Sorry for taking so long, Next update should be sooner, wanted to make this longer but it would take to long to update and check for mistakes so yeh... atleast the next part is somewhat started ?
December 28th, 2003 — 9:10 PM
Karakura Town Hospital — Recovery Ward
For the first time, the woman's expression shifted.
Barely.
Just the smallest stutter in her composure—
as if her eyelid had taken one beat too long to close.
"...You know?" she repeated, voice dropping a note lower, no longer bored—
now calculating.
"What exactly do you think you know?"
Before Ichigo could answer, her head snapped faintly to the side.
A pulse brushed against her senses.
She was going to ignore it, as she felt some Shinigami being able to take care of it and didn't want to gather their attention.
That is before a second ripple slammed through her senses—deeper, heavier, carrying the stench of a stronger Hollow, and not one...
As the flood hit.
Two.
Four.
Seven.
Thirteen.
Twenty-six—
You've got to be kidding me.
Her jaw slowly tightened, the muscle twitching once beneath her cheek.
The pressure in Karakura spiked like a detonated mine.
Reiryoku signatures burst into existence across the entire city grid—
each new pulse slamming into her senses like an alarm she could not shut off.
She counted automatically:
Reiryoku: 346
Shinigami: 125
Hollows: 221—
More.
The numbers kept jumping.
Irritation.
Cold and immediate.
Rising like a blade drawn half an inch from its sheath.
What the hell...?
What's happening?
Of course.
Of course it couldn't stay quiet for five damn minutes.
The hospital lights flickered overhead, trembling as the spiritual pressure outside twisted the air itself.
She dragged a hand through her hair once, irritated enough that the motion nearly became violent.
Did suppressing that Hollow reiatsu in the warehouse backfire?
Did all of it spill out at once when the damn building collapsed?
did I actually rip a seam in the barrier when I got in?
Or is this town always this cursed?
Her eye twitched.
If so...
She clicked her tongue.
She forced her attention back to the boy in the bed—
"This saves time," she said at last, her voice smoothing back into that cold, clipped tone.
Inside, her thoughts moved sharper:
If he already knows about Hollows and Soul Society, I don't have to waste energy explaining the basics. Good. Less talking, more moving.
Her eyes narrowed, studying him like a puzzle piece that had suddenly changed shape.
"If you understand the afterlife," she continued quietly, "then you should also understand why you can't stay here."
She stepped closer, shadow falling across his bed.
"Because whatever you think you know—"
her gaze flicked toward the window, where distant spiritual explosions rattled against the glass,
"—Karakura Town is about to get a lot worse."
Focus, Ginshō. Priorities.
Her gaze snapped back to the boy lying in the bed—
half-conscious, barely breathing, spiritually empty.
Useless.
Fragile.
Pathetic.
But important.
She stepped closer, expression settling into that flat, clipped mask she wore around people she needed but didn't trust.
"This saves time," she said coldly.
If he knew anything about Hollows or Soul Society, she could skip the hand-holding.
She wasn't here to tutor him.
She wasn't here to stabilize his emotions.
She was here to keep herself alive—and keep him alive because his condition was inconveniently valuable.
"If you understand the afterlife," she said quietly, "then you should also understand why you can't stay here."
She moved closer, and her shadow fell across his bed like a verdict.
"Because whatever you think you know—"
A low, distant explosion rattled the hospital windows.
Another spiritual pulse rolled through the walls.
Her voice dropped into something cold enough to freeze marrow:
"—Karakura Town is about to get a hell of a lot worse."
Ichigo blinked, vision swimming as the words sank in like slow poison.
"...W–worse?"
His voice cracked.
"What do you mean 'worse'? What's happening?"
He turned toward the window instinctively, though his vision was still blurred and his senses were dead.
All he had to guide him were sounds—strange, sharp, wrong.
Crashes.
Distant impacts.
Sirens.
Something metallic twisting.
And then—
A roar.
A Hollow's roar.
Brutal.
Wet.
Ferocious.
"WRYAAAAAAAAA—!"
The sound cracked through the night like lightning.
Ichigo's entire body jerked.
That sound—
that awful, echoing, suffocating noise—
he hadn't heard it since he was a kid.
The memory hit him like a punch:
The night his mother died.
Rain.
Mud.
A Hollow shrieking above him.
He tried to breathe around the sudden tightness in his chest.
"N–no... no, way— that can't be—"
Another explosion ripped across the skyline—
not sharp, but deep, like the atmosphere itself was splitting open.
The floor quivered.
The lights flickered.
Ichigo flinched again, gripping the blanket like it was the only solid thing in the room.
He couldn't see the reiatsu twisting outside.
He couldn't sense the danger building.
He couldn't feel the spiritual world pressing in from all sides.
But he heard it.
God, he heard it.
The roars.
The crashes.
The tearing of metal.
The distant wail of alarms.
And that Hollow scream—
That scream he had no right to recognize anymore.
His pulse spiked.
His breath hitched.
His fingers curled into the blanket like it was the only thing anchoring him to the bed.
Because that sound—
That horrible, wet, distorted cry—
It dragged something up from the bottom of his chest.
A memory buried under years of battles and victories.
A memory he didn't let himself think about.
Rain.
Mud.
His own small hands slipping.
Cold water.
The weight of someone collapsing beside him.
The world going silent except for that roar above him—
And him, frozen.
Too weak.
Too slow.
Too human.
he lived only because—
Because his mother had stepped between him and death.
He swallowed hard, throat tightening painfully.
Just like now.
It happened again.
Barely hours ago—
When everything went dark and cold.
As the world faded out at the edges,
And his own heartbeat sounded like it was drifting away from him—
...
He was saved.
Someone else dragged him out of that quiet, suffocating dark he didn't want to think about.
Ichigo's chest jolted, breath shuddering.
His panic stalled—
not disappearing, just pausing—
as he stared at the woman beside his bed.
The woman who saved him.
The stranger who pulled him out of that cold place he almost—
He didn't finish the thought.
He just looked at her.
Dark coat.
Cold eyes.
No warmth.
No comfort.
And yet—
His heart, still racing, still aching, still raw,
began to slow just slightly
He was alive because of her.
Ichigo tightened his grip on the blanket, gaze locked on her silhouette.
"...You... saved me..." The words scraped out of him—weak, hoarse, barely a breath.
Half a question.
Half disbelief.
Half a gratitude he didn't know how to voice anymore.
Because he wasn't used to this.
He wasn't supposed to be the one lying down while someone else stepped in.
He wasn't supposed to be the one protected.
Not since she died.
His mom.
The one person who ever threw herself between him and death when he couldn't do anything—
when he was small, powerless, helpless.
He hadn't felt that kind of helplessness in years.
Until today.
The only other exception—
Rukia.
The girl who gave him power the first time he couldn't protect anyone.
Now here he was again.
Powerless.
Useless.
Saved.
By a stranger.
He didn't say anything else.
He couldn't.
His throat locked up, as if the words were too heavy to force their way through.
"Yeah, I did," the woman replied without hesitation, her tone flat, not gentle in the slightest.
Then she turned away from him and grabbed the bag sitting by his bedside.
Clothes.
Bandages.
A few personal things.
And the stack of emergency money.
She flipped through it, unimpressed.
"...Huh. Generous."
She said it flatly, like she'd just found spare change on the street.
Before Ichigo could even blink, she pocketed half the cash.
Not discreetly.
Not politely.
Not with an ounce of shame.
She just—took it.
Like it belonged to her the moment she bothered pulling him out of death.
Ichigo's eyes widened.
"H-Hey—! What the hell—?!"
His voice cracked, indignation punching through the exhaustion for half a second.
He tried to push himself upright—
—and pain ripped through his ribs like a blade.
He choked, collapsing back into the mattress, teeth clenched.
She didn't even look at him.
Didn't acknowledge his struggle, his anger, his weakness.
Just slung the bag over her shoulder in one smooth motion.
"Get ready," she said, voice cold as steel.
"We're leaving town."
Ichigo felt the words hit him like a blow.
"...Leaving...?" he breathed, disbelief tightening his chest. "Wha—? What are you talking about? I—I can't just run off—my family, my sisters—!"
She finally turned her head, expression completely unimpressed.
"If you stay here, you'll die," she said simply.
"And so will anyone near you."
The lights flickered violently overhead.
Another spiritual shockwave rippled through the building—
strong enough that Ichigo felt it in his bones.
He froze.
Not because he sensed the Hollow—
but because the window behind her trembled with a roar so loud it rattled the metal frame.
A Hollow scream.
A real one.
Close.
Too close.
His blood ran cold.
She clicked her tongue.
"Thought so. They're already breaching the blocks."
Ichigo's heart lurched.
He couldn't sense anything.
He couldn't see spirits.
He couldn't fight.
He couldn't do a damn thing.
But the sounds—
the shaking walls the rippling air the distant screams
—all painted the same truth:
Karakura was under attack.
The woman stepped closer to him, annoyance burning under her calm.
"Hey, kid," she said, eyes narrowing. "Since you know about Soul Society and Hollows... I'm guessing you've got a strong spiritual pressure."
A beat.
Then her internal voice sharpened—cold, irritated:
Though it sure doesn't feel like it right now.
Maybe it's suppressed...
Or—since he knows Soul Society exists—maybe they slapped a seal on him.
Typical.
Her lip curled in a faint, contemptuous smirk.
Of course they would. Their first solution to anything inconvenient is to bind it, bury it, or pretend it isn't there.
Cowards wrapped in tradition.
She focused on him again.
Her voice dropped—cold, clipped, cutting straight to the bone.
"Tell me something simple."
She leaned closer, eyes sharp.
"When a human with strong spiritual pressure survives a Hollow attack..."
Her gaze flicked to the window where another roar split the sky.
"...what happens next?"
She already knew the answer.
She wanted to hear if he did.
"What the hell are you implying?" he muttered, voice strained.
Another distant explosion rattled the windowframe.
She didn't give him time to recover.
"When a human with strong spiritual pressure survives a Hollow attack," she repeated, voice smooth as a blade sliding from its sheath, "they don't walk away unchanged."
Ichigo blinked.
"Unchanged...?"
"They gain powers."
Ichigo blinked again.
The word hit him like a punch to the gut.
Powers.
He opened his mouth—
but the thought finished itself inside his skull before he could form a sound.
Chad...
Orihime...
Chad's arm morphing into something monstrous—
Orihime's shield erupting from pure desperation—
Both of them—
both of them had almost died because of Hollows.
Both of them had described it the same way:
"I felt something... burst."
"It was like something inside me woke up."
"My body just... reacted."
His stomach dropped.
He remembered the way Chad explained it, embarrassed and quiet:
"I didn't want to run anymore. I wanted to protect you. Then my arm changed."
And Orihime—
"It felt like my soul was shaking... like it was trying to jump out of my chest."
Ichigo's breath stuttered.
It made sense.
Terrifying, horrible sense.
His voice came out small—
not weak, but shaken.
"...So you're saying people—people like me—after something like that... they start..."
He swallowed hard.
"...changing?"
"Correct," she said without a hint of sympathy. "They evolve."
Ichigo's pulse hammered against his throat.
His thoughts crashed into each other—
wild, panicked, refusing to line up.
Chad bleeding on asphalt.
Orihime crying behind her shield.
Their voices trembling when they told him how their powers awakened—
how something inside them had surged,
how their souls had shaken loose and reacted.
And earlier today—
those claws ripping into him,
that cold sinking in his chest,
the world going dark—
His breath hitched.
The room tilted, swaying like it might flip upside down.
"I—I don't feel anything changing," he forced out, gripping the sheets hard enough to hurt.
"You wouldn't," she said sharply. "Not yet."
Her gaze sliced into him.
"Right now your spiritual pressure is building. Quietly. Whether you notice or not."
His chest tightened.
Building.
The way Chad described it—
"It was like something exploded inside me."
The way Orihime whispered—
"It felt like my heart was about to explode."
Something hot and desperate surged up in his chest before he could stop it.
Not relief.
Not hope.
Something sharper.
Rougher.
Painful.
Because—
If it was true...
If he really was changing...
If there was something still inside him—
Then—
...he wouldn't be useless anymore.
He wouldn't be dead weight.
He wouldn't be the liability people had to protect.
...
He would have a power... Which never scared Yuzu away...
...
And he wouldn't have to keep pretending he was fine—
when every moment since Mugetsu felt like he was drowning in the shape of someone he used to be.
His throat tightened.
"...Does that mean..."
He swallowed, the words sticking in his throat.
"...I'll be able... to fight again?"
He hated how it sounded.
Small.
Raw.
Too honest.
Like a confession he never meant to let out.
But the truth was the truth.
He wanted his power back.
Not for pride.
Not for the sake of feeling big or important.
Not for the sake of being some hero again.
He wanted it because without it—
he didn't feel like himself.
Everything since Mugetsu felt wrong—
like he was wearing a body that didn't fit,
trapped behind glass,
watching the world turn dangerous while he stood there with empty hands.
He hated it.
He hated himself for slipping back into weakness.
For letting it happen at all.
For needing help.
For being the burden instead of the shield.
He took a breath—
slow, heavy—
the kind that was supposed to steady you but never really did.
"...Fine," he said quietly.
No fire.
No dramatic resolve.
Just acceptance.
Because running wasn't an option.
Staying wasn't an option.
Doing nothing wasn't an option.
And what else did he have left?
'I don't want to be powerless anymore.'
He didn't say it again.
He didn't need to.
"Then you better be prepared," she said, turning her back without hesitation. "Because I don't carry dead weight."
She pushed open the door.
The hallway outside flickered—
a single breath of stillness—
Then the red emergency lights slammed on with a jarring alarm.
The corridor drowned in crimson.
It crawled up her coat, outlining every edge of her body,
painting her like someone carved out of violence,
not salvation.
She looked over her shoulder, eyes glinting under the pulsing red light.
"Oh—" she said casually, as if remembering something irrelevant.
"By the way—"
A Hollow roar thundered through the floor below them.
Something huge crashed against a wall, shaking dust loose from the ceiling.
Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered like brittle bone.
She didn't flinch.
She smirked.
"My name is Kuga Ginshō."
...
December 28th, 2003 — 9:14 PM
Karakura Town — East Residential Block
The night ruptured.
A Garganta didn't simply open—
it ripped across the sky like a festering wound, jagged edges pulsing, vomiting black silhouettes into the streets below.
A Shinigami skidded back across cracked pavement.
His breath came in panicked bursts—white fog in the winter air.
Three Hollows closed in.
Not circling.
Not stalking.
Advancing with the lazy confidence of predators already full...
and somehow still hungry.
Twisted limbs.
Masks warped beyond symmetry.
Saliva hissing where it hit the cold ground.
He raised his trembling katana.
"S—stay b—back!"
The Hollows didn't even acknowledge the sound.
The first one lunged.
He swung—too slow.
SHRRRK—!
Claws ripped through his haori, skin splitting open, blood splattering the snow in steaming streaks.
He gasped, collapsing onto one knee, vision blurring.
He tried to rise—
A shadow dropped.
A second Hollow plummeted from a rooftop, jaws open wide.
He forced his blade up—
Steel screeched against white bone.
Sparks burst in desperate, useless flashes.
He slipped on his own blood.
His legs buckled.
"C—captain! SOMEONE—!"
From behind him, another voice:
"Hold on! I'm com—"
A shape fell from above.
No roar. No buildup.
Just impact.
CRUNCH.
The building wall cracked.
The ground cratered.
And the Shinigami who'd tried to help—
—was reduced to shredded cloth and collapsing bones in a single, sickening instant.
Flattened.
Ribs.
Stone.
Everything pulverized under the impact.
The surviving Shinigami froze, pupils shrinking.
A massive Hollow—easily the size of a truck—lifted its head from the crater.
Its mask split down the center, dripping thick saliva.
Wind howled through the gaping hole where its throat should've been.
The Shinigami tried to crawl backward.
The Shinigami tried to crawl backward.
The Hollow closed the distance in one step.
Its jaws opened.
CRACK. SPLASH.
No scream.
No final words.
Just a wet, meaty snap —
and half a Shinigami vanished between its teeth.
The rest dropped to the ground a heartbeat later.
The Hollow swallowed as casually as breathing.
...
December 28th, 2003 — 9:14 PM
Karakura Town — Eastern Housing Row
FWOOOOOM.
Cold slammed into the block—
sharp, devouring, unnatural—
a spiritual frost that cut through the air like a blade dipped in winter.
A Hollow froze in mid-step.
Literally.
Ice erupted up its legs, crawling along its torso like a predator made of frostbite, hungry and merciless.
Its roar choked off halfway—
the sound trapped inside a mask already turning white-blue.
Two seconds.
Maybe three.
KRSHHH—!
The creature shattered into a spray of glittering shards.
Rukia Kuchiki stepped forward through the chill she created, steam rising from her breath, her hand still raised, fingertips trailing lingering frost.
Her eyes were sharp.
Focused.
Unblinking.
"Hadō #73—Sōren Sōkatsui."
The last motes of blue flame evaporated from her palm.
Behind her, the street was a frozen battlefield of dissolving Hollows—some impaled on ice, others sliced apart by unseen blades, others burned to ash.
A squad of unseated Shinigami stumbled toward her, uniforms torn, faces pale.
"V—Vice-Captain Kuchiki! We've neutralized three in this sector, but—"
A human scream tore through the night.
High. Broken. Real.
Rukia spun.
A civilian lay behind a wrecked car, blood soaking into the snow, his left arm missing entirely.
A Shinigami knelt beside him, hands glowing with desperate yellow kidō.
"Hold still! Hold—just—dammit—!"
But the man wasn't listening.
He wasn't screaming about the pain.
He was screaming because—
He could see the Hollows dissolving around him.
He stared at Rukia with wild, terrified eyes.
"Wh—" he sobbed. "Wh—what—what are you—what is—THAT!?"
Rukia's expression tightened for half a second.
"You're on the border," she said quietly. "Between this life and the next. Your senses can bleed through."
The man hyperventilated, shaking violently.
"It... it tore my arm off—oh GOD—my arm—"
From the rooftops—
"VICE-CAPTAIN! Six Hollows incoming from the north—FAST!"
From the opposite street—
"Another Garganta opening!"
From behind her—
"We can't hold this sector!"
Karakura is collapsing.
Her knuckles whitened on her sword.
"Kurosaki..." she breathed under her breath, unheard by anyone.
"...where are you?"
Before she could issue a command—
BOOOOOM—!
A monstrous Hollow landed on a rooftop, shaking the block.
Its claws dug into the tiles.
Its mask glowed with hunger.
Rukia straightened—jaw firm, stance precise.
No fear.
No hesitation.
No retreat.
"Everyone—form a perimeter!" she shouted, voice cutting sharp through the chaos.
December 28th, 2003 — 9:15 PM
Karakura Town — Northern Intersection
Blue light carved through the night like threads of fate.
Uryū Ishida didn't stop moving.
His boots slid across the cracked pavement as he loosed two angled shots—one grazing a Hollow's mask, the other exploding through its eye socket. It dissolved mid-lunge.
Another leapt from a rooftop.
He didn't look.
He tilted his bow by half a degree—
thwip
—an arrow ricocheted off a shattered street sign and buried itself directly under the Hollow's jaw.
Two more dissolved into dust.
But Uryū's expression didn't shift.
If anything—
it sharpened.
Because the fourth Hollow he'd been tracking finally stepped into the light.
Covered head-to-toe in bubbling, blistering, hissing material—like its skin was coated in liquefied acid.
It roared, and the pavement beneath its jaws melted.
Uryū drew an arrow.
"Problematic," he muttered.
He fired.
The arrow sizzled out of existence before reaching the Hollow's mask, eaten completely by the corrosive vapor around its body.
Tch.
He fired again—faster—stronger.
Dissolved.
A third.
Half-melted before it even hit.
The Hollow lunged.
Uryū leapt backward, landing on a leaning traffic light, sliding his feet along the pole like it was a balance beam.
He fired downward—
six arrows in rapid succession, forming a tight pattern around the creature's legs—
but each one fizzled into steam the moment they entered the Hollow's aura.
The creature hissed, acidic drool sizzling holes into the concrete.
Uryū's frown deepened.
"So. Reishi corrosion."
He adjusted his glasses with a single precise motion, bow shifting into a denser configuration in his hand.
"This won't do."
The Hollow shrieked and slammed its claws into the base of the pole—
the metal melted instantly, collapsing under Uryū's feet, some of it even landing on his body.
He jumped, flipping off the falling structure, reappearing on a gas station canopy as the acid consumed the pole behind him.
He exhaled, calm despite the chaos.
"Annoying."
Reishi swirled around him, condensing—thicker, brighter, heavier—until the Quincy bow in his hand vibrated with strain.
The Hollow crouched, preparing to leap—
Uryū didn't give it the chance.
He aimed.
One breath.
One heartbeat.
"Let's test the limits of your resistance."
He released the arrow.
It streaked downward like a comet—
dense enough to distort the air behind it—
slamming straight into the Hollow's torso.
The acidic aura burned away its outer layers—
but not fast enough.
The arrow punched through.
The Hollow staggered—
roared—
acid splashing onto the street like molten tar.
Then—
THUD.
It collapsed, mask cracking down the center.
But it didn't dissolve.
Not fully.
It twitched—
acid crawling over what remained of its body, regenerating patches of melted flesh.
Uryū's eyes narrowed further.
"...Of course you're not do—"
But the Hollow's cracked mask twitched, then snapped upward.
Its single remaining eye burned with a hateful, feverish glow.
A wet, guttural voice tore from its half-destroyed throat:
"A...nnoying."
Uryū's expression did not change.
The Hollow dragged itself upright, acid pooling beneath it, eating through concrete in bubbling pits.
"You... little... blue-light rat..."
It wheezed, its voice grinding like bone on stone.
"You move too fast... too slippery... tch... tch... tch..."
It tilted its head, saliva hissing as it dripped.
"What ARE you?"
Uryū raised his bow slightly.
"That's none of your concern."
The Hollow shriek-laughed, the sound warping the air.
"Heh... heh... just... let me EAT you."
Its limbs elongated—skin bubbling, mask stretching.
"I'm CLOSE—so close—I can FEEL it—"
Its voice rose into a violent, hungry frenzy.
"ONE more soul—one strong one—and I'll EVOL—"
The word never finished.
SHSSSHK—
A black shadow blurred behind it.
For half a second, the Hollow didn't even seem to understand.
Then its torso slid diagonally apart—
upper body falling left, lower body collapsing right—
acid splattering everywhere like boiling rain.
The creature let out a final, confused wheeze—
"...eh?"
THUD.
Both halves hit the ground.
What remained of the mask cracked... then collapsed into dust.
Behind it stood a towering figure.
Tall.
Wild hair.
Eyepatch.
Uniform shredded at the edges—like the battlefield had never stopped clinging to him.
Zaraki Kenpachi rested his bloodied blade on his shoulder.
"Che," he grunted, unimpressed.
"An Adjuchas?"
He kicked the dissolving corpse aside with his foot.
"Thought you'd be stronger."
The air trembled around him—raw, crushing pressure rolling off his body without an ounce of effort.
Uryū steadied himself, jaw tightening.
"...Captain Zaraki."
Kenpachi glanced back at him with a grin full of teeth and danger.
"Oh? You're still alive."
His grin widened.
"Guess that's convenient. I need someone to point me at the bigger ones."
Another Garganta opened in the distance.
Another roar shook the rooftops.
Kenpachi's spirit pressure flared—
raw, hungry—
rolling across the street like a shockwave.
Uryū steadied himself automatically, jaw tightening.
A long, tired sigh slid out of him before he could stop it.
Shinigami...
He pinched the bridge of his nose and adjusted his glasses with practiced irritation—
only to notice the frames smeared with a thin line of dissolved metal from the melted street pole.
Perfect. Just perfect.
He wiped them clean with a cloth from his pocket.
Behind him—
THWIP— THWIP— THWIP—
Blue arrows streaked past in rapid succession.
These were sharper.
Faster.
Heavier in reishi composition
And Uryuu standing so close
standing this close to Kenpachi—
—was like trying to hear a whisper inside a hurricane.
The Captain's reiatsu wasn't just loud.
It was an unrestrained, chaotic pressure that crashed against everything around him, warping Uryū's senses until the only spiritual presence he could detect was:
Kenpachi.
Kenpachi.
And still—
Kenpachi.
...
December 28th, 2003 — 9:15 PM
Karakura Town — Rooftops Above the Northern Intersection
The city shook.
Sirens wailed.
Hollows poured through the streets like starving wolves.
And above it all—
Faint blue motes drifted in the wind.
A figure stood on the edge of the rooftop, coat snapping behind her in long black waves.
A massive cleaver-like blade rested in her hand, its metal cracked, glowing faintly along the fractures.
Her gaze swept the burning district below.
Calm.
Unmoved.
Ancient.
Zangetsu.
Her eyes shifted only when another presence clambered up behind her, dragging claws across broken concrete.
A second figure pulled herself onto the roofline—
white hair wild, mask cracked along the cheek, one horn sheared nearly in half.
Breathing ragged.
Reiatsu flickering like a damaged flame.
Hollow Zangetsu hissed through her teeth, one hand scraping along the rooftop edge as a trail of black, ink-thick reiryoku dripped from her fingertips.
"Tch... this body's still not holding right," she muttered, shaking off a chunk of cracked mask that fell and dissolved into smoke. "Feels like I'm shedding pieces."
Zangetsu didn't look back.
"You forced yourself into the world too quickly."
Hollow Zangetsu scoffed.
Then her eyes narrowed... not at the Hollows swarming below, but at Zangetsu herself.
"...You know," she said slowly, a crooked grin tugging at her split mask, "I never expected this from you."
Zangetsu's expression didn't shift.
"...Expected what?"
Hollow Zangetsu lifted a hand—black ink dripping.
"You. Out here killing Hollows. Sniping them. Protecting people who aren't him."
Her grin sharpened.
"Since when did you give a damn about anyone besides Ichigo?"
A hollow wind blew across the rooftop.
Zangetsu stood perfectly still, her coat lashing in the cold, her cracked blade humming softly.
For a moment, she didn't answer.
Then—
"Do not misunderstand."
Her voice carried the quiet pressure of a glacier shifting.
"I protect this place because he is in it."
Hollow Zangetsu barked a short laugh.
"So cold."
More ink-black Reiryoku peeled off her shoulder, sliding down her side like tar.
"And here I am, thinking you were finally developing a personality."
Hollow Zangetsu flicked another strand of black sludge off her arm.
It clung stubbornly.
Like oil refusing to fall from water.
"Ugh—seriously?" she snarled, shaking her hand harder. More ink splattered, threads stretching and snapping. "How long is this crap gonna keep leaking off us?"
Zangetsu did not immediately answer.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the streets below, watching Hollows break through another building.
Hollow Zangetsu clicked her tongue.
"Tch. Don't ignore me."
Only then did Zangetsu shift her gaze—downward.
To the ink.
To the cracks in her own blade, which looks more like a trench knife more than a sword.
To the stains streaking across her sleeves where the substance clung like living tar.
"...It will persist," she said at last. "Until the seal weakens."
Hollow Zangetsu bared her teeth.
"So—never?"
Zangetsu didn't deny it.
A thin rope of ink slid from Hollow Zangetsu's ribs and slapped against the rooftop, sizzling faintly before dissolving into nothing.
She looked down at herself—at the patches where her mask was darker, as if soaked in ink; at the feathers on her broken wing matted together; at the bruiselike streaks crawling over her limbs.
"Can't believe this," she muttered, making a disgusted face. "Ichibei really did a number on us. Mostly on you, but I'm stuck drowning in your mess."
Zangetsu's grip tightened around her blade—but she said nothing.
Hollow Zangetsu leaned closer, eye narrowing.
"You feel it, don't you?" she asked, quieter now. "Crawling under your skin. Like his name got written into your bones."
Zangetsu's jaw tightened.
"...Yes."
Ink continued dripping from her fingertips in slow, steady trails—thick as blood, dark as void, clinging to the cracks in her weapon.
Hollow Zangetsu snorted.
"Figures. It's you who gets hit hardest by a monk who thinks painting names makes him god."
She used a claw to peel a long strip of ink from Zangetsu's coat.
The tar wriggled like something alive before evaporating.
"Disgusting," she muttered. "I swear—if this crap doesn't stop soon, I'm gonna—"
"Endure it."
The tone was cool.
Sharp.
Final.
Hollow Zangetsu blinked—then scowled.
"Oh, don't you even start with that calm glacier routine. This isn't 'endure it,' this is—"
She slapped a hand against Zangetsu's shoulder. Ink splattered.
"—THIS. Sticking to me. Every damn second."
Zangetsu didn't flinch.
"The ink is a reminder."
"Yeah," Hollow Zangetsu snapped, "that we got branded like livestock."
The wind howled past them.
Ink dripped.
Snow glimmered.
Two spirits stood over a burning city—both broken, both stained, both bound.
Hollow Zangetsu clicked her tongue.
"...Tch. Fine. Whatever. Just—tell me it lessens."
Zangetsu looked down at her own hand, where ink crawled between the cracks in her blade.
"It will lessen," she said quietly.
"...Eventually."
Hollow Zangetsu paused.
Then she groaned dramatically.
"Oh great. Perfect. Love the optimism."
But even as she complained, she moved to stand beside Zangetsu—shoulder-to-shoulder, wings trembling, ink dripping down both of them like shadows trying to reclaim their shape.
Below them—
A scream.
A blast of reiatsu.
More Hollows swarming.
Hollow Zangetsu cracked her neck, claws flexing.
"Alright, alright. Enough talk." Her grin sharpened. "Let's go find our idiot."
Zangetsu nodded once, blade humming with cold light.
December 28th, 2003 — 9:15 PM
Karakura Town — Hospital Exit Ramp
Cold air hit him first.
Smoke.
Sirens.
The smell of something burning two blocks away.
Ichigo braced a hand against the wall as Kuga Ginshō pushed him out the emergency doors.
He expected chaos.
He didn't expect the silence that lived under it—
that awful, hollow gap between each distant explosion.
"What... is going on out here...?" he muttered, breath fogging as he tried to steady himself.
Kuga didn't answer.
Her eyes kept flicking upward, tracking things he couldn't see.
Then—
human footsteps. Fast. Desperate.
A woman sprinted across the street, looking over her shoulder.
Ichigo instinctively reached a hand out.
"H-Hey—wait—this area isn't safe—"
He never finished.
A ripple passed through the air beside her.
Ichigo didn't see anything.
But he heard something.
A low, vibrating growl—too close, too wrong.
a sound like metal grinding under water.
Then—
SHNK—
The woman's upper body vanished.
Not thrown.
Not cut cleanly.
Just—gone.
One moment she was running.
The next, her torso was severed out of reality, like something invisible had taken a bite out of her mid-air.
Her remaining half dropped straight down—
legs folding awkwardly onto the asphalt.
Blood sprayed in an arc that painted Ichigo's hospital gown.
He didn't move.
He didn't even breathe.
His hand, still half-extended toward her, shook violently.
"...what... what—"
His voice wouldn't come out right.
Something was chewing.
Wet.
Heavy.
Like someone crushing fruit between their teeth.
On nothing.
On air.
A shadow—no, not a shadow, just a distortion—twisted above the stump of her torso as something unseen devoured it in greedy, tearing motions.
His stomach lurched.
He'd seen death.
He'd seen Hollows.
He'd seen people fall in battle.
But this—
This was wrong.
This was helpless.
A human woman running for her life... erased in front of him.
And he couldn't even see the thing doing it.
"Stop—STOP!" he shouted, stumbling forward on instinct he knew he couldn't back up.
Kuga's arm snapped out, barring his path before he could take a second step.
"Don't be stupid."
Her tone wasn't cold this time.
It was sharp.
Warning.
Final.
Ichigo stared at the empty air where the Hollow was still eating.
Nothing there—
nothing he could see, nothing he could fight—
Except the blood.
Thick droplets fell from nowhere, splattering the pavement, running down his sleeve.
That was all he had to look at.
All he could understand.
His stomach twisted so hard it hurt.
Rage.
Fear.
Guilt.
They all crashed into him at once, heavy enough to knock the breath out of his lungs.
His throat closed.
I could have saved her.
The thought hit him before he could stop it.
If I'd been strong.
If I could see it coming.
If I wasn't—like this.
His hands shook.
Another drop of blood fell.
His voice didn't come out.
It couldn't.
His chest ached—
not from the wounds, but from something he hadn't let himself face in months.
If I hadn't used Mugetsu...
The memory struck him like a blade.
Black.
Endless.
His own spirit burning away into nothing.
Giving everything.
Giving too much.
Losing too much.
He'd told himself it was worth it.
He'd told everyone it was worth it.
That Aizen being gone was enough.
That protecting everyone once justified losing the ability to protect anyone ever again.
But here—right here—
with a woman dying inches from him
and a Hollow feasting on a body he couldn't even see—
his justification cracked.
If I hadn't used Mugetsu...
His fists curled into the hospital gown until his knuckles went white.
If I still had my powers...
He wouldn't be shaking like this.
He wouldn't be standing here useless.
He wouldn't be watching someone get eaten alive while he stood frozen, blind, helpless.
She'd still be alive.
The grief hit so abruptly it almost made him stumble.
He had made peace with losing his powers.
He had told himself he made peace with losing his powers.
Or at least... he pretended to.
the lie tore itself apart.
This...
This was the reality he never let himself look at.
The world didn't stop needing him just because he couldn't fight anymore.
Hollows didn't stop coming just because he was powerless.
People didn't stop dying just because he'd already done his part.
He wasn't at peace.
He was abandoned by his own strength.
Left behind by the world he used to protect.
Forced to watch everything crumble from the outside, hands empty, heart breaking.
His breath trembled.
If I hadn't used Mugetsu...
If I still had even a fraction of what I used to—
He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenching so hard it hurt.
KRSHK—SHUNK—SHUNK—SHUNK—!!
Stone erupted.
Jagged spikes burst up from the pavement beside him, spearing into something he couldn't see.
Ichigo staggered back, instinctively shielding his head as dust and fragments rained down.
A sound followed.
Not a roar.
Not a scream.
A pitiful, collapsing wail, like an animal realizing far too late that it was dying.
It came from the very spot where the Hollow had been eating the woman.
Ichigo's breath caught in his throat.
He saw nothing—just empty air—but the way the dust moved, the way the stone cracked around an invisible shape, told him enough.
Something had killed it.
Quickly.
Cruelly.
He turned—slowly—toward the only person here who could have done something like that.
Kuga Ginshō stood a few feet away, shoulders tense, eyes narrowed at a point above them.
Her expression was a thunderhead carved into a human face—cold, sharp, irritated.
She muttered under her breath, voice low and venomous:
"...useless Shinigami."
Ichigo flinched.
The contempt in her tone was a blade—clean, precise, and cutting everything it touched.
She didn't even glance at the dying Hollow she had just skewered.
She didn't look at the corpse it had left behind.
She didn't look at him.
Her scowl was aimed upward—toward the rooftops, toward the sky, toward the battlefield he could only hear but not see.
Another Hollow roar split the air.
Another explosion rippled through the street.
Kuga's hand twitched once—like she was restraining the urge to crush something.
Ichigo swallowed hard, throat dry.
"...Was that... you?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
The stone spikes broke down into small sharp pebbles.
Kuga simply stepped forward, grabbed Ichigo by the collar—
—and yanked.
"Move."
...
December 28th, 2003 — 9:18 PM
Karakura Town — Abandoned Service Road
Kuga didn't stop moving.
Her steps were silent, decisive, unhurried in a way that made Ichigo's pulse race faster.
"Keep up," she said without looking back.
Ichigo tried.
Every breath stabbed his ribs.
Cold air scraped his throat.
His legs felt like they might collapse at any second.
But he followed.
Because what else could he do?
Streetlamps flickered weakly overhead—each one struggling to stay alive against the pressure rolling through the town.
One light buzzed violently, dimmed to nothing, then burst in a pop of sparks as they passed under it.
Kuga didn't flinch.
Didn't even glance up.
Ichigo did.
He looked up at the ruined sky—gray-black, torn open in places, Garganta scars bleeding faint purple light.
Another roar echoed down the street.
Another explosion—distant but heavy—sent a ripple through the asphalt beneath their feet.
"What... what's happening out there?" Ichigo gasped.
Kuga didn't slow.
"Something stupid," she muttered. "And something Shinigami should have handled ten minutes ago."
They turned down a narrower road—quiet, cramped, lined with trash bins and locked storefronts.
The chaos of the city felt muffled here.
Muted.
Wrongly silent, like the street was holding its breath.
Ichigo pressed a hand to his ribs, trying to steady himself.
His steps faltered.
Kuga shot him a cold look over her shoulder.
"Don't stop."
But he already had.
Something had cut through the numb haze of pain and fear clouding his senses.
A sound.
Small.
Wet.
Human.
A wail.
Ichigo turned toward a pitch-black alleyway between two buildings.
"...Did you hear that?" he whispered.
Kuga's face tightened—not with concern, but annoyance.
"Forget it. Keep walking."
Ichigo didn't move.
He stared deeper into the alley, heart pounding.
There was nothing there—nothing he could see—but that cry...
It sounded like someone begging in the dark.
"Kuga... someone's hurt."
"Ichigo."
Her tone went razor-flat.
"If you walk into that alley, you won't be walking out."
He didn't answer.
Couldn't.
His legs felt rooted in the spot.
He thought of the woman.
The one he couldn't save.
The one he should have saved.
He thought of how he froze like a child.
How powerless he felt.
How that helplessness still clawed at his throat.
The wail came again—
shaking, sobbing—
the kind of sound a person makes when they know they're about to die.
Ichigo's breath hitched.
"Kuga—" he tried again, voice hoarse.
"Don't," she warned. "You step one foot in there, and your corpse becomes a snack. I'm not wasting energy scraping you off the pavement."
But Ichigo was already leaning forward—
drawn by instinct, by guilt, by a need so old and painful it lived in the shape of his heartbeat—
the need to protect.
His foot inched toward shadow.
Kuga's eyes narrowed.
And then—
something in the alley moved.
Not a full shape.
Not a silhouette.
Just a shift in the darkness.
A dragging breath.
A wet, shuddering gasp.
Something moving on the ground.
Ichigo's muscles tensed—
But before he could take a single step—
Kuga grabbed him again.
Her hand clamped onto the back of his collar, and with a sharp twist of her wrist—
SHF—
The world snapped sideways.
Light bent.
Air shuddered.
And suddenly—
They stood several feet away, tucked behind a dented vending machine.
Ichigo stumbled, catching himself on the metal frame.
"What the hell—?! Kuga—!"
"Quiet."
Her voice was low and lethal, a whisper meant to cut rather than calm.
She wasn't looking at him.
She was staring into the alley they had just escaped—eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits.
"...Let him go," she murmured.
Ichigo's breath hitched.
"Him...?"
"Look."
He leaned out from behind the vending machine—
—and froze.
A child sat slumped against the wall.
A boy, no older than Yuzu.
Small.
Shaking.
Bleeding.
His breath came in short, broken gasps—like each inhale hurt too much to finish.
One of his hands clutched his stomach; the other scraped weakly against the concrete, trying and failing to push himself up.
He wasn't screaming.
He was past screaming.
Just faint, choking sobs.
Ichigo's heart dropped into his stomach.
This was a child terrified and dying in a dirty alley because Ichigo couldn't do anything about it.
His vision blurred.
"Kuga—we have to—"
"No."
The word cracked against the air.
Cold.
Hard.
Final.
Ichigo spun toward her, anger flaring.
"He's a kid!"
"And he's bait."
Ichigo recoiled like she'd slapped him.
"What—?!"
Her expression didn't change.
"That alley reeks of Hollow saliva. They've marked him. They want you to step inside."
Ichigo stared back at the child.
Small hands shaking.
Blood pooling.
Tears streaking down his face as he whispered—
"...help... please..."
His knees nearly buckled.
"Kuga—he's dying!"
"Yes," she said flatly.
"That's the point."
Ichigo's chest tightened painfully.
"How can you just—just say that—?!"
Kuga didn't look away from the alley.
Not once.
Her eyes were locked on the darkness like she was staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.
"You think I don't know what dying children sound like?" she muttered.
Her tone was low—flat—but there was something buried under it. Something brittle. Something old.
"I've heard plenty. More than you. And that," she pointed toward the alley with her chin, "is exactly why I'm not letting you walk into a trap like an idiot."
She stepped forward.
Calm.
Controlled.
Predatory.
And then—
as if addressing a stray dog chewing on her shoes—
she spoke to the Hollow he couldn't see but absolutely knew was there.
Her voice slid into a sarcastic drawl.
"Seriously? This is your plan?"
Ichigo blinked.
"...Kuga—?"
She ignored him completely, her attention fixed on the empty air.
"What idiot is going to walk straight toward such an obvious ambush?"
She clicked her tongue, unimpressed.
"I mean, maybe you'd catch a Shinigami or two—if they were feeling especially suicidal tonight—but really..."
Her hand lifted slightly, fingers loose, blade humming.
"With the number of you crawling around the city right now, you could just brute-force your meals."
A smirk twitched at her mouth.
"But instead you're pulling this loser-level kidnapping trick? Patheti—"
She didn't finish.
Because the air snapped.
Not a sound.
Not a breath.
A shift—like something unseen suddenly lunged.
Ichigo didn't see the Hollow.
He only heard it.
A horrible dragging scrape—like claws sliding along concrete—followed by a high, choked gasp.
The child's gasp.
Before Ichigo could move—
YOINK—!!
The boy's small body jerked violently forward, dragged across the ground by an invisible force.
His heels scraped, kicking uselessly, fingers clawing at the air as he was pulled toward something Ichigo's eyes simply refused to recognize.
But Kuga was already in motion.
Her expression didn't change.
Her body didn't tense.
She didn't even look surprised.
She simply flicked her wrist—
and her greatsword tore into existence mid-swing, materializing with a cold metallic shum as though it had always been there.
One clean step.
One perfect angle.
And then—
SHHK—KRRRRRSH—!!
The blade speared through the air.
Through something.
The sound it made wasn't metal on flesh.
It was metal on spirit—a grinding, sick distortion that twisted the air around them.
A Hollow scream exploded into being—
high, wet, agonized—
as the creature was yanked along with the child, impaled halfway through its invisible throat.
Kuga didn't spare it a glance.
With her free hand, she reached forward—
caught the boy by the back of his shirt mid-drag—
and ripped him clean out of the Hollow's grip with one brutal jerk.
"Catch."
She tossed the sobbing child toward Ichigo like he weighed nothing.
Ichigo barely caught him, stumbling back with the sudden weight and terrified shaking.
"K-Kid—hey—hey, it's okay, you're—"
FWOOSH—!!
Wind split beside him.
A streak of steel carved through the air, so fast it didn't even look like a sword swing—
just a blur followed by a horrible, wet SCREE—AAAHHHH—!!
Another Hollow wail ripped through the alley, unseen but far too close.
Ichigo froze.
Kugo didn't.
"Run now," she snapped, voice flat and cold as the blade she was already lowering.
"Comfort later."
Ichigo opened his mouth—
"I said run."
Her eye twitched, annoyance bleeding through her calm.
Another invisible mass hit the pavement beside them with a sickening THUD, shaking dust loose from the walls.
Ichigo couldn't see it—
but he heard the last dying whine of whatever she'd just cut apart.
He tightened his arms around the boy.
His legs finally obeyed.
He turned—
"Faster," she growled. "I'm not babysitting two corpses tonight."
Street lamps flickered as they passed—
one dying with a sputtering pop just as Ichigo stepped beneath it.
Another Hollow scream shook the rooftops.
The child whimpered into Ichigo's shoulder—
a small, choking sound that dug straight under his ribs—
and his fingers curled into Ichigo's jacket with desperate, shaking strength.
The jacket was already ruined.
A smear of blood spread across the fabric, warm against his chest.
Ichigo kept moving.
Not because he felt brave.
Not because he knew what he was doing.
Because that is all he could do.
His legs carried him forward on instinct alone, muscles trembling, lungs scraping for air.
He didn't dare look back.
Didn't need to.
The screaming and the wet tearing behind him painted the picture well enough.
He tried—
God, he tried—
not to think about the woman he'd seen disappear into nothing.
Not to think about what her last sound might have been.
Not to think about how quickly it had happened.
How easily.
How he hadn't even moved.
He swallowed hard, the sound thick in his throat.
You could've saved her.
You should've saved her.
If you still had your powers—
His teeth clenched until his jaw shook.
He hated this feeling.
Hated this version of himself—
this hollowed-out, helpless thing wearing his skin.
He hated the blood on his jacket.
Hated the trembling in his arms.
Hated that the only reason this kid wasn't dead yet...
...was because someone else had stepped in.
Someone else had done the saving.
Someone else had fought.
Someone else had protected.
Again.
All he could do was run.
All he'd been doing since Mugetsu—
since he threw everything away for a victory that left him nothing—
was pretend he was still someone who could keep people safe.
But he wasn't.
Not now.
Not without power.
Not without the part of himself he'd carved out in that final black slash.
He tightened his hold on the child, arms trembling, feeling the tiny body shiver against him.
The kid gasped through tears, barely conscious, barely breathing.
Ichigo pulled him closer anyway.
Don't drop him.
Don't lose him.
Don't let this one die too.
A crunch of broken glass under his heel.
Streetlamps flickering overhead.
Blood soaking deeper into his jacket.
He didn't feel strong.
He didn't feel brave.
He just felt...
small.
And as the night screamed around him—
as Hollows roared and buildings shook—
a single, crushing thought pulsed in his skull:
I'm not enough like this.
Not to save her.
Not to save him.
Not to save anyone.
And...
Not even himse...
The thought hadn't even finished forming before—
He rounded the next corner—
—and his entire body locked up.
No hesitation.
No warning.
Just a violent, instinctive recoil—
"—gh!"
He jerked backward so hard the kid in his arms nearly slipped, his shoes scraping across the pavement as his heart slammed against his ribs.
He didn't see anything.
Didn't sense Reiatsu.
Didn't hear claws, breath, or movement.
But something inside him—
some echo of the fighter he used to be,
some buried instinct older than fear—
recognized danger before he could.
Move.
Ǫ̷̷̷̶̶̴̵̷̸̵̵̵̸̷̴̴̸̧̧̢̨̧̨̡̧̢̨̨̛̛̛̠̱̗͚̫̣̯͉͇̟̹̠̰̬͍͖̪̥̟͓̩͉̮̙͕͍̹̥̗̯̩̙̫͕͖̭͕̹̠̰̝̻̪̳̰̠̭̝͈͇̩̦̥̩̻̮̫̜̗̜̙̗͖̟͎̟̱̜͈̮̼̣͎͍̗̫̝̩̫̟̺̝̠̯͈̺̖͛̊̀́̏͂̑͋̆́̎̇́͆̓̒̇̔̾̒̓̂̿̉̍́̃̌͆̒̽̌̏͐͛̾́̈́̇͆̐͐̽̀̈́̓̌͛̃̿̿͐́̀̆̄͗̈́̓͌̊͒͂́̂̇̀̐̂̃̌͆́͆̓͒̀̀̓̑̈́͐̉̒͂͐̐͆͋͌̕̕͘̚͘̕̚͜͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅ
Back.
T̸̵̴̶̷̴̶̶̸̸̴̷̵̶̶̸̸̸̶̸̨̢̡̧̡̢̧̨̧̢̢̛̛͉͈̰̤̰̪̖̺̻̭͍̬͙̰̙̣̱͕͉̘̣̰̤͖͎̤̬̻͕̬̱̤͕̲͍̜̥̠̼̰̺̮͔̤̘͈͉͈͉͖͎̦̞̠͙̼͚̫̲͍̠̩͓̙̹̱̬͓̹̼͕̯͈̤̼̣͍̥͓͔̬͕̤̜̹̝̥̪͕̜̻͎͖̜̪̘̦̟̥͕̜̫̦͈͍̠͇͓̹̝̖̲̼͎͈̘͍̟̬̜͔̤̱͙͎̯̿̎́̃̇̃̂̅͋͗̃͊̑͐͗́̑̈́̇̒͆̎̊͐̐͂͋͐̈̅͐̋̿͑̔̂͑̓̌̒̀̒̏̊̇̓͌̈́́̒̉̎̄́͒̔̊͊̽̍͒̈́̍̄̔̽̀̇̌̀͊̐͌̽͆̉͌̈́̊̓̅̅̍̆̏̇̽̋͊̀̈́̀̓́́̎̆̀̈́͒̄̆̊̊̾̒͛̊̂͊̅̇̃͑͑͌͌̔͊̈̉͋̆̍̎̅̑̒͐͛̏̈́̾͌̎̔͐͛͌̔̑͆̐̔̀̔͂͌͛͛͌̕̚̚̚͘̕̚̕̕̚͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅ
Danger—right there—
Ichigo's breath caught in his throat.
He dragged the kid closer, holding him tight against his chest as he stumbled backward again, eyes wide, staring at absolutely nothing—
—but knowing.
Knowing something stood in front of him.
Something huge.
Something hungry.
Something opening its jaws without making a sound.
His pulse hammered.
The alley behind him shook with the clash of Kuga's sword as another Hollow shrieked.
She was still back there.
fighting.
alone—
Thud.
No time think
Ichigo thought, as he heard it.
Not the creature itself.
Not the claws.
Not the breath.
He heard the pavement crack under its weight.
A low rumble, like concrete groaning in pain.
...
I am fucked.
Ʀ̴̧͕̬̠̭̃̈̿̍͝.̷̢̹͇̘̩̆̎̎̚̕ ·ᰄ·N
The crack of pavement behind him was getting closer—too close—and every instinct he had left screamed the same thing:
Faster. Faster. FASTER.
Or—
he tried to.
Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the air itself thickened around him. The child in his arms trembled and sobbed into his jacket, but Ichigo barely heard him anymore.
All he heard was—
breathing.
Right behind him.
Hot. Slow.
Rolling over the back of his neck like a predator already opening its jaws.
His legs felt sluggish. His body felt sluggish.
Slower.
and
Slower.
He felt
The ruined street around him blurred—
then bent—
then shifted.
The cracked asphalt rippled like the surface of a lake.
Buildings sagged, twisted, and then sank, dissolving into dark water rising around his ankles.
He blinked.
And Karakura Town drowned.
A whole city submerged under black, soundless water—
and above it, flames burned consuming anything, it touched.
Black flames.
His flames.
Mugetsu.
Chains snapped around his chest.
Cold. Heavy.
Wrapping him.
Dragging him down.
His lungs seized.
He gasped—
but water rushed in.
Like Ink.
Thick, suffocating black ink oozing down his tongue, filling his throat, choking the breath out of him as the Hollow moved closer—
THWIP—
A graze across his leg.
His knee buckled.
He dropped, hitting the flooded street with a splash that echoed like a stone thrown into a void.
"Aah—!"
He clawed at his throat.
No air.
No strength.
Nothing.
The child cried somewhere behind him, distant, muffled—as if underwater already.
Ichigo lifted his head—
And saw them.
Zangetsu.
Still.
Unreachable.
Her dark cloak bled into the ink-soaked waves, her silhouette flickering where the black flames touched her edges.
She looked the same as always—
ancient, unwavering—
and yet somehow farther away than she had ever been when she lived inside him.
Then—
His Hollow.
White mask cracked.
Yellow eyes burning through the dark like twin lanterns at the bottom of the abyss.
She didn't crouch.
She didn't snarl.
She didn't even smirk.
She just looked at him.
Down at him.
On his knees.
Bleeding.
Choking on water.
Too weak to stand.
And in her silence—
in the tilt of her head—
"pathetic" wasn't spoken.
It was understood.
Zangetsu's calm condemnation.
Hollow Zangetsu's feral disappointment.
Two halves of his power.
Two halves he lost.
Black fire licked up their legs first.
Mugetsu's residue—
the aftermath of his choice,
the stain that hollowed out everything inside him—
began to eat through them
the way it had eaten through him.
Zangetsu's coat dissolved into drifting black motes.
Hollow Zangetsu's mask flaked apart into ashy white shards.
Both of them—
his strength,
his certainty,
the voices who once carried him through every impossible battle—
turned into reishi dust.
And the current pulled them.
Leftward.
Ichigo's eyes followed the flow, throat tight, lungs burning with ink and water he couldn't cough out.
The motes drifted past him, circling, swirling...
...until they collected against a shard of broken window glass lodged in a collapsed wall.
And then—
only then—
did the reflection inside it form.
Not him.
Not Ichigo Kurosaki.
But a wreck wearing his face.
A boy on his knees.
Bleeding from the arm.
Clothes torn and soaked.
Surrounded by broken buildings, flooded streets, and the black flames of his own consequence.
A boy staring up at monsters he couldn't fight.
A boy with nothing left in his hands.
A boy who was nothing.
His breath stuttered.
His reflection stared back.
Pathetic.
Weak.
Ruined.
Forgotten.
Powerless.
A hollowed-out shadow of who he once was.
And with every drifting reishi mote that sank into the glass—
every last piece of Zangetsu and Hollow Zangetsu consumed by the black—
the image became clearer.
More true.
More unbearable.
Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut—
—but he could still see it.
He could still feel that truth crawling up his throat.
I have nothing.
I am nothing.
The window cracked.
Something inside Ichigo cracked—
quietly at first, like a hairline fracture in glass—
His breath hitched.
His chest caved in.
And suddenly he was crying.
Ugly, shaking, helpless sobs he couldn't swallow down, couldn't hide, couldn't control.
"I—I can't—"
His voice broke apart like broken glass.
"I can't do this— I can't save anyone— I can't—"
His forehead slammed into the ground.
Once.
Twice.
A third time—hard enough that a sharp sting shot down his nose, the taste of iron blooming across his tongue.
He didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Because every time his skull hit the ground, all he saw was—
Mugetsu.
Black flame swallowing everything.
Everyone.
"I can't—"
His breath shattered.
"I CAN'T—!"
His fingers curled into the pavement, nails splitting on the cold concrete as he dragged in a ragged, drowning breath.
Something warm trickled down the side of his forehead.
Blood.
Good.
Just let it end.
There is nothing.
The words weren't spoken—not by anyone outside him.
They were branded inside his chest.
His forehead slammed into the ground again—
Harder.
The impact rang through his skull, cracked through the ruined street, tore out of his throat in a sound that wasn't a scream, wasn't a sob—
just pain made into noise.
Indescribable.
And then—
Overpowered.
By crying.
Soft.
Wet.
Raw.
He froze mid-breath.
That wasn't him.
He lifted his head slowly, vision swimming with tears and blood until the world snapped into something even worse:
Faces.
The woman from the hospital.
Twisted.
Gray.
Her terror still frozen into her last expression.
The boy—
the same boy he swore he'd protect—
lay crumpled beside the dead woman.
But his eyes still moved.
Just barely.
Not alive.
Not dead.
Just waiting to disappear.
Ichigo's stomach turned inside out.
And the Hollow—
the invisible thing crouched over him—
leaned closer.
The air rippled.
A breath he couldn't see brushed Ichigo's cheek.
Then—
the world folded.
The ruined street dissolved into something black and burning—
a city submerged in ink and fire—
Mugetsu's residue staining everything.
The ground became water.
The sky became ash.
And in the middle of it—
Small hands.
His hands.
Little.
Shaking.
Scraped from running too hard.
His knees hit the wet ground.
His vision shrank.
And beside those hands—
His mother.
Falling.
The same fall he never stopped replaying.
His throat tightened, cracked, broke.
"No..."
It left him like a breath.
A prayer.
A child's plea he hadn't spoken in years.
"No..."
Then—
A voice.
Not shouted.
Not monstrous.
Not divine.
Just him.
Cold.
Final.
No.
Everything stopped.
The chains around him—how long had they been there?
Looped tight around his ribs, his throat, his legs—
—pulled tight once—
—and SNAPPED.
His vision exploded white.
Pressure crushed inward and outward at the same time, like his soul itself slammed against the inside of his skull.
And then something surged into his limbs:
Not Reiatsu.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Old.
Pure human strength.
His fist curled.
Blood ran down his wrist.
His breath steadied into something feral.
The Hollow lunged.
Ichigo moved.
Not seeing.
Not sensing.
Just knowing.
His chains—still wrapped around him, dragging behind him like broken shadows—no longer held him back.
He drove his fist straight into the void.
CRACK.
Something unseen shattered.
The Hollow flew back, smashing into a parked car with an eruption of metal and glass.
The impact shook the street.
Ichigo didn't watch it fall.
He spun, grabbed the child—still breathing, barely—and hurled him toward the only safe shape in the distance.
Someone standing there.
He didn't know who.
Didn't care.
"CATCH!" he roared.
The figure blinked—surprised—but caught the boy in a clumsy stumble.
Ichigo turned back.
His breath was all fire.
All memory.
All rage.
The street burned.
The water churned.
Mugetsu's black flames rose and twisted around him in his mind.
And when he stepped forward, the world rewound—
—the empty street became a riverbank.
—the cold night became rain.
—the Hollow became him.
Grand Fisher.
The monster who took his mother.
Ichigo's vision tunneled.
His pulse roared in his ears.
And he screamed—
"FISHER!!!"
It ripped out of him like a blade.
Ichigo lunged at the invisible Hollow's position—
where he knew it was—
—and began to strike.
Each punch tore the air.
Each impact rattled bone.
Each blow landed harder, faster, more vicious than the last.
He didn't stop when he hit mask.
He didn't stop when he hit flesh.
He didn't stop when the world itself trembled around him.
He kept swinging.
At the Hollow.
At the memory.
At himself.
At the years he spent powerless.
By the time he stopped—
the creature was nothing but ruin.
A warped smear of bone and muscle jammed into the wreck of the crushed car, glass glittering like dying stars around what used to be its mask.
Ichigo stood over it, chest heaving, blood dripping off his knuckles in uneven trails.
The chains clinging to his body—black, wet, heavy—dragged against the pavement with a dull metallic scrape.
Ink slid from them in slow rivulets, curling around his boots, staining the ground beneath him.
He didn't know when the street stopped looking like a street.
Didn't know when the flickering lamps turned into pillars of black flame.
Didn't know when the concrete became dark water, rippling like a reflection of something that shouldn't exist.
He only knew this:
He moved.
He acted.
He killed something.
For the first time since Mugetsu—
He wasn't completely powerless.
He turned to walk away—
—and froze.
Because the ink puddle beneath him shifted.
Not like liquid.
Like a living thing.
It stretched outward, reforming his reflection into something more defined.
More cruel.
More hollow-eyed.
It stared back at him—
studying him—
judging him—
as if asking:
Is this really all you are?
Ichigo's breath hitched.
The world felt too quiet.
Too still.
Too—
SWSH—CRACK!!!
Something blurred past his right shoulder—wind cutting so close it slapped his hair sideways—
And then:
THUD—!!
The pavement behind him shook.
Ichigo blinked.
Slowly.
Like someone waking from a nightmare into another one.
He turned his head—
—and saw her.
Karin.
She had drop-kicked the air itself, foot planted on something he still couldn't see, cracks spiderwebbing under the force of the impact.
Her arms were curled tightly around the child he had thrown—protecting him without hesitation.
Her stance was wrong.
Her posture was wrong.
Her presence was wrong.
And then she opened her mouth—
And Ichigo's blood pressure spiked.
"YO, ICHIGO! LONG TIME NO SEE!"
A grown man's voice—loud, obnoxious, painfully familiar—ripped out of Karin's body with all the subtlety of a gunshot.
Kon.
Kon in Karin.
Kon in Karin while holding a bleeding child and drop-kicking invisible monsters.
Ichigo stared.
For a full second, he genuinely thought the blood loss was making him hallucinate.
"...K—Kon...?" he croaked.
Karin/Kon blinked back at him with way too much enthusiasm for the middle of a massacre.
"WHAT'S WITH THAT FACE!? YOU LOOK LIKE YOU SAW A GHOST!"
Ichigo actually swayed.
A ghost, a Hollow, a nightmare—
at this point, he couldn't tell the difference.
And Kon—still in Karin's body—beamed proudly while stepping off the now-crushed invisible Hollow beneath her foot.
"HOOOOLY CRAP, MAN! You look like death warmed over! Did you finally start taking after your dad or wha—"
Ichigo stared.
Kon blinked.
The grin wavered.
Just a little.
"...Oi."
Kon leaned forward, Karin's borrowed face tightening with something that didn't match her voice at all.
"You okay, man...?"
The tone dropped—quiet, cautious. "That thing bit you... you're bleeding all over the place..."
Ichigo swallowed, throat dry.
"I— I'm fine," he lied immediately.
It sounded pathetic even to himself.
Kon's brows furrowed.
"No, you're not. You look like you're about to keel over."
He shifted the boy in his arms, glancing down at him. "We need to get this kid to Orihime. Now. He's in bad shape."
He looked Ichigo up and down again.
"...You're not looking that great yourself, Ichigo."
Ichigo opened his mouth—
—but another voice cut the air apart.
Cold.
Sharp.
Too close.
"Step away from him."
Kuga Ginshō appeared beside Ichigo without a sound—
as if she had always been standing there and the world simply failed to notice her.
She grabbed Ichigo by the back of his jacket, hauling him a half-step closer to her like she was reclaiming something that belonged to her.
Kon instinctively backed up a pace, tightening his grip on the child.
"What the—? Where did you come fr—"
A ripple of Reiatsu sliced the air.
A Shinigami flash-stepped into existence so suddenly the streetlight above them flickered.
Unseated. Young. Bleeding from the shoulder.
But with his sword drawn.
His eyes snapped from the crushed car to the mangled Hollow...
then to Ichigo...
then to Kuga's hand gripping him.
"Halt!" he shouted, voice shaking more from fear than authority. "Identify yourselves! There's—there's been a massive spiritual breach in this district—!"
Kuga didn't turn.
Didn't blink.
Didn't acknowledge him.
Her only reaction was her grip tightening on Ichigo's collar.
Ichigo felt her something about her flare—
controlled, precise, dangerous.
Kon instantly panicked.
His arms flailed—well, Karin's arms flailed—while the child bounced wildly in his grip.
"H-HOLD UP! WAIT! W-WE'RE WITH SOUL SOCIETY!" he shouted at the Shinigami, voice cracking so hard it sounded like he was being strangled. "KARIN'S GONNA KILL ME— I MEAN— I'M KARIN—NO I'M NOT—BUT THIS IS HER BODY—AND I'M—WE'RE—SHE'S— OH MY GOD JUST LISTEN TO ME!"
Kuga didn't turn.
Didn't loosen her grip on Ichigo.
Didn't do anything except radiate quiet, murderous interest.
The Shinigami blinked, fully lost.
Kon continued rambling in a sweaty panic:
"LOOK—SOUL SOCIETY KNOWS ME—WELL, THEY KNOW HER, I GUESS—BUT ALSO ME—KINDA—RUKIA KNOWS US—ICHIGO'S SISTER—YOU KNOW—KUROSAKI—NOOOO!—SISTER RUKIAAAAAA! SOMEBODY CALL SISTER RUKIAAA—!!"
Ichigo's head lifted slightly—
not at Kon's screaming, but because...
Something brushed against him.
Not physically.
Not spiritually.
Something familiar.
A presence he knew.
A warmth and cold mixed together, like—
"Ruki—"
Before he could finish, Kuga stiffened.
"...fuck."
That was her only warning.
The ground erupted.
From Ichigo's perspective, the world cracked—
broken asphalt and rusted metal spikes exploding upward, shredding the air.
They didn't hit anything.
They froze in ice.
"Kugo wai—"
The word didn't finish.
The world blinked.
One moment they were standing in the street—
Kon screaming, a Shinigami shouting, the sky shaking with Hollow roars—
The next—
Silence.
A abandoned warehouse, which the city is full of.
Cold.
Still.
Dust shifting in the dim light.
Ichigo stumbled, Kuga's grip ripping him forward like she'd dragged him through time itself.
She finally let go.
Her breath came out sharp, annoyed, under her breath:
"Too close."
Ichigo swayed, pressing a hand to the wall.
"...what— what just—"
Ichigo's words died in his throat.
Everything felt... muted.
Not like exhaustion.
Not like shock.
Something wrong.
Like hands made of fog were pressed against his senses, smothering anything sharp, anything instinctive.
Kuga didn't look back at him as she lifted two fingers and traced a shape in the air—
a jagged sigil he didn't recognize.
Her voice dropped into something cold, old, and ritualistic:
"Binding Vow: Veil of the Unseen.
No eyes feel us.
No senses find us.
We vanish—
in exchange for our own clarity."
The warehouse around them pulsed once with a dull, suffocating thrum—
and Ichigo felt it settle over him like wet sand.
That was the moment he realized:
This wasn't just numbness.
This was intentional.
"K-Kuga," he muttered, gripping the side of a dusty shipping crate as his balance wavered. "What did you—?"
"Made sure we aren't tracked," she snapped shortly.
She dropped his bag onto the concrete with a hard thud, crouched, and ripped it open.
Not searching like a normal person—
but like someone tearing through a dead body for valuables.
Shirt.
Bandages.
Some snacks.
Small items from the hospital.
She tossed half of it behind her without looking.
"Hey—! Caref—"
THWAP.
A clean shirt slapped Ichigo straight in the face.
He stumbled, peeling it off with a wince from his bleeding arm.
"Can you—just—wait a second—? I'm trying to—"
More fabric flew at him.
Jacket.
Shirt.
A pair of sweatpants he didn't even remember packing.
"Kuga! Can you stop throwing—"
He froze.
Because when the last piece of clothing slid off his face—
his eyes landed on her.
Kuga had shrugged off her long, black coat.
Under it: a fitted, sleeveless compression shirt—scarred across the ribs, shoulders taut, muscles defined with the kind of precision only years of killing something could carve.
She didn't bother explaining.
Didn't give him a chance to breathe.
She just said, with all the patience of someone instructing a rock:
"Change clothes."
Ichigo blinked, dazed, still trembling with leftover adrenaline and dulled senses.
"Wh—right now? Why—"
She finally looked at him.
No softness.
No kindness.
Just cold pragmatism.
"You're drenched in blood," she said.
"And you stink like a dying spirit bait."
A beat.
"If you want every Hollow in a kilometer to swarm us, keep wearing that."
Ichigo looked down.
His jacket—once clean—was soaked through with blood.
His blood.
Hollow blood.
Ink-black residue from the chains that had snapped.
He swallowed, throat dry.
"...Right."
"Good," she muttered, turning away to give him half-privacy. "And hurry."
She paused.
Then added, almost annoyed:
"Before the vow decides to lift early and we become very visible to very angry Shinigami, now shut your trap and change. "
Ichigo didn't get a chance to respond as his face went crimson.
He didn't even get a chance to look away properly before he heard the rustle of fabric—
quick, efficient, absolutely shameless.
Kuga Ginshō didn't hesitate.
Didn't falter.
Didn't act like stripping in the middle of an abandoned warehouse during a Hollow outbreak was the least bit strange.
Her coat hit the ground.
Her boots followed.
And then—
shff—
Her pants.
Ichigo's soul left his body.
"H—HEY—!! W–warn me next time—!"
He whipped around so fast he nearly dislocated something, slapping a hand over his eyes for good measure.
Behind him, her voice was dry enough to kill a cactus.
"Why? You're too slow to react anyway, just enjoy the sight while you can."
He nearly choked.
"KUGA!! I'm not— I wasn't— I'm not looking—!"
"Good. Then change faster."
Her tone didn't budge.
Not embarrassment.
Not teasing.
Just business.
Just survival.
Just Kuga.
Ichigo fumbled with the clean shirt she'd thrown at him, his hands shaking as he tried to tug it over his head without reopening his wounds.
He turned even further away, as if distance alone could keep him from dying of embarrassment.
This is insane.
This is actually insane.
Why is she— why am I— why is tonight—
A soft thump behind him.
Her boots back on.
Her coat sliding up her shoulders.
She was done already.
Good.
Great.
Perfect.
His heartbeat could return to only mildly catastrophic levels.
As he tugged the new shirt down over his ribs, still facing the wall, her voice drifted over—calm, clipped, annoyingly observant:
"Well, at least the rain is washing some of that color out of your hair."
Ichigo blinked.
"...huh?"
Ichigo ran a hand through his soaked hair, fingertips catching on the stiff ends still matted with blood.
"What are you even talking abou—?"
"The orange," Kuga said flatly.
"Hopefully the rain washes it out."
He turned, incredulous.
"...My hair is your priority right now?"
"It makes you stand out," she replied, already adjusting the strap of her weapon. "And standing out is the last thing either of us needs. If you're going to be useless, at least be less visible while doing it."
He gaped at her.
"I— that's not— what does that even mea—"
But she was already moving, pacing once toward the warehouse opening, peering through the hanging sheet of rain like it was a battlefield map.
"The rain will help. Hide your scent. Blur your shape. Maybe even smother whatever residue's still clinging to you."
Her eyes flicked to the faint black ink stains still threaded through his hair.
"...Though the Hollows seem determined to make all that irrelevant."
BOOOOOOM—!
A deep explosion ripped somewhere across Karakura—so powerful the warehouse wall trembled, dust drifting from the rafters.
Ichigo flinched.
"What the— that sounded like—"
Somewhere in the storm, carried faint and distorted—
"GYAAAAHAHAHAHA!! DON'T YOU RUN NOW!!"
Ichigo's blood ran cold.
Kenpachi.
Я̴̭̫͉̮̯̈́̌̎̌͋υ̷̭͓̙̫̮̒̀̀̕͝ñ̶̠̺͓̞̞̒͂̆̄.̸̨̥͓͉̹̅͗̉̎͋
Ichigo went still.
Not just frozen—
locked, like every muscle in his body suddenly remembered a terror older than fear itself.
His eyes shifted toward the storm-drowned horizon...
...toward something he couldn't see.
Couldn't name.
Could only feel.
A pressure.
A tearing.
A presence that made Hell feel like a lukewarm bath.
The hairs on his arms rose one by one.
The warehouse lights flickered.
Even the rain outside seemed to hesitate.
Kuga noticed instantly.
Her gaze snapped to him—then to where he was staring—and her jaw tightened.
"...You feel that too."
It wasn't a question.
Ichigo didn't move. Didn't blink. His breath trembled out of him, thin and uneven.
"Lets go. We don't have time to waste " Kuga said as she removed the binding vow as well as disabled her dol house ability.
Kuga shot him a sidelong look, thoughts flickering fast behind her eyes.
He's gaining Reikaku…?Her jaw tightened.
Then why is his Reiatsu so low? Even lower than before.Injured? No—injury spikes spiritual pressure, it doesn't kill it.So what the hell is suppressing him?
She turned away, hiding the tension in her shoulders.
Whatever. It's useful. Won't have to suppress him myself.
Another explosion rolled across Karakura, rattling the warehouse like a dying breath.Lightning tore open the sky—and for an instant, Ichigo saw the silhouette of something colossal behind the rain, as if the storm had teeth.
His breath stopped.
And Kuga, already dragging him by the sleeve, muttered under her breath—
"…Huh. A Menos."
A beat.
"Even better."
Her tone carried no awe, no panic—just the exhausted misery of someone who had already dealt with far too much tonight and would like to unsubscribe from existence.
She grabbed Ichigo by the sleeve and dragged him with her before he could even blink.
"Nope. Not dealing with that. Don't look at it. Don't think at it. Let's move."
Ichigo stumbled after her, disoriented, still half-drowned in the aftermath of everything he'd seen inside his own mind. The rain slapped against his face, cold and sharp, but it did nothing to clear the fog in his chest.
Kuga didn't give him time to process any of it.
They hit the back alley door.She slammed it open with her shoulder and pulled him into the storm.
Her mind was already racing ahead.
...
December 28th, 2003 — 9:39 PM
Karakura was collapsing.
Kuga clicked her tongue sharply.
Hollows scuttled across rooftops like starving predators, silhouettes twitching against the lightning-slashed sky.Every boom of distant combat rattled the broken streets—steel clashing with bone,roars shaking loose the windows in their frames,spiritual pressure warping the air itself.
Above it all—
The towering outline of a Menos Grande loomed through the storm, its mask cutting through the clouds like a bleached moon.
Kuga's lips thinned.
Wrong. All of this is wrong. Too many Hollows, too scattered, too wild.Soul Society's either asleep at the wheel… or they're losing their grip.
She shot a glance over her shoulder.
Ichigo was pale, rain-soaked, staggering to keep up—eyes darting toward dangers he couldn't see but felt.Reikaku sparking awake inside a half-broken, half-drowned spirit.
Perfect.
Wonderful.
Exactly what she needed tonight.
Above them, a Hollow screamed—jagged, hungry, diving straight for their backs.
Kuga didn't look up.
Didn't pause.
Didn't even bother to sigh.
Her sword cut through empty air—and the Hollow fell behind them in two steaming halves that slid across the wet pavement.
She kept walking.
"Shinigami'll mop up the rest," she muttered, voice bone-dry. "Assuming they remember how to do their damn jobs."
Ichigo stumbled after her, still catching uneven breaths.
They turned into another street—and the screaming was softer here.The thunder farther away.The Hollows more distant, their roars echoing through blocks rather than right above their heads.
Rain beat down harder, washing blood into the gutters.
Kuga exhaled—long, slow, irritated.
"…At least," she said, stepping over the cracked remnant of a mailbox, "things seem to be calming down in this sector."
As if on cue—a distant explosion illuminated the sky in orange.
Hollows shrieked somewhere far off.A Shinigami cried out.A building collapsed in a burst of dust.
Ichigo flinched at the sound.
Kuga didn't.
She rolled her eyes.
"Calming down by Karakura standards," she corrected flatly. "Which means only half the city is still on fire instead of three-quarters."
She adjusted her grip on his collar and pulled him along again.
"Come on. While the idiots are distracted."
They moved deeper into the city—past shuttered windows,past smoke curling through stormlight,past the trembling silhouettes of people hiding in ruined doorframes.
Ichigo kept trying to look at them.Kept trying to stop.
And every time—her hand clamped on him like iron.
"No detours," she said without looking back. "No heroics. Not tonight."
Thunder rumbled overhead.
The rain fell harder.
The screams grew distant.
Kuga continued forward through the drowned streets, her voice barely audible over the storm—
"…We're almost out."
They turned the corner—and Kon's voice exploded through the storm like a gunshot.
"HEY! OI! OVER HERE—SOMEONE GET ORIHIME!"
Ichigo stiffened.
His head snapped toward the sound before he could stop himself.
There—under the broken awning of a convenience store—Orihime knelt in the rain, hands glowing soft orange as she bent over the child Ichigo had saved.Her shield flickered gently around the boy's small, trembling body.
Chad stood in front of her—silent, immovable, soaked to the bone—his right arm already transformed, black and jagged with power, scanning every shadow.
Uryuu was nowhere in sight—but Ichigo felt him somewhere, a tight knot of controlled reiatsu a few blocks away, firing arrow after arrow.
Kon—in Karin's body—waved his arms wildly.
"I FOUND A KID, OKAY!? HE WAS GETTING CHOMPED ON BY A HOLLOW I KICKED IT! JUST—ORIHIME, FIX HIM!"
Orihime nodded quickly, focused, determined.
"Don't worry," she murmured to the boy, voice trembling with warmth that cut sharply into Ichigo's chest."You're going to be okay. I promise."
Ichigo slowed.
Pain.Relief.Guilt.
All of it twisted inside him at once.
They were here.
Alive.
Fighting.
Doing what he used to do—
THWIP—THWIP—THWIP—
Blue arrows slammed into the concrete inches in front of Kuga's foot.
The pavement exploded upward in chunks.
and found himself yanked halfway down the next street, dragged through the rain by a force he couldn't fully comprehend.
Kuga didn't even look back.
"Too close," she muttered, jaw tight. Behind them, more arrows struck the spot where they'd just been—
Kuga accelerated, boots splashing through puddles, dragging Ichigo deeper into the storm.
"We're not stopping," she said, voice a low growl. "Not for friends. Not for enemies. Not for anyone."
Her hand clamped around his wrist like iron as they surged forward again—
and the world blurred.
The next time Ichigo's feet touched the ground—
He staggered.
"…This place—"
Mugetsu's scar etched into stone.
His chest tightened.
She finally released him.
Kuga rolled her shoulder once, shaking off phantom tension.
"By the way," she said as though they had just walked out of a convenience store, not a warzone, "you clearly know those people."
Ichigo swallowed.
"Orihime… Chad… Kon… they're—"
"—surrounded by Shinigami," she finished flatly, flicking rain out of her bangs."And they didn't seem panicked enough for that to be unusual."
She angled her gaze toward him, sharp even through the rain.
"So."A beat."You're going to explain that later."
Ichigo blinked, thrown.
"Explain… what?"
"What's been happening in this town," she said, voice dropping low."And what the hell Soul Society is doing crawling all over it."
Her eyes narrowed, unreadable.
"Because from where I'm standing?"She gestured vaguely back toward the chaos they'd fled."This is not normal. Not even for them."
Ichigo opened his mouth—but all that came out was air.
He didn't know how to explain any of it.Didn't know where to start.Didn't know if he could even breathe in this place from the memories alone.
Kuga watched him a moment longer.
Then—
"Don't freeze up now," she muttered. "We just got here."
She turned her back to him and stepped forward onto the cracked, devastated battlefield—
—the one where he became a monster of black light and lost everything afterward.
Ichigo's fingers curled at his sides.
The air here tasted like ghosts.
And above them…
Lightning lit up the sky, silhouetting the ruins where he'd once stood as Mugetsu.
He felt it curl around his lungs.
This is where it ended.
Where Mugetsu devoured everything.Where his body collapsed.Where his world went quiet.
And for what?
His jaw tightened.
For… nothing.
He hadn't defeated Aizen.He hadn't saved the world.He hadn't even landed the final blow.
Urahara had.
All Ichigo did was weaken her…so someone stronger could finish what he couldn't.
His breath hitched.
"…It wasn't even me," he whispered to no one.
Gray clouds pressed low over the wreckage.
AND SOMETHING IN THE DEEP—
something crawling up his spine—shifted.
A whisper—quiet, broken, like a voice speaking from behind a thousand layers of pitch—
Ɨ̸̨̜͍͚̫͕͙͉̗̤̤͖́̄̀̎͜͝ͅϙ̷̨̡̢̗̭͉̹͕͚͔͍̙͓͙͇̰͚̺̼̝̱͉͚̬̤͕̣͕̆̄̅̉̅̈́̌͜ͅͅͅʀ̶̢̡̡̢̢̜̲̠̘̥̳̙̰̫͔̮̻̫̫̬̙̮͙̟͓̖͔̼̞͕͉͙͎͈̙̱͉͙̐̅̾̅͋̍͘ͅͅ…
A scrape of sound,as if words were trying to form through thick black ink—
Ț̷̡̬͉͔̭̻̤̲̦̲̩͚̙̻͈̞̱͉͍͆̈́͂̇̆͗̂͊̓̄͒̏Ή̵̨̨̢̡̛͍̬̘̺̺͔̻͕̜̥̥̣͖̻̥͓̜͎̞̳͙̻͓̙͇͕̞̼̫͆̌̈́̉̃̿̏̀̇̊̑̓͛̍̿͆͘̕͝Ø̴̢̢̳̪̫̮̞͙̯̳̗̖͎̠̱̻̹̬̭̭̭̩̙̞̱̩͍͕͍̺̻͉̼̞̪̻͔̖̘͋̂̊͒̽̍̾̌́̄̿́͊̎͘͜͠ͅͅ...
Something he couldn't understand—not fully—because the ink of Ichibei still clung to him, trying to drown it out.
And behind that ink—Mugetsu still gnawed at the chains inside him, burning away every drop of interference.
The corruption was peeling.Being scraped off.Being erased.
…I lost everything here," Ichigo whispered, eyes locked on the shattered ground that once held the shape of a black sun.
Kuga didn't turn.
But her shoulders tightened—just once— as she turned her head towards him.
"…More on that later," she muttered.
But her thoughts were louder than her voice.
What the hell happened here?
Her eyes swept the crater, the twisted metal, the charred stone.
This area has the weakest part of the barrier around Karakura…So why does it feel like something detonated a goddamn nuclear spiritual event here?
Her jaw clenched.
Barriers don't erode like this.
Still for now...
"Let's move," she growled. "Before this town decides to kill us too."
Ichigo tore his eyes from the battlefieldand followed—
...
To be continued !