Zenith

BY : Shapooda
Category: Bleach > General
Dragon prints: 264
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Reposting from Fanfiction.net just because, which is on chapter 50 currently. You could call this a slow burn Ichigo/Grimmjow. There's won't be an explicit pairing between them in this story, but it will be used as set up for a future pairing. They go through a lot of shit together. A pairing that's confirmed in this but only as a side plot is Nelliel/Candice




 

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An endless expanse of glittering white sand stretched under the sliver of the moon of Hueco Mundo, dark, sticky streaks on the dunes congealing like shadows. The scattered remains of a shattered Zanpaktou littered the blood streaked sand at Ichigo’s feet. The fringes of his shihakusho swirled around him, settling after the shunpo that left him standing over the man he hated most in this world.

 

Blood glistened along the white edge of Tensa Zangetsu, cooling on the blade as Ichigo stared down at Aizen. His reiatsu fluttered in his chest, the Hogyoku gleaming where his heart should have been. The man laughed, the sound cut off by the blood in his throat. Teeth bloody, he smiled up at Ichigo in victory. “Now you understand, don’t you, ryoka boy?”

 

Isolation. Loneliness. Power.

 

Ichigo didn’t move, or otherwise react, watching the light fade from Aizen’s eyes. He was dead, finally dead, and he could feel no joy. He gained this power to protect, but he had failed.

 

In the silence of Hueco Mundo, there was no sound but his own breath and the rush of blood in his ears. How sad, that he would find himself understanding the monster that had stolen everything from him. Was this the true price to pay for power? Aizen thought so.

 

“King.”

 

He turned his attention inward.

 

“Did it not occur to you that Aizen is dead?”

 

He snapped, hardly in the mood for mind games. “He’s definitely not alive.”

 

“The Hogyoku has rejected him.”

 

He stiffened in understanding. The Hogyoku had rejected its master, it had rejected Aizen. Which meant the Hogyoku had chosen a new master, and he was the only living soul for miles and miles.

 

He looked down at the small jewel in fear and understanding. The pale light reflected off its surface suddenly seemed dark, sinister.

 

Aizen should have been near invincible, but halfway through their fight, he’d stopped regenerating. He could pat himself on the back and say it was because his power was superior, but was that actually what had happened? He didn’t think so.

 

He crouched by the body, Aizen’s unseeing eyes making him nervous. He reached for the Hogyoku and hesitated, his fingers lingering just a hair’s breadth away from the surface. He could feel the Zanpakutou and Quincy spirits within him tense just as he did. Even touching the rock could change everything, couldn’t it?

 

From the bottom of his heart, he wanted to see his friends again. To see them laugh, smile without the burden of the war weighing them down. His mindscape was achingly silent. This was his decision.

 

His fingers made contact with the stone, warm despite the chill in the desert, and the darkness of Hueco Mundo exploded with light and his deepest desire.



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