judgment."
I nodded, feeling the faint buzz of energy under my skin. "Guess that means it's gonna get messy."
She had no idea what I'd been working on — the trick I'd been refining between our training sessions, the one that might just change how I fight.
Not yet.
But soon.
The air got colder the deeper we walked into the warehouse district. Not normal cold—this wasn't just shade or a change in the wind. It was the kind of cold that slid under your skin and stayed there, like walking into a room where something terrible had happened and the walls remembered.
Rukia knew it too. I could see the shift in her posture as she slowed near a rusted chain-link fence. Her hand drifted toward her sword without her even realizing it even though she was still in her gigai. Her whole presence tightened, sharpened. That always made something twist in my chest. She looked small enough for a stiff breeze to carry away, but her reiatsu, even suppressed, felt like a coiled blizzard waiting for permission to break.
"We're close," she murmured.
I swallowed hard. My throat was dry. I'd been trying to pretend this wasn't happening for the last three blocks, but my heart hadn't gotten the memo. It hammered against my ribs like it wanted out.
"Alright," I managed, keeping my voice steady. "What's the plan, Captain Kuchiki?"
She didn't react to the joke. Not even a glare. That was how I knew she was serious.
Which meant things were bad.
She stopped under the shadow of a broken gutter and turned slightly, not looking at me but… I could feel the distance growing. Like she was slowly pushing me out of the circle.
"You should wait here," she said softly. Not unkind. Just… preparing to break something fragile.
I felt the words in my bones.
There it was.
The sidelining.
"Rukia—"
"It's too dangerous. If this parasite has anchored itself to Hiro, I can't protect both of us. I won't risk you."
The worst part wasn't the words. It was the hint of fear behind them. Not fear of the parasite.
Fear for me.
My chest tightened. "Look… I know I'm not you. I know I'm not some Soul Reaper with a thousand years of training and a sword that cuts ghosts in half."
My laugh came out shaky, but not because I was trying to lighten the mood. It was because I could feel the fear eating its way up my ribs—cold, sharp, familiar.
"Hell, my heart feels like it's wrapped in a vice grip right now. I'm anxious and scared, but I'm still going in with you."
She turned toward me then, really turned. And something in her expression cracked—something raw and old and terrified. She hid it fast, but I saw enough to understand the weight behind her words.
"Orion…" she whispered. "I can't have another Kaien."
I didn't know the details. But I knew the look.
The look of someone who'd watched someone they cared about die because they weren't strong enough—or fast enough—to stop it.
But I also knew something else. Something that had been chewing a hole in my chest for years.
"Rukia," I said, stepping closer, lowering my voice so it didn't tremble. "I have to do this."
She blinked, startled. "What?"
"I have to help you. Not because I think I'm strong. Not because I'm trying to play hero." I swallowed, the truth clawing its way out of me whether I liked it or not. "But because taking a backseat… being the weak one… it killed me."
Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
"For years," I continued, "I've been the guy who stays behind. The guy who gets looked down on. The guy who's tolerated but not trusted to stand beside anyone. And maybe that wasn't fair, maybe it wasn't intended, but… that's how it felt."
A sharp breath escaped me. I hadn't meant to go this far, but the words kept coming.
"I never felt like an equal. Not with Kerstie. Not in my own house. Even when I was trying my hardest, I still felt like a burden." My voice dipped. "And I already ruined things with her."
Her mouth parted slightly, a flicker of pain at my words.
"I don't want to ruin things with you too," I said softly. "If you leave me behind every time things get dangerous, I'll never be anything but dead weight following your shadow. I'll never be seen as your partner. And I can't…" My voice cracked before I steadied it. "I can't go back to being that man. Not again."
A long silence hung between us. Cold air. Distant traffic. The dark outline of the warehouse ahead.
"I'm not asking to lead," I finished. "And I'm not asking to be some warrior. I just want to show you that I can stand beside you. That I'm not useless. That I can fight when it matters and not be the thing you have to protect."
The last words came out barely above a whisper.
"I don't want to be a burden anymore."
Her eyes shone with something I couldn't name—shock, grief, guilt, affection, all tangled into one impossible expression. She didn't speak for several breaths.
Then she looked down, swallowing hard, before meeting my gaze again.
And for the first time, I felt like she truly saw me.
"I…" she began, but the emotion tangled in her throat. She steadied herself, exhaled, then said more quietly, "Thank you for telling me."
I nodded once, grounding myself with the only truth I had left.
"You lead," I said. "I'll follow."
Her eyes softened, just a fraction. Enough to tell me I'd said the right thing. Enough to terrify me.
She didn't argue again. That alone felt like a victory—or a warning.
Then she reached into her sleeve and pulled out what looked like a tiny pink bunny pez dispenser.
Before I could ask, she popped a candy into her mouth.
Her gigai straightened like a puppet realizing it had strings. Then she stepped out of it—her real self, black robes, sword, presence like a blade pressed against the air. My heart jumped into my throat. Seeing her like that always did something to me I wasn't ready to deal with.
But it got worse.
"Orioooon~!"
Rukia's body—her gigai—turned toward me with an explosion of sparkly-eyed joy. Not Rukia.
Chappy.
"Oh no," I muttered, stepping back half an inch.
In an instant, she sprinted at me and wrapped her arms around my torso like a human koala. "Your beard! I missed your beard! It tickles!"
I froze. Completely froze. My brain blue-screened.
Behind me, Real Rukia let out a suffering sigh so deep it could have powered a small town.
"Chappy," she said flatly, "stop molesting him."
"But he's so fluffy!" Chappy squealed, rubbing her cheek against mine like an affectionate housecat.
I gingerly patted her on the head the way you pet a dog you're not sure is friendly. "Uh. Hey there. Good to see you too."
Rukia's eyes narrowed. "Do not encourage her."
"I'm not!" I hissed. "I'm just trying not to hurt her feelings!"
Chappy didn't care. She nuzzled harder. "I missed this body! It smells like strawberries and feels so cute! Freya has excellent taste!"
I was trying so hard not to panic. Rukia, in full Soul Reaper mode, looked two seconds away from slicing her gigai in half.
Finally, Chappy let go, still smiling and waving her hands in dramatic circles. "Okay! I'll guard the body! You two go be heroic!"
Rukia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just… stay put."
"I'll be good!" Chappy chirped, already twirling in Freya's borrowed clothes.
I forced down a laugh—part nerves, part absurdity, part how-the-hell-is-this-my-life.
Rukia stepped beside me, her eyes now all business. Sharp. Focused.
"Let's go," she said, voice steady. "If the parasite's inside, we'll face it together."
I nodded, swallowing the fear clawing at my throat.
Together, we turned toward the warehouse entrance.
The warehouse looked like the kind of place you'd find a body.
Or three.
It sat at the end of the cracked lot like a rusted tomb—corrugated metal peeling in long strips, windows boarded or shattered, the roof sagging under the weight of too many storms. Graffiti covered what remained of the walls, but even that looked faded, as if the colors themselves had been leeched out.
The air around it felt wrong.
Not spiritually wrong—just wrong.
Dead space. Quiet in the way deep water is quiet.
Rukia moved first, her steps feather-light, her presence pulled tight and razor-thin. "We need to be careful," she said softly. "He might have defenses set up."
I nodded, though the weight in my gut doubled. I tried stretching out my senses like she'd taught me—feeling for shapes in the dark, impressions, spiritual weight—but everything past thirty feet was just gray noise. Static that tasted like metal on my tongue.
"There," she whispered.
I followed her line of sight to where she pressed her back against the warehouse wall. Up close, faint spiritual residue bled from the metal seams—like someone had smeared invisible fingerprints across the surface. The air vibrated with it.
"There are multiple spiritual signatures inside," she murmured, eyes narrowing. "But they're weak… drained."
That word again.
Drained.
Her hand drifted to her zanpakuto, knuckles whitening. My heart hammered like a sledgehammer trying to punch its way out.
"I could… lure him out," I offered, though even I wasn't convinced it was a good plan. "Wait—if they're inside, then where did he—"
A cold spike shot through my spine.
Something was wrong.
Something was missing.
My senses strained, searching the alley behind us—feeling for anything, even a flicker—
Rukia froze.
Her violet eyes widened.
"Orion—"
She moved.
Small, fast, explosive.
Her body twisted, blade already half drawn as she spun around—
That's when I felt it.
A flicker behind us like a lightbulb dying. A pressure that wasn't there a heartbeat ago.
And Hiro—
—or whatever was left of him—
—stepped out of thin air.
I stumbled back as Rukia shoved me aside with her free hand.
"Move!"
Her voice cracked the air as Hiro emerged from the shadows, and for a split second I couldn't breathe.
His professor act was gone.
Completely gone.
He wasn't even human anymore, not in any way that made sense. His skin was pale and pulled too tight over his bones, veins glowing faint blue beneath it. His hair hung in loose, ragged strands, and his eyes—fuck—his eyes were sunken pits with a dull amber glow swimming in the center like dying embers.
His jaw split open too far,
Far too far, like something from a horror movie
Rows of writhing, translucent tendrils lined his maw where teeth should've been, each one pulsing faintly with stolen reiryoku.
His zanpakuto—if it could still be called that—was warped, bent like heated metal cooled wrong. It emanated a sick, parasitic miasma.
Rukia stepped between us, blade out, stance hardening into something unmistakably deadly.
Her spiritual pressure surged—icy, sharp, furious. The air around her crystallized with winter's wrath.
"So this is your true form," she hissed, voice low and shaking with controlled rage. "A parasite preying on innocent souls."
Rukia stepped ahead of me, and the shift in her presence was immediate—subtle at first, like the hush that settles before fresh snowfall. Then she spoke the words with a calm that felt older than winter itself.
"Dance… Sode no Shirayuki."
Her blade answered instantly.
White light bloomed along the steel, soft at the edges but impossibly bright at its core, like watching frost spread across glass in fast-forward. Her zanpakutō seemed to dissolve between one heartbeat and the next, reforming in her hand as a sword so flawless it almost didn't look real—long, slender, and white as untouched snow. A ribbon unfurled from the pommel, drifting in a lazy spiral as though gravity didn't quite apply to it anymore.
The temperature around us plummeted. I saw my own breath leave me in a shaky white cloud. Thin lines of frost crackled outward from her feet, tracing delicate, branching patterns across the ground. Her reiatsu changed too—no longer that steady, comforting weight I'd grown used to, but something sharp and clean, a cold that slid down my spine and settled somewhere deep.
She moved into her stance with the kind of grace that made it look choreographed—one foot sliding back, knees bent just enough to spring, her body aligned like she'd been carved out of stillness itself. She lifted her free hand with precision, fingers poised, while her other hand angled the blade high and ready. The ribbon snapped once behind her, catching the light like a streak of falling snow.
And just like that, she didn't look small anymore.
She didn't even look human.
She looked like winter personified—beautiful, distant, dangerous.
A storm on the cusp of breaking.
And for a moment, all I could do was watch and try to remember how to breathe.
Hiro—or the creature wearing his skin—tilted his head with a twitching jerk, tendrils inside his mouth quivering in anticipation.
The warehouse behind him erupted—first with gasps, then with muffled screams.
More victims—waking? Panicking? Realizing where they were?
My blood went cold.
Rukia lifted her blade higher.
"Orion," she said without looking at me, voice like frozen steel, "stay behind me."
And for once, I didn't argue.
Not because of fear.
Because this thing…
This thing wasn't Hiro anymore.
And if I stepped in at the wrong moment, she might have two monsters to fight.
I've seen many fights over the years, most of them online. One of the leading ways to kill someone in a fight or make them lose is always interference from a third party. And today that was me, I knew timing would be crucial if I was going to be useful.
Still—my hands curled into fists, my breath shaking, something hot coiling low in my chest.
I wasn't leaving her alone, but I had to support her.
I barely had time to breathe.
The instant that thing wearing Hiro's skin lunged, something inside me snapped loose—like holding my breath for too long and then finally letting go.
My reiatsu surged.
Electricity crackled across my arms, lighting up nerves I didn't know I had. It raced to my fingers, building, collecting, shaping itself into something instinctive and violent. The air around me snapped, humming with charge.
I lifted my hand—
—and the lightning gathered, curling and folding like molten metal into the shape I'd been practicing every night while my family slept.
A blade formed in my grip.
Part katana, part messer—half my height, my reach, my grip. What felt right.
What felt like mine.
Arcs of electricity crawled across the hardened light edge like veins on a runner's arm.
The monster paused for a fraction of a breath—just long enough for me to feel its eyes. Its hunger.
I stepped back, forcing air into my lungs. I wasn't getting in her way. Not now. My whole body vibrated with the lightning racing under my skin, gathering at my soles, building toward a jump, a strike—something. But not until she needed me.
For now, she was the point of the spear.
The air stung my lungs, bitter cold and sharp.
She moved like winter wind—silent, cutting, purposeful.
"Some no mai, Tsukishiro!"
The column of ice shot upward, a perfect pillar of white-blue death.
Hiro—the thing—twisted out of it, joints snapping in angles no human body should survive. Tendrils flailed, dragging spiritual sludge through the air.
His voice gurgled through a throat too loose to hold shape.
"Your spiritual pressure… magnificent… both of you… so much power…"
His warped zanpakuto released with a sickening, wet hiss—energy swirling around him like rotting smoke.
Behind us, the warehouse exploded with screams.
My stomach turned. People. Innocent people.
"I'll get them out of here!" I shouted, already pushing off with a crack of thunder under my boots. "You focus—no distractions!"
Rukia's eyes flicked to me—and in them, relief and fear and trust all tangled together.
Then I moved.
I flash-stepped—not cleanly, but fast—landing near the warehouse doors. Lightning cracked behind me in a series of snapping rods: glowing blue stakes I drove into the ground as I moved, the technique I'd been refining for two weeks in stolen moments, hidden from her.
They linked with thin arcs of energy, forming a barrier net behind me—something to hold him at bay while I get the people out.
Inside, more unsettling screams.
Outside, Rukia met Hiro head-on.
Ice and corruption clashed with a sound like the world shattering.
Her blade flashed in perfect arcs, each strike followed by a spray of ice crystals that spun into the air like killing snow. She was smaller than him by half, but every movement was precision, every step deliberate. She led him away from the warehouse, keeping the fight clear of the victims.
The creature lunged, tendrils snapping like whips.
One grazed her leaving a strickle of blood from her shoulder, at that moment—the tendril began to glow, followed by what I imagined was probably a wicked grin if you could call it that.
"You move like him…" it gurgled, voice distorted and bubbling. "Like the one before… Kaien… so beautiful to break…" He baited.
Rukia's reiatsu flared—violent. Grief and rage twisted together.
"Shut your filthy mouth."
She drove her blade upward in a sweeping cut, frost erupting in a brilliant crescent.
"First Dance…"
The temperature plummeted even further until i could see my breath, even from this distance.
I didn't stop moving. I couldn't. The warehouse doors were ahead, locked and barred. My heart hammered as I slammed my lightning blade into the lock and felt it give under the combined force of steel and electricity.
I shouted over my shoulder as the door splintered under a stiff kick of my boot.
Part of me had always wanted to do that..
"Rukia! I'm in!"
I didn't know if she heard me.
But I knew one thing:
I wasn't leaving her alone—not for long.
I barely got the warehouse door open before a shriek tore through the air behind me—Rukia's voice cutting through it like a blade.
"Hiro—don't you dare—!"
And then his voice twisted the air:
"Slither and roll… Hairo Orochi!"
The sound that followed was impossible to describe—like metal screaming.
I spun just long enough to see his zanpakuto erupt into four writhing blades, each one extending outward like a serpent made of steel and corrupted reiryoku. They moved independently, coiling and snapping with a predatory intelligence, rotating around him like a nest of mechanical vipers.
The monster hissed, all four blades whipping outward with terrifying reach.
Rukia dodged—barely—her white blade flashing as she twisted into a deep slide, ice erupting beneath her feet. But the serpent blades struck again, weaving through the air in spirals that bent and curved at unnatural angles.
This wasn't swordplay.
It was a nest of predators trying to devour her.
"Hiro, you bastard," she breathed, cold fury sharp in her voice. "You corrupted your own zanpakuto just to feed your parasite?"
His laugh bubbled, wet and layered with something not human.
"My blade… My body… My soul… all yours to feast upon…" Tendrils dripped from his jaw. "Everything for power."
One snake-blade shot forward with blinding speed.
Rukia blocked, but the impact threw her back several feet, ice shattering under her boots. The blade recoiled and spiraled like a real serpent preparing to strike again.
And the whole time—Hiro's warped soul still knew kido. I felt the pressure spike as he aimed a hand at her.
"Hadō #33—Sōkatsui!"
A blast of blue fire roared toward her.
Rukia countered in a heartbeat.
"Bakudō #39—Enkosen!"
A spinning shield of ice and reiryoku manifested in front of her just in time, absorbing the worst of the blast. She slid back, boots digging into frozen asphalt.
She was holding her own—but only barely.
Her every movement was calculated, precise… but he was relentless.
I turned away.
Not abandoning her.
But trusting her.
She needed me to do what she couldn't right now.
Inside the warehouse, the darkness hit me like a wall.
I was suddenly grateful that my ability sword of lightning glowed strongly, even if it made me feel like I was holding the world's largest glowstick.
The air was thick—humid with breath and fear and something spiritual that tasted rotten. My blade crackled instinctively, filling the room with streaks of blue-white light.
That's when I saw them.
Dozens of people, slumped against pillars and crates, skin pale and clammy. Their chests rose and fell too slowly. Some were unconscious. Others barely awake, eyes glassy and unfocused.
But worse—so much worse—were the things clinging to them.
Leech-creatures.
Not physical—spiritual, translucent, but bloated with stolen reiryoku.
Each one latched to a neck, chest, or shoulder by needle-like mouths, their bodies pulsing faintly. Filaments stretched from their tails toward the back of the warehouse—toward the direction Hiro had been standing outside.
Transmitting reiryoku straight to him.
A feeding web.
My stomach twisted. "Holy shit…"
The creatures pulsed again, drawing more energy from their hosts in sickly, rhythmic gulps.
It clicked then—too clearly.
Hiro wasn't hunting like a hollow.
He was farming.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Sustainably.
No sudden deaths.
No spiritual explosions.
No battles.
Just a long-term siphon.
Just enough to weaken people without killing them outright—hidden beneath a mask of "spiritual lessons."
"He's been doing this for years…" I whispered.
He had to be. The system was too efficient. The residue too layered. The victims too varied in age and condition.
He must have moved every time he pushed an area too far.
Kept up the professor façade.
A predator with tenure.
Lightning crawled up my arms again, my rage rising with it.
"You're worse than a hollow…" I muttered, my blade buzzing with murderous charge. "At least hollows don't pretend they're helping."
I took a step forward—
—and one of the leech-creatures hissed, spiritual membrane rippling.
Behind me, outside, Rukia called out with measured precision—
"Some no mai—TSUKISHIRO!"
A column of white light blasted upward, lighting the whole lot through the broken windows. The ground shook.
Another snake-blade split the air.
Hiro laughed again.
I didn't have time to think.
I raised my hand—
—and swung.
Lightning exploded from my blade, cleaving through the nearest leech in a snap of blue-white light. It shrieked as it dissolved, breaking the chain of energy linking it to Hiro.
The closest victim gasped—color returning faintly to her face.
One down.
God knows how many to go.
I set my stance, lightning building and building inside my limbs like a storm begging to break—
—and prepared to carve through every last one of these parasites before they drained a single soul more.
Outside, Rukia roared with battle fury.
The room was too cramped for a full blade. Every time I swung the lightning sword, I risked slicing a half-conscious woman in the face. My hands shook—not with fear, but with the need to move faster.
I clenched the hilt.
"Smaller," I whispered to myself.
The blade flickered—lightning collapsing inward, folding in on itself until it condensed into a long, glowing knife. The electricity crackled tighter, hotter, more focused. A perfect tool for close quarters.
For a split second, a stupid thought pushed through the panic:
Oh God, I'm Kuwabara. I actually made the spirit sword.
I almost laughed. Almost.
No time for anime jokes.
Not now.
I lunged for the nearest victim, slicing the leech-creature at her throat in one clean motion. It popped like a dying bug, dissolving into sparks of corrupted reiryoku. The woman gasped, color flushing back into her cheeks.
"One down," I muttered. "Let's keep this rolling."
I moved victim to victim, cutting leeches off as fast as I could. Some screamed. Some sobbed. Most were too drained to do anything but tremble. They all had one thing in common—
They were women.
Every single one.
My gut twisted.
He wasn't just feeding.
There were other uses for women who couldn't fight back.
Uses I didn't want to think about.
"Son of a bitch," I growled, slicing another leech in half. "You're dead. You are so fucking dead."
Outside, something slammed against my barrier.
A kido blast.
It rattled the whole warehouse. The rods I'd placed flickered, buzzing angrily, their arcs thinning.
"Oh, that's bad." I half laughed in a humorless whine.
Hiro's voice followed, warped by distance and fury.
"GIVE THEM BACK!"
Rukia's voice cut through his roar like a blade.
"You'll touch none of them!"
Another collision of spiritual pressure. Another blow to my barrier.
If Hiro landed one more solid hit, the whole defense net would collapse—and he'd storm right in here while these women were still half-conscious and vulnerable.
"Alright, ladies, we're speeding things up," I said, moving faster.
I grabbed the next woman, slicing the leech clinging at her collarbone. She slumped forward, clinging to me. Her head landed on my shoulder, breath trembling against my neck.
"My hero," she murmured hazily, "you came for me…"
Her lips puckered, aiming straight for mine.
"Wha—no, no, no—nope!" I caught her shoulders and eased her back upright, trying not to tip her over. "This isn't a Disney movie! I'm not your prince! Please do not kiss the guy with the lightning knife." My voice filled with a strained mix of exasperation and the calming, yet stressed amusement.
She blinked slowly. "Are you sure?" she asked with the hopeful expression I recognized from my kids when I told them no the first time.
"Yes!" I squeaked—entirely unheroically—then pointed her toward the exit. "Go. Outside. Now. Carefully. And please try no to complicate my already fucked up love life on the way out."
A few of the other women giggled weakly. I'll take that over screaming.
Another blast shook the building—this one harder.
My barrier groaned. One of the rods flickered violently, its lightning arc shrinking to a thin, unstable line.
I was lucky that it wasn't a direct hit.
I didn't have much time left.
"Okay," I muttered, racing to the next victim, electricity building around my knife. "Let's finish this before he breaks through."
I sped up, slicing leeches with rapid, controlled motions, my heart hammering with each one freed.
Rukia was buying me time.
I needed to pay her back.
Because if Hiro broke through that barrier—
—he'd find me standing between him and every woman in this warehouse.
And I was ready to fight.
Knife in hand.
Lightning in my blood.
Fear screaming in my chest.
But I wasn't running.
Not anymore.
Not ever again.