Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

The Mirrors Of My Soul	By : JohnFreechman Category: Bleach > General Views: 964 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any characters and make no moneyz off of this fic. I also do not own the song quotes...that's why they're called quotes.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter I

Settling
As the blaring light that was the sun poured through the large windows of the airport terminal, Almer extracted his sunglasses from the inner pocket of his old and worn leather jacket, placing them on his nose. He picked up his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder and began striding through the busy terminal, studying the people who passed by with short glances before minding where he was walking again. His glances lingered slightly longer on pretty girls, dressed in colorful clothing, laughing and smiling amongst their friends. He viewed pilots in their ornate uniforms, men and women consisting of various ethnic groups of both race and country. Business men and women, casual men and women, a few elderly people leaning on canes or walkers, some of them being pushed in wheelchairs. Inside him he had a feeling this would be a rather fun place to be, and from within the duffel bag he felt his Varðmann become more aware.
I think you'll like it here Almer, he said. This place is teeming with spiritual residue. It'll be a much different experience here instead of Phoenix.
Ah Phoenix; residing in the desert state Arizona; he loved the desert to death. Even though there weren't many actual spirits residing in that barren territory of the States, it was still a spiritual part of the land to him. And an empty place like that made it easier to practice his Spiritual abilities without being seen by undesired eyes.
Any beings of notable reiatsu? Almer asked. He was just beginning to discover his spiritual senses; it would take a little while before he would master them and increase their range.
The Varðmann responded, Indeed there are, Almer. So begins your next phase of training.
And who might be my new trainer? Where can I find him? Or will he find me instead?
You already know him, and he is always with you.
Cryptic mumbo jumble is cryptic. Spit it out. A small sense of smugness seeped from the Varðmann into Almer; smugness was a very new sensation coming from the living weapon to the young man.
From this day on, I am your trainer. Almer nearly stopped in surprise; his next step did slow considerably down though. Despite him still keeping mind to walk even in the midst of the almost involuntary cease of motion, he caused someone from behind to bump into him.
“Hey! Careful!” the miffed woman that had ran into Almer snapped as she brushed by him.
“Sorry...” he muttered distractedly, picking up his pace again so as to not look ridiculous standing dead still in the middle of a busy airport walkway.
Come again? Almer said.
I said I am your trainer.
...I don't...
Slow your mind down, don't ask another question, the Varðmann interrupted with a sagely tone. Almer did slow his thoughts down for a moment and sifted through them carefully. Quickly enough he put the pieces together and looked at what the puzzle meant.
You're going to train me how to use...well, you.
Essentially. Like Shinigami to their Zanpakutō, a Hreinsa has to prove to their Varðmann that he or she is worthy of wielding them. I will teach you my ways, but for the most part you will have to figure me out yourself.
Like I said: this is going to be rather fun. (And Mom and Dad were careful to leave certain aspects of my training secret...just so I'd be surprised.)
Don't get ahead of yourself...but yes, it will be fun, Almer. And you're also right about your parents. More amusement from the Varðmann.
How long did it take my birth mother to learn how to use you?
She created me out of her own Spiritual powers, so she knew me just as well as I know myself. Like an architect knows a building she designed herself. Almer gave a short nod, again bringing himself to pay more attention to his surroundings. He was nearing the lobby and exits now, where rows of people held signs with the names of their charges. He sifted carefully through the names on the signs until he saw the one that read 'Almer Stavenes.'
The person that held the sign was a clean shaven man with short black hair, possessing a thin build under a plain button-up light blue shirt and tan slacks. His wife was about as plain as the man, her hair brown and pulled back with a braid, a tank top with a skirt hanging down over her legs. And a third younger woman, looking to be around eighteen to twenty years of age—probably their daughter—was similarly dressed as the mother; she had her mother's face, but her father's eyes and black hair.
Almer smiled and waved at the threesome as he approached them, the three waving back at him.
Once he was before them the woman said, “Welcome to Japan, Almer; I'm Aiko Kagome, this is my husband Hayate Kagome.”
“Hey,” was Hayate's plain greeting, but with a smile and nod that was friendly enough; Almer returned it.
“And my daughter, Hoshi.”
“Hello, Almer,” she said brightly with a more enthusiastic nod, but her smile was still of a cool friendliness like her father's.
“Nice to meet you,” he responded.
“Would you like me to take your bag?” Hayate offered.
Almer politely declined, “I'm fine, but thanks anyway.”
“Well follow us and we'll take you to our home,” Aiko said, she and Hayate leading the way while Almer hung back a little, Hoshi joining him.
“Tell me...do you think my younger brother will take kindly to your parents? Sorry if the question seems a bit odd,” Hoshi said to him.
“Oh I think he'll be fine with them; they're very easy going,” Almer replied; that was a half-truth: he knew their other side. That was the side of his Hreinsa trainers, where they beat him up more than occasionally. He hid a smile at the memories of being punched, kicked, thrown, tackled, shot, and sometimes blown up by his ever-loved foster parents; he rather enjoyed getting beat up, as strange as that sounded. It meant that it would make him tougher; he didn't mind losing every now and then.
But this Hoshi was a perceptive one as she noted the several scars aligning his cheeks and forehead, the young woman commenting, “You must be pretty rough with your activities to get all those marks.” Playing a little dumb for passersby; that was standard for Hreinsa.
“Yeah, living in a desert enhances ATV and dirt bike experiences,” he responded; that was a truth, actually. The scars she noted were from his training, but he was a considerable daredevil with his dirt bike. He even knew a group of people that loved to drive around all day and night in Trophy Trucks. Even though he currently only had a minor's driving permit for the States, he was well practiced in driving of many natures. Urban, off road, highway; truck, car, motorbike; Hreinsa were taught allot of things outside supernatural abilities.
“I'm assuming you've crashed a few times,” Hoshi said; they had arrived at the Kagomes' minivan, where Almer placed his bag in the way back when Aiko opened it for him.
“Yeah, lots of times actually,” he said with a smile, remembering all the crashes he had been through; ones that would have put a regular human out for quite a while; but since his mortality and physique were greatly enhanced by being a Hreinsa, he had recovered from the roughest of the crashes in no time. And of course with losing comes learning, and his crashing became less and less frequent over time.
He and Hoshi climbed into the back seat while Aiko took the driver's side and Hayate the passenger, Aiko starting the van up and beginning to drive to their home.
“Phoenix is a fairly big town, right? You should be used to larger schools,” Hayate inquired.
“Yeah, my home school is pretty big; I'll be fine here,” Almer answered.
“Just be careful of a few individuals; some of the guys there can get violent,” Hayate informed seriously.
“Yeah...I've got those types back at Phoenix as well,” Almer replied. “Pardon my crudeness, but I beat all hell out of them if they did the wrong thing to me or someone else.”
“Mm, it is unfortunate when things have to go to the direction,” Aiko remarked as she took a turn into the residential area of the town.
“At least it concludes things quicker,” Hayate murmured with a grim chuckle.
“You fight well?” Hoshi wondered of Almer.
“I think so, yeah. The boys back home can confirm it,” he said, letting a little cockiness play out; that wasn't typically him that was cocky, but sometimes he indulged in himself, especially around the girls. Hoshi giggled.
“Give me an email address,” she joked.
“Here we are,” Aiko announced, pulling the vehicle into a small driveway in front of a cozy looking house. They all exited the vehicle into the sunny day once more, Almer quickly slipping his sunglasses on again.
As Hoshi studied him while he removed his bag from the back of the van, she commented, “I'm assuming your jacket has been through most of your off-road crashes,” with a bit of humor.
“Heh, sure has.” Been through reiryoku bullets and explosions too.
His Varðmann quipped at that, The more minutes pass by, the more giddily smug you get. Did I not tell you to not get ahead of yourself?
Almer nodded at some things Hayate was telling him as he was lead to the entrance of the Kagome house, but replied to his Varðmann, Oh chill out already, I'll get serious when the time calls for it. Right now I just wanna get friendly with everyone and have fun. The Varðmann said no more, although he knew Almer was always well balanced with his emotions; he would keep to the promise he made.
“This is a nice home you've got,” Almer commented as he stepped into the Kagome's home, looking around the nicely furnished living room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him by Aiko's hand, he immediately twisted around and grabbed Hayate's outstretched arm, the man's hand gripping a sheen and black USP45 handgun; a Varðmann. Almer kicked at Hayate's leg, making him grunt and fall down, but Almer immediately let himself fall backwards as he saw out the corner of his eye Hoshi raise her own Varðmann. As he fell to the ground he did a back roll. Now Aiko was joining the fray with her Varðmann, three weapons aiming right at him; but he grabbed a small clip at the bottom of his duffel bag, which was in reality an emergency release line for the secret compartment his Varðmann resided in. He did a side roll behind a wall in the hallway while simultaneously pulling the line. The bottom of the bag flapped open and he caught his Varðmann as it tumbled out.
Reflexive as ever, the Varðmann praised mildly. When Hoshi rounded the corner with a snub-nosed Colt Python revolver, she found herself staring down the barrel of Almer's Desert Eagle. She smiled and he smiled back, and both lowered their weapons. Satisfied, Hayate and Aiko rounded the corner, glad of Almer's skill.
“That's an impressive companion you have at your side,” Aiko commented as she looked at the Hreinsa with an admiring air, speaking of his Varðmann. “It has formidable reiatsu of its own; I'm assuming someone owned it before you.”
“My mother's; I inherited him when she passed,” he said, smiling down at the Varðmann. “I was too young to remember her.” Technically not a lie, but he didn't feel like explaining how he was born while she was dead.
“That's too bad about your mother, she must have been powerful herself to have such a strong companion,” Hayate said, slipping his Varðmann through the waistline over his backside.
“Anyway, I'll show you to your room,” Aiko said, leading Almer down the hall and to the guest bedroom. Pretty standard; the left side of the room featured a bed, the right with a dresser, and on the perpendicular wall was a window viewing the front yard and street. A desk also sat below said window, a good place for his laptop.
“Thanks for the hospitality,” Almer said as he put his bag on the bed and his Varðmann in a drawer of his dresser. As he did that, a figure materialized next to the desk; a projection of the Varðmann in a human form, although unseen by all eyes save for Almer's. He was a blond long-haired man with a shallow goatee; he wore on his nose golden spectacles, on his legs dark gray slacks, a burgundy button-up satin shirt with a matching neck tie, and he had a pinstripe gray suit shrouded over his torso.
“I'm glad you like it. Do you need anything?” Aiko asked.
“No thanks, I think I'm gonna explore the neighborhood once I'm finished unpacking,” he replied.
“You do that, call if you need anything,” Aiko told him before turning away and going back down the hall.
“So, fancy-pants, when will this 'training' begin?” Almer asked the Varðmann as he unpacked his clothes and proceeded to place them in the drawers of his dresser.
The Varðmann answered, “When you sense a Hollow.” Almer paused and looked at him.
“I notice that you said when I sense a Hollow, and not you telling me when one is afoot.”
“Yes.” The Varðmann crossed his arms and leaned back on the desk while he watched Almer put away his clothes. “The desert did not have much Spiritual activity, as such, you are a novice in the detection and handling of stronger Spiritual beings. I am sure one of the Kagomes will introduce you to Hollow dispatching, but generally when Hreinsa finally are able to sense Hollows, they go after them on their own.”
“Anything I should know about them?” Almer queried.
“Hard masks cover their faces, durable; but a few hits from me should do one in nice and easy. And the stronger ones come in various forms, each with their own abilities. You may not yet be strong enough to face one of those; at least without taking damage yourself even if you do manage to subdue it.”
“Got it, don't stick around for big ones,” Almer noted. The Varðmann smiled slightly at that.
“I never told you that, Almer,” said he. Almer turned to him with his own smile.
“No...you didn't.”
“Arrogant boy.”
“Aw go yiff yourself,” Almer dismissed gruffly but with a hidden smirk as he stuffed his whites into the top drawer.
“I don't even know what that means.”
“Google Image it.”
* * *
Finished with his unpacking, Almer left the Kagome home and trekked down the street in a random direction; he was hoping to discover a more business oriented area actually, scope out any nearby eateries and other stores he might like to frequent during his stay here. The sun was just beginning to descend, now turned to a light gold which bathed the streets, buildings and people he passed by. Eventually he came to a 'downtown' like area with a cafe, general store and some other miscellaneous small shops. The cafe's front was roomy with plenty of outdoor seating arrangements, and the general store was...well, a general store. Almer decided to enter the general store, viewing the various products for sale. Mostly on-the-go packaged foods. He never really much bought those types of things, preferring natural food; but sometimes, like now as he grabbed a drink, bag of chips and a small box of various doughnut flavors—sometimes he had to indulge in impromptu cravings.
Focusing on not dropping the bag which had begun to slip from his grasp, when he turned to get to the cashier he bumped into someone by mistake, dropping the chips in the process.
“Damn it, sorry,” he said to the stranger as he glanced up at his face. He was quite impressed by the size of this man (he even wondered how he managed to not notice him enough to run into him). He looked to be around six and a half feet tall, was of a very sturdy and muscular build, had longish dark hair shrouding over an eye; his features and skin tone appeared to be Latino in nature, and his taste in clothes was rather flashy.
“No trouble,” he replied in a deep voice as he leaned down and picked up the chips for Almer, offering them to him.
“Thanks. Nice shirt by the way,” he commented, truthfully. The man nodded and proceeded to walk by him to the drink cooler section of the store. Almer watched the taller man walk away for a moment in curiosity before heading for the counter again. He purchased his items and was soon on his way.
Doughnut box in the crook of his left arm, and drink shoved in the pocket of his jacket, sticking out and bouncing loosely with his steps; he used his free hands to try and tear the stubborn chip bag. He could round-house kick a baseball sized rock a hundred yards away into a mesa, but he couldn't open a damn bag of chips.
“Who made this bag anyway? Fort Knox architects?” Almer grunted as he reached into an inner pocket and flicked open his switchblade; a stiletto model with a black carbon fiber scaled grip. He sliced the bag open and finally was able to feast on the deep fried potato crisps. Snapping the blade back into an unarmed setting, he stowed the weapon into his jacket again and removed one of the crisps from the bag. During the process he had been unmindful of walking through a small alleyway within the residential area...he also had not noticed a group of young men following him until he was finally taking in his surroundings again.
How the hell did I not notice those chumps? I can practically smell their ill intent like a fucking compost heap, Almer thought to himself as he walked on, acting as if he wasn't aware he was being tailed by the eight people...hm, there seemed to be two other people following them in turn.
You focused too much on the- the Varðmann began from back at the house, but Almer interjected.
Yes yes, I know, but at best they could make me band-aid worthy if they attacked all together with lead pipes. But since there's two other chumps following them I guess I'll have to play regular-guy-who-gets-jumped. I just hope they don't take my food.
Yes, because that's much more important than your blade which they might have seen, the Varðmann replied, the sarcasm not apparent in his tone, but it didn't mean no one could notice it in his words. Almer slowed his pace, placing the bag on a closed garbage can so he could attempt to open the box of doughnuts. The stalkers picked up their pace, and he could now feel the smugness and excitement coming from the thugs. Once they were close enough he paused just as he managed to get the box open and looked over his shoulder. They were all a few feet from him now, in a line and looking ready to pound first, ask questions later.
Almer hesitated as he looked at each of them, sizing them up, and finally asked innocently, “Can I help you?”
“No, but you can help us,” one replied with a sadistic grin (albeit stupid).
Oh my fucking god, is this guy serious? Almer thought, doing his best to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter at the moronic reply. It seemed the other seven had noticed his stupid answer and all gave him looks that matched what Almer had thought just a moment before. He noticed their looks and returned his own quizzical stare.
“What?” he asked.
“Damn it, this is why I do the talking!” another one snapped at him, burying his face in his palm, shaking his head; two of them had begun snickering on top of it. And the first guy still looked lost as to why he was being treated that way.
“I suggest you pay more attention to the language arts class, pal,” Almer spoke up to the first man, the two snickering guys laughing harder now.
“What the hell are you all talking about!?” he shouted, now frustrated. “And you don't belittle me like that, assclown!” he hissed at Almer, pointing at him threateningly.
“At least you have a vocabulary that mildly makes up for your communications skills,” Almer shot back flatly.
This is fun to listen to, the Varðmann commented in a lightly amused tone; Almer ignored him.
“I've had enough, let's kick his ass!” the first thug shouted, looking at his cohorts for support.
“Fine, shall we?” the real leader of the group said as he took a step forward. But he was knocked back ten steps as he was suddenly kicked in the chest by a booted foot. He slammed onto his back on the pavement of the alleyway, rolling backwards once before landing on his front, groaning as he stood stock still. The group had all turned their heads and stared at their fallen subordinate, stunned. They quickly turned back to see Almer was standing in a fighting stance, legs spread and arms raised with palms open.
“Gentlemen,” he invited in a French accent. Two of the guys took his invitation and charged together, roaring ludicrous battle cries. One had his fist raised over his head, while the other was bent over while sprinting, arms spread, intending to tackle Almer like a football player. The tackling one was ahead of the punching one, so Almer side stepped him and stuck his foot in front of the tackling man's legs. He tripped up and fell face first into the rough ground, squealing comically as his face was scraped up by the rough surface. Almer next pulled a lid off of a trash can and faced the punching man, who was just now bearing down on him. He raised the lid just in time so the man could slam his fist full force into the metal lid, making him yowl in pain as he withdrew his jarred hand, stumbling into another crony. Said crony pushed by him and charged Almer; he promptly flinging the lid at his head like a Frisbee. It collided with his forehead, knocking him back, leaving him too dazed to cry out.
Almer knew it was coming, but he let the tackling man, who had managed to recover, get him in an arm lock. Almer pretended to struggle in his grip, even though he could easily throw the man off himself.
“I got him! I got him!” he said excitedly, like an excited little leaguer running to catch a high flying baseball that was descending right on top of him. The lead guy, finally recovered from Almer's kick, was the first to act as he rapidly approached, inserting his hand into the pocket of his jacket. When he was upon Almer, he removed his hand, revealing he had a pair of knuckledusters in his possession. Almer braced himself as he first made for the stomach. The punch hurt, but was mere compared to other beatings he had endured during training. Still, he doubled over and coughed at the impact.
“Grab his hair, make him stand straight so I don't have to wait for him to get back up,” his attacker ordered. Another of his lackeys pulled on Almer's hair, making him growl as he looked at the haughty face of the wannabe gangster.
“You the American?” he asked suddenly, still smiling.
“I am the ambassador! I will not stand for this!” Almer suddenly boomed, making the others watch him in surprise, including his attacker. “Son, you are writing checks that your butt will find uncashable! There is a checkbook in the left back pocket of my fatigues, I will pay you all of my money to stop!”
“.....what?”
“Say 'what' again, I dare you—I double dare you: say 'what' again!”
“He's crazy, boss; let's just knock him out and take his stuff,” the one holding Almer said.
“In just a bit,” the attacker settled, promptly landing another hardy punch to Almer's gut. He would have doubled-over, but the other one holding onto his hair had a tight grip.
Just as the attacker reared his arm back to this time strike Almer in the face, a new voice called out, “Oi!”
It was a tone that was rather cool and relaxed, casual actually, as if he were greeting a friend. The thugs took a gander at the new arrival, along with Almer. Standing in the alleyway with a flat expression was a boy around fifteen or sixteen years of age. Crowning his head was a bush of fiery orange hair, which stuck out in all directions. He was of a thinnish build, and looked to be of average height. Almer didn't mean any belittlement or underestimation, but he honestly didn't look like much.
“Citizen,” Almer called to the orange-haired boy, catching his attention, “I recommend you return to your living area and never mind what-” Almer was not expecting to be let go so quickly as he was released from the grips, ending up falling on all fours. He looked up in time to see all eight thugs run away, the fear of God in them as some of them cried out in fright as they ran. Almer, still on all fours, watched them run away over his shoulder until they disappeared from sight around a corner. He and the other boy continued watching after the area they had disappeared around for an uncounted moment.
Finally, Almer merely said, “Huh.” He moved into a sitting position, pretending to catch his breath while the other boy approached him.
“You were doing pretty good there until you got beat up,” the boy remarked nonchalantly with a subtle joke, causing Almer to glance up at him. However, the boy held out his hand to Almer in a sign of help and peace. He accepted the offer and let him pull him back to his feet.
“Thanks, mister...” Almer trailed off.
“Kurosaki. Kurosaki Ichigo,” he replied. Almer dusted himself off.
“Thanks, Kurosaki,” he replied.
“Huh. You're not as bad off as I thought you would've been,” Ichigo remarked, Almer just noticing the Latino man he had seen at the store approach from behind Ichigo.
“Humph. I'm not as bad off as I would've thought,” Almer murmured. He then turned to the box of doughnuts that still sat beside to bag of chips and selected a chocolate glazed one. “How rude of them to interrupt my meal,” he remarked, taking a bite out of the sweet treat.
“Yeah, the audacity of some people,” Ichigo agreed, another subtle joke.
“You want one?” Almer offered.
“Sure, thanks,” Ichigo replied, selecting one coated in cinnamon flavored powdered sugar.
“You, sir?” Almer invited to the Latino man.
“No, thank you,” he replied curtly, standing where he was and silently observing.
“Don't mind Chad, he's a bit stiff,” Ichigo stated before taking a bite of his doughnut. “So you're the transfer student?”
“Yeah. Almer Stavenes.”
“Stavenes...” Ichigo repeated thoughtfully. “What nationality is that name from?”
“Norwegian, or Scandinavian in general maybe. My mother was from Norway before she moved to the States,” Almer informed, leaning back on one of the tall fences that blocked off the backyards of the houses that lined the alleyway.
“Just curious, what was all that stuff you were spouting off to them before we showed up?” Ichigo asked.
“Random babbling of a madman, nothing to make note of,” Almer sighed dismissively, waving his hand.
“Hm, can't say I haven't met my fair share of crazy people, but new ones are interesting anyway,” said Ichigo.
“Any other crazy people I should know about?” Almer quizzed.
“Well...” Ichigo began, one popping right into his head immediately, but he was unable to finish the thought.
“Eeee-chee-gooo!!” a shrill voice grated against their ears. Soon after the call someone climbed up the fence behind Ichigo and Almer and spilled over the other side beside them in a heap; but as if the fall had not harmed him in any way, he scrambled to his feet with a large grin directed at Ichigo.
“Hi, Ichigo! What're you doin'!?” he asked.
“Speak of the devil,” Ichigo murmured as he looked down at the new arrival. But rather than waiting for Ichigo to answer his question, he immediately switched his attention to Almer.
“Hey, Ichigo, why're you hanging out with a back-alley homeless guy?” the boy inquired as he studied Almer closely, leaning in on his face.
Almer made no bodily reaction, but he replied, “I'm his drug dealer; you want some smack?” The other boy gasped and staggered back, falling onto his backside.
“A drug pusher!? Ichigo, how could you!?” he cried, staring upon Almer in terror.
“Keigo, he was being sarcastic,” Ichigo sighed with his head bowed and eyes closed. Keigo froze as he considered this, watching Almer while he stared back dryly.
“Oh...ehehehe...sorry,” Keigo immediately apologized as he shot up to his feet again, looking sheepish. In that moment he was back in Almer's face again. “So who are you really?” Keigo interrogated as he scratched his chin, his expression scrutinized as he studied Almer as if he was a new and exotic species of plant.
“An American spy trying to find a secret nuclear arsenal we have reason to believe is hidden beneath your school,” Almer told him.
“....I hope you're joking,” Keigo replied as he stared on in fear and wonder.
“Moron, of course he is!” Ichigo snapped.
“Oh, okay, haha!” Keigo cackled.
Is this guy for real? Almer thought as he watched this Keigo continue to ramble on about something or rather.
Seems like it, the Varðmann commented from nowhere.
“Hey, you never told me your name!” Keigo exclaimed as he suddenly appeared in Almer's face again.
“Almer Stavenes,” he replied.
“And what's this 'Stavenes' surname? Doesn't sound American to me,” Keigo went on critically.
Ichigo gave a huff and said sharply, “It's a Scandinavian name, Keigo. His mother was from Norway.”
“Ohhhh, so first generation American, eh?” Keigo said as he circled Almer now, having yet to quit scratching his chin like an inquisitive professor studying a museum exhibit.
“I think so, my mom died when I was an infant, but no one knew her; I've been in the care of a foster family my whole life,” Almer told him.
“Ohh...that's too bad,” Keigo said, growing a bit more serious, but still giving Almer that same curious stare.
“Kurosaki, does he do this to every new person he meets?” Almer asked Ichigo.
“Not usually, but he's usually this crazy in general,” Ichigo.
“Oh hey, you've got a basic understanding of Japanese etiquette for a foreigner; calling Ichigo by his last name 'cause you just met him!” Keigo pointed out over-excitedly.
“Yeah, it's usually commonsense to learn the mannerisms of a different culture before entering it,” Almer countered drily. “And it's just the basics from a freakin website, not like I had to pour over old leather-bound books to learn it.” Ichigo chuckled at that.
“Well this is Keigo for ya,” he said to Almer.
“Wha- what's that supposed to mean!? Are you trying to tell him something bad about me!?” Keigo demanded of Ichigo as he rounded on him, the orange-haired teen gazing mundanely back at him.
“Forget it, Keigo, I'm not revealing any dark secrets.”
“Dark secrets? How the hell can you expect me to 'forget it' when you're goin' on about dark secrets!?” Keigo shouted.
“Yeah, um, anyway, it's been nice meeting you,” Almer said, having quite enough of Keigo's antics. “Maybe I'll see you all at school soon.”
“Yeah, see you later, Stavenes,” Ichigo called after as Almer began walking away.
As he nodded a farewell to the silent Chad while walking by him, Keigo called after, “Byyye Almer!” the young teen waving his arm over his head expansively.
“And you made a remark about his Japanese etiquette with names while you just called him by his first name,” Ichigo pointed out dryly.
“Oh he's American, he doesn't care!” Keigo shot back as he rounded in Ichigo.
“That's not the point, genius!” Ichigo snapped back. The sounds of their argument faded as Almer left the alleyway and proceeded to find his way back to the Kagome residence.
* * *
Fitted nicely into the fresh school uniform, Almer strode down the sidewalk of the busy town towards the Karakura High School, a simple carrying bag under the crook of his arm. It was another brilliantly sunny day, so he had his aviator sunglasses over his eyes again; and invisible to the human eye, his Varðmann was situated on his hip in a holster, the holster also invisible to the human eye. It could only be seen if he had to use it, which he doubted he had to do any time soon. Since he had brought the Varðmann to his school in Phoenix before, going to another school with it wasn't anything particularly new. Although the switchblade in his pocket he would do well not to let anyone see, as it was just a regular knife.
But these things didn't bother him as he neared the school grounds; he had been doing this his whole life, nevertheless he being only sixteen years of age; he was practiced. He stepped through the entrance of the school bringing to mind which class he was in again. He wandered through the halls past all the other busy teenagers and teachers, going up the various floors until he arrived at his designated class. There he saw by the classroom door with a few other people were Ichigo and Chad, Keigo among them too-
“Almer!!” Keigo practically shrieked when he noticed Almer on the approach, waving his hand in the air again.
“Keigo,” Almer replied plainly with a nod of greeting. Keigo rushed into Almer's face yet again.
“Ohhh, I see you forgot your Japanese manners, calling someone you hardly know by their first name!”
“I can call you shit-for-brains if you prefer,” Almer retorted as he walked by Keigo to lean on the wall near the door. This made some of the surrounding students snicker while Keigo fumed.
“What're you being an ass for!?” he hissed, all up in Almer's personal space as he took his sunglasses off and hung them off the collar of his shirt.
“I don't even know your last name,” Almer told him.
“Oh...well...that's no excuse!” Keigo said with his arms crossed and nose in the air.
“It isn't, huh?”
“Nope, not one-geeh!” Keigo croaked when Ichigo's foot pounded him in the face, sending him sprawling into the wall next to Almer. He glanced at Keigo as he made throaty noises while he slid down the wall and slumped on the floor.
“Stop picking on the new kid,” Ichigo told him. Keigo, resilient as ever, hopped up onto his feet, giving an intense stare to Ichigo.
“You make it sound like I'm some sort of bully! Just because Almer doesn't look like much doesn't mean I'm taking advantage of that!”
“......did you just say I don't look like much?” Almer questioned, his eyebrows raised in honest surprise. Keigo turned to him.
“I wasn't trying to belittle you or anything, I'm just stating a fact,” the young teen told him.
“And how exactly did you come to the conclusion that I don't look like much?” Almer inquired.
“Don't take it personally, Almer!” Keigo responded.
“You're avoiding the question, Keigo.”
“Well...you're kinda short,” Keigo began.
“I'm five-nine, that's average male height.”
Keigo went on, ignoring Almer's statement, “You don't have a very tough expression, like Ichigo for instance.” In a flash Keigo's head appeared right beside Ichigo's face. “See his scowling expression? It's like that ninety-percent of the time.”
“Get away from me,” Ichigo grunted, shoving Keigo by the head so he fell again.
He zipped up in front of Almer and continued, “You're not very muscular.”
“Neither is tough-guy Ichigo; nothing meant by that by the way,” Almer added the last bit to Ichigo, who merely nodded in understanding with a murmur.
“And finally you eat too much junk food. A bag of chips, donuts and a soda you had yesterday. That's not very nutritious. What little mildly tough healthiness will disappear!”
“Holy balls, who the hell do you think you are!? Doctor Phil!?” Almer finally snapped. “You don't even know me a full twenty-four hours and you give me advice on my lifestyle as if you'd know me for years! I...you know what? I don't even have to explain myself to you,” Almer grunted dismissively.
“Running away from the problem won't solve anything,” Keigo said earnestly, shaking his head as if he were speaking to a child. Finally the group of teenagers began to file into the classroom.
“You certainly are clueless,” Almer sighed as he entered the room with the others. He took his seat and everyone quieted down as the teacher began speaking to the class. Almer was a little glad she had forgotten to make the usual new student introduction; he preferred to not be the center of attention, even for a short time.
As he placed a notebook on his desk and a pen, he took a glance at the other students that had been hanging around Ichigo and Chad. Another orange-haired youngster, female though, and...well, she certainly had a notable chest. Almer forced himself to not pay attention to her and looked at the other one; a stoic faced young man with raven black hair that was medium-long; a pair of spectacle perched on his nose. He paid no heed to his surroundings save for the teacher and his notes.
Just as Almer turned back to his notepad, a voice from outside the window called up.
“Oi! Ichigo!” Everyone, even the teacher paused and looked out the window.
“What the hell!?” Almer heard Ichigo cry as he looked out the window at the person standing below on the concrete. He snorted as he took the newcomer in.
“Jeez, didn't know there was a Woodstock concert going down here,” Almer muttered with a smile. This man wore bell-bottom jeans, and a number of other nineteen-sixties retro styled clothing pieces; he had long crimson hair that was tied back and sticking sharply out, he also had tattoos upon his head above his eyebrows. Almer and some other students turned to watch Ichigo rush out of the classroom to apparently meet the newcomer. Just as the door slammed behind him, the teacher made a remark about the stranger's style being nostalgic. Some of the classmates seemed a little baffled by her considering it nostalgic, but Almer looked back down at the newcomer. He saw him waving at Ichigo as the orange-haired teen rushed him. When Ichigo was in reaching distance of the stranger, he roughly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into the bushes beyond them.
Almer lost interest and paid heed to the lessons again, finally jotting down some notes.
As he did his task, he overheard the orange-haired girl murmur to the black-haired boy, “What do you think Abarai-kun is doing here?”
“I'm not sure...but I would guess his superiors asked him to keep an eye on us,” he answered, still writing down notes as he spoke to her.
“Hmm...I'm not sure if this bad or good...” she muttered.
“Well, it's not like we're planning on breaking into the Soul Society again any time soon; I don't think it's bad.”
'Not breaking into the Soul Society again,' huh? Almer thought to himself, hiding a smile.
Hm... his Varðmann gave a small, humming chuckle. Apparently we're going to be acquainted with the infamous Ryoka that laid siege on Seireitei... the Varðmann trailed off, Almer sensing alarm coming from him.
What's going on? He asked.
A Hollow is coming right towards us, he replied.
You're shitting me.
The window, Almer. Almer looked out the window and his gut clenched. First time seeing a Hollow and it had to be a massive one. Despite it being his first encounter, he knew this one was especially large, although it hadn't seemed to develop special abilities like the 'veteran' Hollows tended to. Almer's hand hovered above the invisible handle of the Varðmann, but he hissed, Do not draw me, Almer! There is a Shinigami...two Shinigami close by. Almer's racing heart was progressively picking up in rapidity as the behemoth came closer to the window, staring directly at him, lustful for his the richness of his powerful Hreinsa soul.
Cutting it kind of close...
Just listen to me, the Varðmann said firmly. Almer waited, the beast drawing closer and closer; he only half noticed that the orange-haired girl, her friend and Chad were on edge just as he was. The Hollow was right outside the window, all the other students and teacher completely oblivious to the peril. Almer trusted his Varðmann and did not draw yet, and the trust was true. Dressed in typical Shinigami robes, Ichigo jumped into the air with a massive Zanpakutō. He drew the blade back with both arms and slashed across the face of the Hollow. The beast fell back, screeching as Ichigo disappeared below, blood running off his massive blade. Almer slowly let out a relieved breath, relaxing in his seat.
So...that Ichigo Kurosaki, huh? Almer said to his Varðmann. Never would've guessed he was a Shinigami.
He's only a substitute, being human still. I can tell.
Still...I wasn't expecting that. And his Zanpakutō...
What about it?
...it looks like a giant fucking kitchen knife. Almer chuckled to himself, but quickly stifled his laughter before anyone noticed his random mirth.
It seems to be a testament to his reiatsu...you should know.
Yeah...it looked like it was in Shikai form. Interesting. They remained quiet after that, Almer paying attention to the class again. Eventually Ichigo returned, taking his seat by the window a few rows behind Almer; he must've be used to being a Shinigami as he was as casual as ever as he began jotting down notes. The rest of the day proceeded without any major events. Finally when the day was done, and Almer was walking out into the waning sunshine of the outside world, he was yet again assaulted Keigo.
“Hey, Almer, we never finished our little talk!” the young man told him sternly.
“Okay, shoot,” Almer stated, humoring him as he crossed his arms and listened.
“If you want to maintain your simple but still healthy physique, you need to lay off on the chips, donuts and soda; don't take so many trips to the convenience store-”
“Keigo!” Ichigo yelled suddenly next to Keigo's ear, making him yelp and fall down over-dramatically. “Will you leave the guy alone already!” Ichigo snarled.
“It's okay, Kurosaki, I don't mind,” Almer said calmly, Ichigo giving him a mildly surprised look, but he silently stepped back as Keigo got to his feet and continued as if nothing had happened, “What you need to do is-” Keigo was interrupted as Almer's cellphone suddenly started up, playing a a snippet of a Bad Company tune.
“Excuse me,” Almer murmured to Keigo as he fished the device out of his pocket, flipped it open and put it up to his head. “Hello?”
“Just thought I would help out with that fool,” the Varðmann said from the phone, to Almer's great surprise, though he carefully hid the surprise from his features.
“Oh yeah?” he asked plainly, then in his head to the Varðmann, How the balls did you manage to call me on a cellphone when you're just a spiritual entity?
Simple, the Varðmann replied smugly, Spirits of all forms are in part made up of electromagnetic resonances, that's why electronics are affected when strong and loose reiryoku is afoot. I've merely controlled my resonance to the extent that I can appear as if-
Almer quickly said into the phone, “Is that so?” so his silence wasn't suspiciously long, the others, including Keigo, patiently watched him as he slowly paced, pretending to listen to the phone.
The Varðmann carried on, -as if I am calling on another phone, but that so-called marvel of technology to your ear is connected to a higher being and no land based, man made contraption.
“Ha! Don't be so cocky now!” Almer laughed into the phone, but he felt the sly amusement radiating from his Varðmann.
It's similar in some respects to the way Shinigami communicate with the Soul Society from here.
“Well hell, man, that's impressive!” Almer proclaimed gaudily. “I'm very enthralled, you keep working on it. You'll hit the big time some day. Alright, I'll see you around.” Almer finally snapped the phone shut. As he put it into his pocket, Keigo opened his mouth to continue, but Almer quickly rested his hand on Keigo's shoulder, silencing him.
“Alright, Keigo, I'll take your words into consideration. You seem like a decent guy, go get something nice for yourself,” Almer said as he reached into his pocket, extracted his wallet and gave Keigo a nice sum of money. He stared at the currency he was given, baffled.
“Um- uh- I...” Keigo trailed off, his dumbstruck face still staring at the money in his hand. Finally his face brightened up and he exuberantly exclaimed, “Woooow, this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me! Almer, you're the decent guy,” Keigo complimented Almer with a wide, toothy grin, slapping him on the shoulder in rough-buddy manner. Ichigo and company merely stared on with slightly agape jaws, appearing to be moderately stunned; save for Chad, who's expression was unreadable as it seemed to usually be.
“Hey, it's nothing, Keigo; but you've gotta excuse me, I need to go home now, do some personal errands,” Almer told him.
“Oh sure! I'll see you tomorrow then, Almer!” Keigo said. Almer gave a farewell nod and walked off, Keigo strutting in another direction, headed straight for the downtown area to do some shopping with the money Almer had given him.
Almer shifted his bag in the crook of his arm and put his sunglasses back on to shield against the intense sunshine. Ichigo appeared beside him then, giving him an impressed look.
“I think you're the first person to have dealt with Keigo's dumbassery without putting him through some sort of physical trauma.” Almer gave him a sidelong glance and smiled lightly.
“I'm good with figuring out people like that; I'll be majoring in psychology when I hit college.” That was a lie, as he had no intention of going to college; being a Hreinsa kind of made a 'normal' life slightly...impossible. Although many people did remark if he ever did go to college and major in psychology, he'd pass with flying colors.
“Oh, that's great,” the redheaded girl spoke up, joining Almer's side. “Are you going to a college here or back to America?”
“Haven't decided; but probably back in the States, yeah; somewhere close to Phoenix,” he answered.
“Oh, I'm Inoue Orihime by the way, pleased to meet you!” the cheerful girl introduced herself.
“Likewise,” Almer replied.
“And this is Ishida Uryu,” Orihime introduced the black-haired boy. He only nodded in greeting to Almer. The five of them halted after the introductions as someone stepped in the way; the red-haired guy with the hippie clothes, grinning at them all.
“Hey, good to see you all again,” he said as he approached them.
“It's good to see you too, Abarai,” Orihime said to him.
“And who's the new guy?” Abarai asked as he stuck his face in Almer's, studying him closely. “He got super powers now too?”
“Super powers?” Almer asked, giving Abarai a strange look as the, in theory to Almer, Shinigami stepped back looking a little surprised. “I don't have super powers, nuclear plants haven't buried their waste in my backyard yet.”
“Oh...right...” Abarai said, quickly realizing Almer had no idea of being Spiritually Aware unlike all the people around him. “I was just kidding...heh, inside joke amongst us,” he said to the others, prompting them to display mirth as fake as MTV music. Almer played dumb and smiled along, although he would have normally cringed at their bad acting. He was about to excuse himself from their presence to return home, but to his surprise Hoshi's voice called to him, “Almer!” He turned around to see the young woman striding to meet him, dressed in a plain black tank-top, dark gray cargo pants, a pair of sturdy hiking sneakers, and her hair was tied back in a bun. Unseen by the others' eyes, but only seen by a Hreinsa like Almer, her Varðmann was in its holster on her hip. Likewise she could see his Desert Eagle.
“Oh, Hoshi, hey,” Almer greeted her. She smiled in return, and in that smile and her eyes he saw craftiness; she was up to something, and it most certainly concerned him.
“Hey, Almer, glad I caught you before you got home; could you join me?”
“Oh, sure,” Almer replied, then turned his head to the other five. “See you all tomorrow then.” The group gave short farewells to Almer before they turned and moved on, Almer approaching Hoshi.
“What's up?” he asked her. She grinned and simply motioned for him to follow her. They walked through town in silence for a good twenty minutes, going through the developed area, passing through blocks below monolithic skyscrapers, the bustle of vehicles, pedestrians and bike riders filling Almer's ears. He was half-way used to it, Phoenix having a fairly big area like this, albeit he didn't spend much time there. He mostly preferred the desert, whether quiet and tranquil or him tearing up the dirt with an ATV, which was most certainly noisy.
It was when they slowly transitioned out of the district, another twenty minutes that took, and entered a quiet and lifeless industrial area did Almer finally say to Hoshi, “So what are we doing all the way out here?”
“We're going Hollow hunting,” she replied.
“No shit?”
“Mmhmm!” she replied brightly, drawing the snub-nosed Colt Python from its holster; Almer followed suit.
“And how do we find them? Not exactly a common creature.”
Hoshi only replied with a chuckle, and suddenly a heavy weight fell on Almer; he didn't expect the sudden spike of reiatsu, so it made his knees buckle slightly before he stood straight again. He was impressed with the weight of Hoshi's displayed reiatsu; it would definitely attract a Hollow sooner or later. He raised his Varðmann, scanning the area with it, while Hoshi stood casually with her gun-arm pointing upwards. A mere five minutes passed before a blood curdling screech was heard by the two of them. They spun around and looked upwards, where the call had come from.
Balanced on a smokestack of some sort of small refinery, a large beast stood, glowing eyes beneath its bone-white mask bearing down malevolently at them. The Hollow clenched its fists and jumped off of the smokestack, plunging down right at them. Almer readied his Varðmann, but with a quick flick of her arm Hoshi's Varðmann was already directed at the oncoming monster's head. She pulled the trigger and a reiryoku bullet jettisoned out in the blink of an eye. It pierced the Hollow's mask, shattering the porcelain-like material, and blood shortly followed the fragments of the mask. It soundlessly fell through the air, not giving a call or thrashing, until it crashed into the ground, cracking the concrete and making the ground under Almer's and Hoshi's feet tremble, prompting them to spread their legs to stay in balance. The corpse then disintegrated out of existence with an eerie hissing sound.
All was silent afterward, and Hoshi's reiatsu was hidden again.
“So,” Hoshi said to Almer, “That's generally how we...well, most Hollow-fighters deal with them. Zanpakutō to the head, Quincy arrow through the head, reiryoku bullet to the head—basically it follows the basics of killing between most creatures in our little pocket of worlds in this isolated solar system. But eventually we'll get good enough to be able to take them out in one body shot, even in the Núll form.”
“Oh, speaking of Varðmann phases,” Almer responded with a smirk. Hoshi returned the same smile, raised her Varðmann, and spoke, “Tvöfalt, Rikur Enda.” A light blue light bathed the Varðmann, wind rushed around the nearly blinding light, and after uncounted seconds the light disappeared in a small explosion, blasting wind in every direction. Almer lowered his arm from his eyes and stared at the Fyrstu stage of Hoshi's Varðmann. Like her black and brown Python, the Fyrstu form was a double-barreled sawnoff shotgun with black steel and a dark-brown wooden handle; a very sheen weapon though.
“'Tvöfalt, rikur enda: Double, Mighty End,'” Almer repeated the Fyrstu command.
“He is quite mighty,” Hoshi said appreciatively as she gazed at her Varðmann. She let loose her reiatsu again, though she said, “Almer, the next one is yours; I take it your Varðmann said he will train you?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“I'll leave it to him, then.” Almer felt his Varðmann's presence stir in his mind, and the man's voice filled his head, Almer, your parents trained you in marksmanship, endurance, and a number of other miscellaneous things. Here, where you will use me the most on real, powerful enemies; you will be increasing our power. Hoshi made it look easy, but I guarantee trouble with the first few Hollows. Also, you're on your own with locating the Hollows; this training is no walk in the park, and you'll need to be prepared for the dangers if Hoshi or other comrades are not around. Almer looked around to see if the Hollow was coming, his grip tightening on the rubber handle of the Desert Eagle, the sheen weapon glittering in the remaining light of the sunset that was beyond the horizon before the abandon train tracks he was standing on.
Suddenly, he felt the air above to his left shift, and he dove backwards just in time as a stealthy Hollow pounced on the ground where Almer had been standing a moment before. He recovered his dive with a back roll, on his feet again in a crouch with his Varðmann pointed at the beast, clasped in both hands. It looked at him with its malicious eyes, forever deprived of satisfaction from feeding, emotions and a conscience nonexistent in that gaping hole in its chest.
Almer squeezed off a round right into the creature's forehead; the reiryoku bullet merely splashed onto the mask like a drop of water on a rock, making the monster giggle haughtily.
“Okay, I knew this wouldn't be easy...but what the fuck was that!?” Almer shouted.
My power depends on your power, Almer, the Varðmann said patiently, Almer diving out of the way of the Hollow as it lunged at him. He quickly fired two more shots, this time into its abdomen. The wounds merely looked like dots with small trickles of blood.
“Oh-hohoho!” the Hollow chuckled, “You might as well have whacked me with a board and given me splinters, boy!” Almer ignored it as he listened to his Varðmann's sage words.
Power is good, but you do not have that yet. You are clever, Almer. I don't think I need to elaborate further, I have faith in you; you are your mother's son. Almer dodged another swipe by the Hollow, but he did not expect it next to attempt biting him, like a dog trying to bite a fly out of the air; it lunged with its head and snapped at him. His dodge from the sudden attack was a little clumsy, and that was enough for the Hollow to grab him in one tight grip.
“Almer!” Hoshi shouted, raising her Varðmann, but her weapon companion said, Wait, not yet, give them a chance. Hoshi bit her lip and reluctantly did as she was asked, but she kept her sights right on that beast that clutched her comrade. Almer groaned as the Hollow squeezed the breath out of him. He pointed his Varðmann at its face and fired; nothing. He tried its arms and shoulders, but to no avail.
“Ha! Still only splinters!” it taunted, but Almer went to the next resort. He pointed the Varðmann at the Hollow's face again and chanted, “Eldingar!” An extremely bright flash erupted from the muzzle of the Varðmann, accompanied by a sharp crack that rendered even Almer and Hoshi deaf for the moment, hearing nothing but a painful ringing. But the flash had mostly effected the Hollow, making it howl in agony, dropping Almer and staggering back, swinging its arms wildly in a stupidly instinctive attempt to fend off unknown assailants.
“Fuck it,” Almer grunted through gritted teeth, raised his Varðmann and repeatedly squeezed the trigger. The reiryoku bullets pelted the Hollow's hide, and he noticed with each hit that they got a little deeper and bigger.
Good, Almer; your power will raise quickly with your will and emotions, since they are connected to your spirit. But it isn't enough yet, the Varðmann said, and that was all he left for Almer to mull over.
I need to go for the head, but that fucking mask... Almer growled to himself. The Hollow was now beginning to recover, although it only held its arms in front of itself now, instead of swinging them wildly. An idea came to Almer finally.
“You should've kept thrashing, jackass,” he murmured with a wolfish grin, and he ran forward. The Hreinsa physicality increased his speed, and once he was directly in front of the Hollow, he launched himself into the air. As he passed over the beast's head, he gracefully flipped to face its back, aimed while in midair, then fired three shots into the back of its head. The reiryoku bullets pierced its skull, and that was enough as it fell silent and still as a statue. Almer landed in a slight crouch, grunting lightly at the exertion of landing from that height. At that the body faded away into particles of nothingness with the unsettling hiss of annihilated existence. Once his view wasn't blocked by the Hollow, Hoshi walked through the fading particles to Almer.
“Good job, Almer,” she complimented. “I'd say to do more...but I'm fucking hungry.” Almer smiled as he stood straight, holstering his Varðmann.
“I'd have to say that that's fine,” he replied. Hoshi's Varðmann was illuminated again by the blue light briefly before fading away back into its Núll form. She holstered it as she walked with Almer, saying, “I'm thinking the most expensive restaurant in town.”
“Oh you flatter me, dear.” And that earned Almer a slap in the back of the head.
Seireiti, Soul Society, 1^st Division's Complex.
“Hmm...” the man murmured inquisitively as he felt the presence of a stranger coming from the 1^st Division's Captain's office. The man strode down the hall towards the office, the presence growing stronger as he neared...wait, there were four other presences. The man ventured towards the office appeared to be in his late forties by a human standard's of appearance, but he was most certainly older than that meek number. His silver-gray hair was combed back, standing up and yet slightly wavy, and upon his upper lip was a thin black handlebar mustache; and the colors of his head and facial hair were an interesting contrast to his golden eyes.
1^st Division Lieutenant Sasakibe Chōjirō rounded the corner where the entrance to Captain-Commander Yamamoto's office was located, but he stopped short when he saw the four strangers standing before the door. Three of them were identical triplets; average height men with brown hair and mustaches, brown trench coats, tan slacks, beige satin shirts with burgundy ties, and black leather shoes. The fourth man, who was a few inches taller than the triplets, wore similar attire; only his slacks and trench coat were of a window-pane style, the tie was black, and he had no hair. He was of African descent by the looks. The triplets looked rather bored, while the black man was looking all-business with his arms crossed over his chest.
Chōjirō approached them finally, the triplets all turning their heads simultaneously to stare at him with dry, insolent expressions, which he ignored; the black man, however, turned fully to Chōjirō with a friendly smile and a deep bow.
“You must be Lieutenant Sasakibe Chōjirō,” said he. Chōjirō nodded in affirmation.
“That is correct. And you?” he asked, glancing from one to the other, as the black man answered, “I'm First Lieutenant Amadi Madaki. These three are the Olson triplets; Second Lieutenants Martin, Crawford, and Sebastian Olson.” They only continued to stare at him with those dry expressions, one of them slowly chewing gum. Any human would ask how the hell he could tell the difference between any of them, but a spiritually aware person could detect the difference in their spiritual signature: bodies can be identical, souls can't.
“Pleased to meet you,” Chōjirō replied. “Although I would like an explanation as to why you gentlemen are standing outside my Captain-Commander's office.”
“Yes, our respective Captain-Commander—Director Bridgette Gottschalk—is waiting for Captain-Commander Yamamoto to arrive; they had a meeting scheduled.”
“Mm, I haven't seen a Hreinsa in Seireiti in a long time,” Chōjirō remarked.
“Haven't seen is the keyword,” Amadi responded with a toothy grin, taking Chōjirō by surprise slightly.
“First Lieutenant Madaki,” Yamamoto's voice itself resounded behind Chōjirō, causing him to turn and behold the elderly Shinigami leader, stooped slightly with his eyes closed, long beard trailing down his chest and his presence radiating great power and respectability.
“Captain-Commander,” Amadi greeted back with another bow. When the triplets didn't bow and gave Yamamoto the dry looks, Amadi hit one of them in the arm quickly. They slowly bowed as well, greatly unenthusiastic. Yamamoto ignored their blatant disrespect and continued with Amadi, “I should expect Director Gottschalk in my office, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” Amadi answered as he and the triplets stepped aside. Chōjirō approached the door and slid it open for Yamamoto, the elderly Shinigami stepping beyond the threshold and beholding a woman appearing as elderly as him, standing in front of his desk. She had gray hair tied back in a neat and stylistic bun; and she wore a long burgundy dress with a silver necklace hanging from her neck which was nicely polished. Resting on the ground in her hand was a varnished cane, made of a very dark wood, with a gold and silver hawk head as the handle.

Yamamoto had known Bridgette Gottschalk since she first became the Director of the Hreinsa clan right after the conclusion of World War Two. She was currently one hundred-five years old; a human she may be, but Hreinsa had a longer lifespan than your average human. Their maximum lifespan ended around the early seven hundreds. Unlike the Quincy, when a Hreinsa dispatched a Hollow or other similar creatures, their souls were cleansed and sent to the Soul Society, much like when a Shinigami slays a Hollow; therefore the Shinigami deemed their existence to be acceptable and helpful.
The clan of gun-wielding Spiritual Warriors appeared many eons ago; before they used guns they possessed swords similar in respects to Zanpakutō, which they also called Varðmann. They were a very secretive clan, and still are to this day. Their greatest strength was their knowledge and intelligence in the human world, which Yamamoto had to confess was greater than the Shinigami's intelligence; that was one of the major factors in their alliance with the human Spiritual Warriors. And they are a race that keeps up with the times; every time some new type of technology comes out, they immediately take advantage of it by infusing their reiryoku with the technology; hence the melee weapon Varðmanns evolving into guns. They were a very adaptive race, and Yamamoto had great respect for their innovation. Their souls also make formidable Shinigami when they finally die and come to Soul Society; if they so choose to continue their life of law-keeping.
“Captain-Commander, it's been a while,” Bridgette spoke to him. She was still fairly young by Hreinsa standards, and by Yamamoto's and Soul Society's standards she was very young; but still, a century of life is a long time, especially when she lived through countless wars, including World War Two. There she was appalled to see the Nazis brainwash her fellow countrymen with their propaganda in order to trick them into thinking genocide would cleanse the world of impurities. She had fought those men, and Yamamoto respected her for the fact that she had to be considered a 'traitor' by her own country in order to save it from itself. And that also paved the way for her eventual promotion to Director when the previous one was retiring. World War Two had wrought many restless spirits and ravenous Hollows that had kept both the Hreinsa and Shinigami busy.
“Director, indeed it has,” Yamamoto replied as he stood before her.
“I heard about the situation with Aizen,” she said in a graver tone.
“Yes...it was a shock to us all, and everyone is on edge. Your meeting does not concern him, does it?”
“No, not now at least,” Bridgette sighed, clasping her hands behind her back. “But we are worried of another thing still. We have our suspicions that...the four of them are returning.” Yamamoto sighed internally; he knew exactly what she was talking about. He had been indirectly affiliated with it, and directly Captains Kuchiki Byakuya and Komamura Sajin. Traitors to the Hreinsa clan in a similar manner to Aizen: they wanted power.
“I have her child stationed in Karakura town,” Bridgette told him. Yamamoto opened his eyes a little wider at that.
“I see. He shows promise after all.”
“He is his mother's son.”
“Yes...her passing was unfortunate.” Bridgette bowed her head. She had known Almer's mother very well, and it had hurt her when she had been robbed of life by those traitors...especially with life still depending on her; but that had been resolved thankfully. They had even rallied exiled Shinigami to try and kill her.
“The Stavenes boy should find strong allies in Karakura Town,” Yamamoto stated.
“Yes, the infamous Ryoka whom infiltrated the Seireiti.” Bridgette gave Yamamoto a small smile. “I wouldn't be surprised to know if you, Sajin and Byakuya are the only ones who still know that Ryoka infiltrations happen often.”
“Indeed we are. But...I suppose I must call the Captains together...for them to prepare for another battle. I trust you with the preparations in the World of the Living.”
“I won't betray your trust, Genryūsai,” Bridgette promised, resting a hand on his shoulder briefly as she passed by him. She let go as she swiftly made for the exit. As the door slid shut behind her Yamamoto looked to his desk and saw a stack of black manila folders situated on the surface. Manila folders were a trademark of the Hreinsa; for their innovation, they were smart in their simplistic keeping and sending of information. Any enemy could hack a computer bulging with classified data with time, from miles away. But for something as simple as a processed shaving of a tree with ink jotted on it...you couldn't get it from miles away in the safety of your own home; you had to go into the belly of the beast.
Yamamoto sat behind his desk and opened the first envelope...Almer Stavenes. He indeed had promise, but would he be powerful enough for the coming maelstrom?
If you're keeping score then you're bound to win,
A birds eye view of a burning bridge.
You've gone through ghost towns settle past,
Hoping the risk was worth a cause.
Oh, sound off the false alarm, oh...
But I'll make my own colleague from wood and from ivory,
And reap the rewards of proximity.
I'll assemble my equal from what I lack and require,
And gather what's left unaccompanied.
It smells like disaster,
It looks like a trap,
So go by the wayside,
And never look back. ~'A Wolf Descends Upon The Spanish Sahara,' Fair To Midland
--------
Iceland Translations
Fyrstu = First (Respective Shikai)
Eldingar = Lightning
_____
Short updates on the stories are given on my profile. Contact information is also available if you wish to speak with me. Happy reading and I hope you enjoyed and continue to.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Mirrors Of My Soul