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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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter III
Gaining Inheritance
It was fairly late now in Karakura Town, five-minutes-to-nine read the time on Almer's laptop as he stroked the keys of the keyboard, using a word processor for a school assignment. Playing softly on plug-in speakers connected to his computer was a small-time Bluegrass musical group, Trampled By Turtles; the pluckings of an acoustic guitar, mandolin, banjo and a bass accompanied by a serenading fiddle; and assisting the five instruments was the accented voice of a youngish man as he crooned, “All of us lonely it ain't a sin, to want something better than the shape you're in...”
Resting in a drawer of the desk his laptop sat on was his Varðmann, though the spiritual projection of the weapon leaned on the side of the desk as he stared out the window as the streetlight lit road in front of the house; blacktop stained orange by streetlights and the dark sky hued sepia by the lights of the rest of the town.
“How goes your assignment?” the Varðmann asked aloud, still staring at the street.
“Well it has this tendency to stall when people ask me how I'm doing every ten minutes after I've already answered the same question...to the same person.”
“So you're having trouble then?” Almer didn't bother to answer, and now he had completely lost concentration on the essay.
“Fuck whatever,” he grunted as he saved the document and closed it. He had all week anyway, and he was in the mood for some Hip-Hop this time around as he switched from the Bluegrass band to the group The Coup. He couldn't concentrate on work when he listened to a genre such as that.
“I'm risin' like the vapors from the dank. Fuck the mirror in my pocket, had to break it for a shank, what'choo thank? Walk the plank is my motherfuckin attitude...” Nothing like revolutionary music to calm the body and soul after a busy day were Almer's musings as he leaned back in the leather wheelie chair, folding his arms over his chest.
“How is your schoolwork anyway?” the Varðmann asked, not taking his eyes off the road outside.
“You must be awfully bored to tease me so poorly. If you don't have any good taunts to offer then let me listen to my music in peace.”
“Oh? But what happened to majoring in psychology?”
“You know that was just a ruse for an expectant audience.”
“That Orihime Inoue had a keen interest in you.”
“Nothing more than friendly curiosity from her—this was all well over a week ago anyway, so why bring it up now?” He could tell, even from behind, the Varðmann was smirking as he gazed.
“I know like a Zanpakutō your spirit takes after my mother's...and yet you're just like me. So I'm assuming I'm just like my mother.”
“That would be the case.”
“I'm curious though; why didn't you die with her? Varðmann and Zanpakutō spirits both die with their respective bearers, what makes you so special?”
“That's something I will explain in the future.”
“Oh I see, one of those 'it is not your time yet, young grasshoppa' dealios,” Almer remarked as he propped his arm on the armrest of his chair and laid his cheek on his fist. He made a noise of annoyance and mild contempt. “Typical and cliché.”
“Doesn't cliché mean the same thing as typical in a sense?”
“Quiet you.” Almer stared at the speakers for his laptop again, finally managed to make his partner remain silent.
“I used to work at Mickey D's, and to my old buster-ass manager, licky deez, had me workin on hands and knees, scrubbin grease. And in the summer with the oven on it's hundred-ten degrees. I would despise flippin fries, I guess his bitch-ass thought he was the shit with his little red and gold tie. I asked him why I couldn't get mo' hours, he said it must be 'cause I lacked the mental powers, if I was smart then I would be in his position, I left his nose in a busted up condition...”
No matter his mood those lines always made him smile a little.
Suddenly, seemingly inside his skull, the right side of his brain had some sort of...tick; urging and kind of freaking him out. It felt as if an electrical wire had been fed into his skull on that spot. As that happened the Varðmann's projection disappeared, but from within the drawer he said to Almer, It is time to bear me. He immediately got up from the chair and pulled the drawer open.
“Is this feeling...am I detecting a Hollow?” Almer asked as his belt and holster materialized on his waist and he hung the Desert Eagle on it.
You are-
“Fuck yeah!” was all Almer said as he made for his door. The house was dark now, the other members of the household turned in for the night. He strode for the entrance and quickly pulled his shoes on and threw his leather jacket over his frame. As soon as he quietly exited the house he began flash-stepping to the Hollow. The tick was even more peculiar as whenever he pivoted in different directions, the tick would travel in the opposite directions, locked onto the Hollow like a compass arrow. And the closer he got to the Hollow, the stronger the tick got. It went from a small poke to a feeling like a piece of clay was stuck inside the dome of his skull; it was rather uncomfortable but tolerable as he got more and more used to it.
When he felt he was nearest the Hollow he stopped. He looked around, seeing he had come to a park. A square clearing of grass, trees and foot paths about one-hundred yards in diameter. Shadows were cast all around as lamp posts were dotted around the sides of footpaths; there was even a late-night jogger just leaving the park, listening to something on her Ipod; thankfully he didn't have to worry about her as she was crossing the street away from the location, probably going home. But now that concentrated spot in his head had spread all through his body, feeling more like an extra pair of clothes around his skin. Did the Hollow do that on purpose to maybe throw him off? If so, it was a veteran.
Almer removed the Desert Eagle from its holster and scanned the area. Nothing moved, not even the breeze and tree branches. Almer was on edge now, and the Varðmann remained silent in order to not distract him.
Suddenly, something thumped behind him and caused him to gasp. He spun around clumsily, raising his Varðmann until he beheld the intruder. Staring back with a frightened expression, eyes crossed comically to look at the barrel of the pistol, was the afro Shinigami.
“You?!” Almer shouted, lowering the pistol in a jerking motion as he glared at the Shinigami.
“Try and kill me why don't you!” he shouted back, angry now that his life was no longer on the line.
“I just might accept your invitation—what're you going here?!”
“I got a page about a nearby Hollow, Hreinsa, so I assume you sensed it. If that's the case: same as you!”
“Well I don't intend on letting you steal my kill this time!”
“Fine! I wasn't in the mood anyway! I'll just stay here in case you need some-” The words got stuck in his throat as he looked past Almer, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open slightly. Again Almer whirled around to see what was behind him this time. He took a step back in surprise at the creature in front of him. A Hollow, but a fuck-ugly one. It was maybe two heads taller than him with digitigrade legs; dark skinned, gray; thin but with powerful enough muscles framing it; its arms were long and claws shortish but very dangerous looking. The mask was in the shape of hyena, fangs and all, and the yellow and black eyes beneath were slitted like a snake's.
“A Shinigami and Hreinsa, low level ones at that,” it remarked in a cold tone as it stood straight and flexed its fingers. “You two aren't worth my time, but I'm short on entertainment tonight. So be it.” It crouched down again and spread its claws while it growled deeply in its throat. The Shinigami drew his sword, looking nervous.
“I think it's right...I think it's out of our league,” he murmured, starting to sweat.
“Quit bitching and get ready,” Almer growled as he aimed at the Hollow.
“I would listen to your subordinate if I were you,” the Hollow said to the Shinigami; it wasn't a taunt, in fact this Hollow seemed rather indifferent, but not contemptuous. It was a bit odd to be honest; they were usually haughty.
“What's your name anyway?” Almer asked the Shinigami.
“Kurumadani Zennosuke, guardian of Karakura Town,” he introduced himself, and that seemed to actually give him some courage. He straightened up, his chest swelling and his expression turning firm and determined. “Zennosuke Kurumadani, guardian of Karakura Town!” he repeated at the Hollow with gusto. “And as long as I live, this-” Zennosuke gave a shout of surprise when Almer suddenly pushed him to the side. When he was done pushing Zennosuke, he made to dive, and managed to halfway; however four claws scraped over his jacket, cutting through easily and leaving four bloody streaks in his flesh. Almer hissed as he landed on the ground with a recovering roll, his left abdomen oozing blood, staining his shirt, jacket and pants as it trickled down his leg. Zennosuke stood again and just barely managed to block the claws of the Hollow with his Zanpakutō; however, he didn't have anything to defend himself from the second claw as the Hollow prepared the strike. Almer raised his Varðmann and took aim, when the Hollow suddenly turned its head at him with its mouth open.
Almer gasped and his eyes bulged when Cero energy suddenly started to form in the beast's maw. He barely dodged the red beam as it blasted by him, and Zennosuke seemed stunned at the Hollow's ability. Thankfully though he was not so paralyzed with surprise as his previous determination came back. He pulled his sword from the claws of the apparent Adjuchas and slashed at its arm. And what happened next was...nothing. The sword merely rang and rattled as it bounced off the skin of the Adjuchas, as if Zennosuke had instead struck a boulder. Zennosuke instantly jumped backwards when he knew that the both of them were indeed way over their heads.
“Wiser than I anticipated, but in this particular game it's brawn over brains,” the Adjuchas told them before going after Almer once more. He attempted to dodge again and was slightly more successful. No blood was drawn but the arm of his jacket had taken the very tips of the Adjuchas claws, creating small tears in the leather. But the Adjuchas was relentless as it took three more swipes at him, the last managing to cut into his thigh. Almer struggled to stay balanced, but failed; his leg buckled and he saw immediately that he was now fucked. The Adjuchas drew back its hand, sticking out only its index finger; the razor-sharp claw attached to the appendage would be the one to slit his throat tonight.
“Bitch!” was the sudden battle cry when Zennosuke quite literally fell from the sky, his Zanpakutō raised over his head. The force of him coming down with a swing like that as enough to put a large gash in the Adjuchas' back. Zennosuke attempted to back flip before the Hollow could mince him, but it managed to nick his back in return while he was in mid flip. Zennosuke barked in pain and landed, but he gave a wolfish grin nevertheless.
“I think you needed to be reminded he's not the only one you're fighting tonight,” Zennosuke stated.
“Humph,” was the Adjuchas' irritated reply. “Two's company, three's a crowd.” With that, he swung at Almer again. Thankfully though Zennosuke's distraction had been enough to let him recover a decent amount strength to become mobile again. The Adjuchas growled when Almer had back flipped away as Zennosuke had. Almer stood straight and brought his handgun up, and Zennosuke appeared beside him in a flash-step.
“How you holding up, Hreinsa?” the Shinigami asked Almer.
“By my legs,” he replied, but in good humor, causing Zennosuke to chuckle.
“And I didn't have the pleasure to receive your name before.”
“Almer Stavenes.”
“Well, Almer, I think we can put our earlier strife behind us and team up to protect this town effectively.”
“Oo-rah. I'm just wondering what the fuck an Adjuchas is doing here,” Almer directed at the Hollow.
“On holiday,” it replied flatly, sarcastically. “This is taking much too long than it should.”
“Well shut up and fight us already,” Zennosuke taunted, he and Almer preparing to battle once more. The Adjuchas obliged by springing into the air and firing another Cero at the duo. They side-jumped the attack, Almer finally managing to fire off some rounds at the Adjuchas, but to his surprise it flash-stepped in mid-air, disappeared from his view.
“Damn, it knows flash-step. I hate the dextrous Hollows,” Zennosuke growled as he and Almer scanned the area; it was apparently stalking them out of sight now. Almer smiled as he removed his sunglasses from his jacket and put them on.
“How the hell are sunglasses going to help in the dark...” Zennosuke began to ask as he shot an incredulous glance at Almer, but he trailed off as a thought crossed his mind. A smile blossomed on his lips. “Ah, knowing the Hreinsa Clan, it's some sort of gadget supposed to be disguised as a regular object.”
“Indeed so, Zennosuke,” Almer replied as he activated the infrared setting of the glasses. And there he saw the creature, crawling slowly on the ground towards them, in the shadows where the lamppost lights didn't reach. Almer nodded at it so Zennosuke had an idea where it was, but the monster saw this gesture for what it was and sprung into action. Almer managed to dodge, but Zennosuke was not so lucky. Without a sound he saw stabbed through the right abdomen, his eyes widening and his breath coming out in cracked gasps as he was forced onto the ground. Almer let out a feral shout of rage as he recklessly charged the beast while repeatedly firing the Varðmann, doing anything in his power to save his comrade. The Hollow batted at him, but he rolled forward to avoid the blow. As he came out of his roll, he had extracted his switchblade, and with practiced skill he drove the blade into the Adjuchas right pectoral. He broke skin, which was surprising in itself since the little thing wasn't nearly as powerful as a Zanpakutō, but it only sank a half-inch deep.
The Adjuchas made a sound of agitation and sank its claws into Almer's back. He cried out in agony as he was lifted up and thrown back. The wind was knocked out of him as he slammed into the ground, his wounds hot, stinging and sticky with blood and sweat. He began to quake as he tried to get up, but the Adjuchas was focused on Zennosuke again.
“You first Shinigami, it will be easier to kill one of you now so the other doesn't have a chance to-” It was at this point the Adjuchas became aware of some sort of electrical-sounding whining filling the air, gradually raising in pitch. It turned its head in the direction of the sound and saw that Almer had gotten to his feet again. His Varðmann was up to bear, and the muzzle had an orb of reiryoku pulsing in front of it.
“You blew your chance by blabber-mouthing,” Almer said and released the projectile. Now it was the Adjuchas' turn to try and dodge but be hit by the attack despite its efforts. The projectile struck its hip, making it screech as a chunk of flesh was blown off. Zennosuke instantly got to his feet and hobbled away. But with that built up attack Almer's strength was at its limit; he felt empty, his head swam and his limbs trembled, barely able to hold the Varðmann up. And because of this, he never even had enough time to tense his muscles to dodge the retaliatory mid-air Cero. His only warning was the grass being illuminated crimson. He closed his eyes and prepared for his death to vaporize his body from existence, his thoughts going out to his mother and father, brother and sister, his friends and home in Arizona; even his not-quite-friends but...warm acquaintances here in Karakura-
Zennosuke stared on in horror as the red beam engulfed Almer. He disappeared from view and the explosion of grass and soil filled the air where he had been. When the light faded and the chunks of soil fell back to the ground, what remained was a smoking crater...and no Almer.
“Son of...” Zennosuke breathed. Poor bastard. Zennosuke turned when he heard the Adjuchas land. It looked pleased with itself, but was still obviously annoyed as it rested a hand on its bleeding hip.
“And now this shouldn't take long,” it stated as it focused its gaze on Zennosuke. Zennosuke glared at the beast and held his Zanpakutō up to bear.
“This is for Almer Stavenes. Ohayō,” he began to chant, but he knew it was too late the minute the Adjuchas flash-stepped; it was on top of him right now only a fraction of a second after its disappearance. He could only close his eyes as Almer had and wait for his death.
CLING!
Odd, the sound of his death sounded like claw on steel?...wait a minute...
Zennosuke opened one eye to see the Adjuchas snorting in rage as its killing blow was blocked by a massive blade. Zennosuke's eyes fluttered open, and he followed the blade to it handle, the hand that held the handle, the arm, the shoulder, and the grim, set face of the Substitute Shinigami, Kurosaki Ichigo. The Adjuchas hissed and jumped back away from Ichigo.
“You okay, Afusan?” Ichigo asked as he stood before Zennosuke, facing the Adjuchas.
“Not by much...and definitely not the other guy,” he sighed. Ichigo gave him a concerned glance.
“Other guy?”
* * *
By fucking Christ, I'm still alive...I never thought I'd say it sucks to be alive, because it all fucking hurts.
Almer groaned lightly beneath the rubble of the crater he was half-buried in, the smell of burnt soil in the air, his clothes in tatters, his skin seared and blistered, raw and bleeding. He couldn't move; the only possession on him intact was his Varðmann.
Almer... he said.
I don't think a pep talk is gonna magically make me be able to move again. And that Adjuchas will know I'm not dead sooner rather than later...he'll be coming to finish me any moment now. Ignoring that pessimistic talk, the Varðmann went on, Are you prepared to truly know me? Surprised that he did, the young man smiled, knowing what he meant.
Considering I'm about to get my ass killed in a few seconds, I'd say I'm ready for your power just about now.
Inside the Varðmann smiled. Finally some sense out of you, boy. My name is...
* * *
Ichigo's eyes widened when Zennosuke told him the name of the Hollow's victim.
“S...Stavenes? He's dead?” Zennosuke nodded grimly. Ichigo bared his teeth and turned to the Adjuchas again.
“I may not have known him well, but there's still no forgiving you, monster,” he spat.
“As if I would accept forgiveness from the likes of you,” it sneered back. Ichigo gripped the handle of Zangetsu with both hands, raised the blade over his head, and began to shout, “Getsuga-” He cut himself off when another shout pierced the night.
“Brenna og Frysta, Syndara!” It had come from the crater.
* * *
Almer ground his teeth as he raised Syndara in the air. He closed his eyes and let a slow breath escape his lungs.
Burn and Freeze, Sinner. His eyes snapped open, glowing red with power as Syndara gave him the strength to fight; to fight to live and live to fight; that's what he and all other Hreinsa did.
“Brenna og Frysta, Syndara!” he bellowed, almost not even recognizing the power of his own voice as it escaped him, booming in the air and being amplified by his warrior's bond with Syndara; once his mother's companion, now his own.
Syndara was engulfed in the red power, his own power as well as Almer's power; their life forces and spirits meshed together like clockwork, creating a force to be reckoned with by enemies, and to be revered by allies. It was the connection all Hreinsa had with their Varðmann, and all Shinigami with their Zanpakutō.
Almer felt life rush back into him. He could move his arms, his legs, he could see and hear; he could battle. The young man got to his feet and jumped out of the crater. When he landed on the grass, he saw Zennosuke was not alone...uh oh.
“Oh snap...” Almer murmured as Ichigo Kurosaki gaped at him, eyes wide and his Zanpakutō hanging slack at his side. Even the Adjuchas seemed baffled.
The fucking Hollow.
Almer leveled his gaze with the Adjuchas, his eyes flashing red as anger boiled inside him.
“You.” He pointed at the Adjuchas with Syndara. “Fuckface. Wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?” It stared at him blankly.
“...what?” Almer flash-stepped from its vision, making it tense in fright. When he appeared in mid-air behind it, he held down the trigger of Syndara and let the red reiryoku build up in his muzzle. Hearing the familiar whine of growing power, but too astonished by its predicament to think clearly, it only turned around just in time to see the crimson orb that was its death staring back at him with malevolent fury.
Almer released the energy and the orb rocketed to the Adjuchas. In an instant its mask shattered and its head exploded in a shower of blood, brain and the remnants of its mask. And like that, the body faded from existence, the twisted soul purified at last. Gravity once more took Almer and brought him down to the ground. He landed in a kneeling position, letting out another breath, this time of relief.
Syndara... said he from within, and he looked at his Varðmann, now able to fully admire the new found beauty. It was transformed into a Spas-12 shotgun; like the Desert Eagle form, it was mostly platinum...however, the pump slide was made of pure, smooth ruby, and the handle shining sapphire. It was wonderful. But it sadly had to come to an end as the temporary power boost started to recede. He was too heavily wounded to sustain his Fyrstu form.
Light appeared on Syndara once more, and it reverted back to its original form, and all strength disappeared from Almer again; and this time, finally, consciousness. Finally because it masked the anguish that was his body.
* * *
“Damn...” Ichigo whispered when Almer passed out, the Hollow gone just like that.
“No way...he got hit by a Cero head-on! Impossible!” Zennosuke exclaimed. Ichigo huffed a sigh and placed Zangetsu on his back.
“Help me take him somewhere, he needs to be healed,” Ichigo said to Zennosuke. He nodded and helped Ichigo heft up Almer.
What the hell is he? Ichigo wondered as he and Zennosuke flash-stepped together, their destination Urahara's Shop. It took a bit of time, but they eventually found themselves in front of the small back-alley shop, the lights inside illuminating the frontal sliding door. Zennosuke let Ichigo carry Almer as he quickly opened the door for him. As he dragged Almer's limp form into the building, he called, “Urahara! Tsukabishi! Anyone!”
“Jeez, do you have to yell!” the familiar voice of Jinta uttered in annoyance from behind one of the shelves. The young boy emerged from behind said shelf with a scowl, but it immediately changed into surprise at seeing Almer.
“Who's that guy?” he asked, not even bothering with an 'Is he okay?' or 'Should I get someone to help?' As usual.
“Someone who needs some treatment,” Ichigo snapped.
“Yare yare,” another familiar voice rang in the air. Ichigo looked to it and received a pair of dark eyes shaded by a bucket hat staring back, most of the other man's face obscured by a hand-fan. “Always new and interesting friends you introduce me to. And usually beat up like this as well!”
“Quit being a smart-ass and help the poor guy already! By all rights he should be dead now,” Zennosuke said sharply. Urahara snapped the fan shut and lowered it to his side, his expression intrigued.
“He should be dead now? Then yes, it is urgent he receive treatment for his injuries.”
“...damn straight...” Almer suddenly murmured lowly, but nothing more came from him; he probably didn't even realize he had surfaced from unconsciousness by the looks of it.
“Well, right this way,” Urahara invited, stepping back and leading them to the back of the shop. Zennosuke and Almer both carried Almer again while Jinta followed, scowling once more, but curiosity was mixed with the scowl. Ichigo and Zennosuke brought Almer into one of the extra back rooms and laid him down on a sleeping pad. Urahara stood over the young man, rubbing his chin; Tsukabishi had come in at some point, his face characteristically hard-set and his eyes obscured behind his spectacles as he stared at Almer.
“Hmmmm...it's hard to believe, but this boy was hit by a Cero head-on,” Tsukabishi finally said, Jinta giving a small gasp.
“No way!” he exclaimed. Tsukabishi nodded.
“Indeed. These wounds will need to be healed by Orihime Inoue immediately; my methods can only do so much,” the tall, muscular man said in his mighty voice; Urahara had unfolded his fan again and waved it on his face as he watched Almer.
“I'll go get her then,” Ichigo said as he began to turn away.
“Kurosaki,” Urahara called.
“Hm?”
“Why are you going on foot?” Ichigo blinked in surprise.
“Well...how else? Unless you're going to let me borrow than van outside; in which case – One: I don't know how to drive yet. Two: flash-stepping is faster anyway!” Ichigo snapped, now agitated.
“You can just use the telephone,” Urahara told him. Ichigo blinked again.
“You have a telephone?” Jinta just raised his eyebrow as he gave a look to Ichigo that said, Is this guy an idiot?
“Of course, Kurosaki! It's the twenty-first century! A nice century too, and trust me, I've seen many.” Urahara reached into coat and extracted a wireless phone, offering it to Ichigo.
“Oh...it's just...I've never seen one around here...” Ichigo said awkwardly as he took the device from Urahara. Jinta slapped a hand to his forehead.
“Baka...” he muttered under his breath. Ichigo threw him a dirty look, but punched Inoue's number in nevertheless. While Ichigo explained the situation when he reached the young woman, two newcomers entered the room; Yoruichi and Ururu. Yoruichi looked down at the unconscious teenager with her cold golden eyes, her face expressionless, while Ururu stared with her large concerned eyes.
“Wow...what happened to him?” the young girl asked.
“Cero beam,” Urahara replied casually. Yoruichi glanced up at him; if she was surprised it wasn't evident on her face.
“How close?” she asked.
“Direct.” Once again, completely casual.
“So he's no typical human,” she remarked, looking down at him again.
“A Hreinsa!” Urahara proclaimed with a knowing smile. He said this as Ichigo turned off the phone, and he looked up at hearing the unfamiliar term.
“Hreinsa? What's that?” he asked. Zennosuke snorted at this, garnering glances from the room's occupants.
“You don't know what a Hreinsa is?” Zennosuke asked with a patronizing grin, hands on his hips. “Ha! That's priceless!”
“Tsk. Well stop busting my chops about it and tell me what they are! Stavenes is one of them?”
“Ah, the Hreinsa Clan,” Urahara sighed in a dreamy tone. “In a nutshell: they're similar to Quincy in many respects, but quite different from them in many other respects. They possess Spiritual Powers that they channel into physical weapons and even other devices to enhance their abilities. They call their weapons Varðmann, which is Icelandic for 'Executor.' You could say they're clones of Zanpakutō. They have an unreleased stage entitled the Núll form, the Fyrstu stage which can be compared to a Shikai, and finally the Endanlega, their respective Bankai. Each Varðmann possesses its own spirit which is a part of the Hreinsa's spirit. And they're a race of Spiritual warriors that keep up with the times and technology. Melee weapons were dominant until guns were invented, and they replaced most the Hreinsa's repertoire of weaponry in these modern days.”
When Urahara was finished with the brief summary, Ichigo stared from the gray-eyed man to Almer.
“No wonder he's been where Hollows were disappearing from,” he murmured. “So these Hreinsa...they're like the Shinigami?”
“No necessarily,” Yoruichi said. “In some senses yes, and like the Quincy, they bear certain similarities. However, their status in this world, while underground and known to few outside their own clan, could be compared to the likes of the regular human CIA or Interpol; they're like intelligence agencies, and Seireitei values them even; precisely for their human perspective on the going-ons of this world.” Ichigo was surprised once more.
“So...the Shinigami didn't outlaw them like they did with the Quincy?”
“Indeed they didn't,” Urahara confirmed. “You know why the Shinigami eliminated the Quincy. The reason why they haven't taken any action against the Hreinsa is because they do not destroy souls completely when killing Hollows, but they purify them in the same manner as Zanpakutō. Hence the name Hreinsa, which is also Icelandic for 'Purify' or 'Purifier.'” Ichigo looked at the floor in thought. How much else was out there that he didn't know about...well, probably allot actually. But that thought hardly comforted him.
“Well, another thing that bothers me,” Urahara spoke up again, “Is that he was hit by a Cero that didn't come from a Gillian.”
“Yes...it had to have been an Adjuchas,” Yoruichi speculated. “I wonder what one was doing here though...and without the back-up of Gillians.” Urahara shrugged.
“You think we should tell Soul Society about this? Or just leave it for now and only tell when more strange occurrences happen?” Yoruichi shook her head.
“No, we should tell them. They've recently accepted the Hreinsa Director as their guest in helping them deal with The Traitors Four.” Urahara frowned.
“Oh dear...” he said, fanning himself yet again. “Times are indeed strange and difficult.”
“The Traitors Four?” Ichigo asked.
“Several years ago four Hreinsa Lieutenants abandoned their clan, apparently controlling Hollows that attacked a city in America,” Yoruichi explained. “I don't know all the details, but Captains Kuchiki and Komamura were involved, and the traitors disappeared after their ruse was uncovered. They want some sort of extreme power from what investigations have gathered.”
“So it's just like Aizen,” Ichigo murmured, looking at the floor again in thought.
“Essentially,” Yoruichi replied. “Things are already stressful and dangerous enough with Aizen on the loose, but those men are very dangerous themselves; I can definitely see why the Captain-Commander is teamed up with the Director.”
“Does Almer have something to do with this?” Zennosuke asked.
“I don't know, but I'm sure he'll explain when he wakes up again.” As Yoruichi finished that, they heard rapid footsteps approach the room. At last Inoue appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily after her run from her apartment to the shop.
“I'm...here...” she gasped, bending over slightly. “Stavenes?”
“Right here,” Urahara pointed. Orihime did her best to slow her breathing against her racing heart as she knelt before him.
“A Hollow did this to him?” she breathed, stunned at the wounds all over his body.
“Yes; he's a lucky one alright,” Urahara stated cheerily. Orihime knelt by his form and focused her energy. The blue pins decorating her tangerine hair blazed into brilliant yellow light, and the two fairies Ayame and Shun'ō connected their powers and spread the oval shield over Almer. In a manner of moments his blistered and bleeding skin returned to its original lightly tanned tone, and his clothes mended themselves flawlessly. Soon he was whole and unaffected by the Cero beam. Ayame and Shun'ō returned to the hairpin and Orihime stood straight, studying the handiwork of her companions.
“Looking much better!” Urahara said brightly.
“Indeed. Now everyone out; the patient needs his rest,” Tsukabishi commanded, no one daring to argue with him; only Urahara and Yoruichi remained as the rest filed out of the room obediently.
“He must be foreign with a name like Almer Stavenes,” Urahara commented.
“Probably an exchange student; the Hreinsa sometimes send their trainees to this town due to the Spiritual activity,” Yoruichi said.
“Well if I know how the Hreinsa work, he is officially graduated into the proper ranks, defeating an Adjuchas.”
“I shall prepare some food and leave it beside him in case he wakes up in the night,” Tsukabishi stated before leaving the room to perform the chore.
“Well...it seems we may have a new addition to the misfit spiritual warriors,” Urahara said before he and Yoruichi left the room for Almer to rest.
* * *
Outside the Karakura Town International Airport stood together four men under a streetlight, their forms partially lit but mostly silhouetted under the white light of the streetlamp above their heads. Three of the four were shrouded in overcoats, and the fourth donned in pair of dark blue jeans, sneakers and a gray hoodie. They had no luggage by their sides, and they ignored every taxi that slowed to see if they would enter as they spoke amongst themselves.
The young man in the hoodie said, “This shit is as boring as NJ. You old farts better live up to your promise of good action.” One of them, gray haired with a bushy beard and mustache, gave him a sidelong glance from under his newsboy cap.
“Don't we always fulfill our promises, Barrett? Here,” Stanley reached into his slacks pocket, removed an apartment building key and offered it to Barrett. “Take the motherfucker.” Barrett did so with a content smirk. “Now shut yer yap ya dumb kid.”
“Fuck you very much, sir,” Barrett replied with a middle-finger salute before veiling his head with his sweater's hood and making off for the apartment building he had been assigned.
“Although we get some new behavior out of you, Maynard,” Mathew Nikolai remarked of the man who was considered the leader of their group, although they were all more or less their own bosses. Maynard's face was obscured by a screen of cigarette smoke as the burning stick smoldered between his lips. He raised his hand and took the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out a stream of smoke. “A swanky condo, the top floor suite; you'd make Donald Trump jealous. That's not usually like you,” Mathew continued.
“Felt change was necessary?” Stanley asked.
“Hm,” was Maynard's soft chuckle. “'Yes we can.'”
“Just curious, did you really use your alias to vote for him?” Mathew asked.
“Nah. I promised a number of both Liberal and Conservative activist groups that I'd attend and donate, then blew them off with rude phone calls,” Maynard replied with a smirk.
“Heh. Lesser humans and their petty politics. Pretty soon the last things on their minds are gonna be the economy and immigration,” Mathew said and snickered. “God I can't wait to give this world what it deserves.”
“We're all in the same boat, Mathew,” Stanley responded. “We'll be making our boat into a battleship very soon.”
“Well,” Maynard heaved a cheerful sigh as he dropped his cigarette on the concrete sidewalk and stomped on it, “I'm off, gents. Stanley?”
“Here you go, Goldman Sachs,” Stanley said as he offered Maynard the key to his suite.
“Much obliged,” Maynard said with a farewell wave before striding down the sidewalk.
“I think I know what to do before we set our plans into motion,” Mathew said to Stanley.
“You always do.”
“We should hack into the world banks and steal all of America's Richest-One-Percent's money virtually; even the NSA wouldn't be able to track down one little laptop with an Artificial Soul installed into the cybernet.”
“The news will be entertaining again,” Stanley chuckled. “Okay, let's do that sometime. I think even Barrett would want to see that.”
“Oh!” Maynard's voice called, the two of them glancing in the direction to see him jogging back to them. “Just remembered, fellas, should we give Monsieur Leo clearance to enter Seireitei tonight?”
“Yes,” were Stanley's and Mathew's enthusiastic replies at once.
“Glorious!”
* * *
The night was cool and moonless outside the walls of Seireitei; perfect stealth weather for the young Barrett Leo as he stood just outside one of the silent gates of Seireitei; no guards present, the Shinigami secure in thinking that no one would dare try to infiltrate their city; least of all have the capabilities. How naïve, especially after the Ryoka infiltration.
“Well have I got a surprise for you fudgepackers,” Barrett said aloud. The man was dressed in all dark blue; boots, cargo pants, a long sleeved shirt and vest, knuckle-weighted gloves, a balaclava and the same colored face paint around his eyes where the mask didn't cover his face. But on his back, dark blue of course, was a large metal crate, worn like a backpack. And beside him were two other large crates, held by briefcase-like handles. Despite his thin build, the slim muscles in his body were rock hard and used to carrying junk like this. Any other stealth expert would laugh at his bulky items, but once they saw him using them, moving with them effortlessly and silently as the water of an underground lake? They would be so envious it would hurt. And he knew it with smugness.
“A wall...and a dome barrier made out of some spirit garbage,” he noted as he looked up at the wall and the invisible barrier that protected Seireitei from anything and everything. “Whatever.” With the crates in his hands he flash-stepped up in the air and appeared atop the wall of Seireitei, easily bypassed the barrier with no alert of intrusion to the ignorant Shinigami.
“Break a leg? I'll break everything.”
* * *
All were asleep in the Seventh Division's headquarters, save for a few midnight marauders, careful not to make a ruckus or face a scalding from either agitated fellows or even Captain Komamura himself (despite his kind fairness to his underlings, he could be quite cranky when awoken prematurely; sometimes that was even the butt of hushed jokes). But Barrett need not worry about them, not yet at least; and even when he did, the worry was passive. Right now he was outside the walls of the Seventh Division's headquarters. He placed the crates in his hands on the ground, then slipped off the one on his back. Silently and carefully he opened the cases, revealing their contents. He checked them briefly before leaving them behind for a moment, flash-stepping atop the wall and scoping out the area. He estimated it would take an hour or so to make all the necessary preparations before he could begin the attack.
He flash-stepped back down to the crates and removed small, flat electronic objects no bigger than an ashtray. He fitted a bag over his shoulder and stowed the objects in there before flash-stepping around the perimeter of the headquarters, placing the objects in a circle around the area. When that chore was done, he moved the boxes to the top of the wall and proceeded to put together what was typically a remote controlled bomb disposal robot, however it was customized to his preferences. He placed that in the courtyard to wait and went back to his equipment yet again. He went about planting more objects, traps; silent as a shadow, literally the most efficient stealth expert in both Soul Society and the World of the Living. And Barrett knew it. And again he returned to the crates after an hour's worth of preparation, right under these Shinigami's noses. It was time.
* * *
He stood in the doorway to one of the barrack's bunk rooms, where the Seventh Division's Shinigami slept soundly, breathing evenly and light, some soft snoring; all was still and dark as the warriors rejuvenated themselves for the next day. Quiet as a mouse Barrett stepped in and unstoppered the five gallon handled plastic jug in his right hand. He turned his back to the aisle as he stood at its head, bent his knees slightly and leaned forward. Softly and quietly, streaking low to the ground, he poured its liquid contents on the ground. He slowly and carefully backpedaled down the aisle, carefully tipping the jug so it did not make any sound, no shifting air bubbles to disturb the peace. The scent was strong but it seemed to not make anyone stir. Good.
Barrett reached the end of the aisle, finished with pouring down the line and stood straight, now letting the liquid slosh freely inside the jug. The person in the final bunk to his right stirred briefly; poor bastard. He stood over him then nonchalantly spilled the liquid allover the Shinigami. He gasped, but immediately regretted it as he sucked in the liquid when Barrett dumped it on his face. He sat bolt upright, sputtering and hacking and causing his cohorts to groan and wake up themselves.
“What the hell!?” he finally bellowed through his coughing, everyone now wide awake and looking in his direction.
“Hey, who the hell are you!?” asked another Shinigami when he saw Barrett. “What...are you from the Second Division? What the hell are you doing?!” Barrett ignored him as he dropped the jug and extracted something from his pocket; the drenched Shinigami was still recovering.
“Ah! That shit's stinging my eyes!” And from somewhere else in the barracks, the none too pleased voice of Sajin Komamura roared, “What in the bloody hell is all the noise!?”
“Heh, you're one to talk,” Barrett sneered as he opened the packet he had removed from his pocket.
“Hey, asshole, I asked you a question!” the second Shinigami shouted as he jumped to his feet, but nearly slipped. “What is this stuff, it smells weird!”
“And it freakin' hurts my eyes!” the first one complained, his tone bordering whining now as he rubbed his red puffy eyes.
“It's called gasoline,” Barrett finally answered, striking the match to fiery life, causing everyone to freeze and watch him in confusion. He grinned at his first victim of the night. “And it's about to hurt allot worse, Shinigami.” With that, he dropped the match on his bed, and it instantly went up in a plume of blue and yellow fire. He shrieked in agony as his skin was seared, his burning eyes now melting in their sockets. The others screamed in horror and alarm as they jumped out of their beds, but the starting fire soon lit up the path of gas Barrett had poured down the aisle. He flash-stepped out of the room as the bewildered Shinigami stumbled about, trying to avoid the flames, a few even trying to rescue their comrade, no one paying any attention to the stranger anymore.
Finally, Sajin burst into the room and gasped in terror, seeing the poor boy still shouting in a hoarse voice as he stumbled around the room, lit up like a pyre. Sajin roared and grabbed a blanket that had not been caught aflame and rushed in after the flaming Shinigami. He brought him to the ground and smothered the fire latched onto him with the blanket. Other mindful Shinigami joined their captain in trying to pat out the flames. It worked, despite the potent chemical that had been stuck to him like glue, he was out...and alive, still...though...
Would he even want to continue living at this point? Sajin thought sorrowfully when he gingerly removed the blanket off his face to see it ruined beyond comprehension; he couldn't even recognize who it was anymore.
“It's Itsuki,” breathed one of the others beside Sajin. “He always slept in that bunk.” Sajin raised his head when he could now hear screaming from all over the barracks...and not shouts of orders and calls for help, these were blood curdling shrieks of pain and impending death.
“What's going on?” asked another Shinigami shrilly.
“Everyone grab your Zanpakutō and find water to put this fire out!” Sajin ordered above all the surrounding noises, both immediate and afar. He easily lifted Itsuki and flash-stepped over the flames.
“I'll get help from the other squads,” one Shinigami notified before dashing off. Just as Sajin was about to issue his next order, the same Shinigami screamed in anguish. Sajin dashed to where his voice had sounded along with some others, only to find him on the ground, writhing his arms and crying out. They noticed his ankle then, caught in a bear trap? What?
“Captain!” another voice called from down the hall. Sajin looked down to see a young woman jogging towards them. “A fire broke out in our-” she stopped short when her bare foot stepped on some sort of object on the ground, emitting an odd clicking sound.
“What?” she asked, looking down and moving her foot. As soon as she moved her foot the object sprung off the ground into mid-air, and when it was level with her chest-
BOOM!
Her entire torso disintegrated in the fiery explosion of the spring mine, deafening everyone and destroying the surrounding walls, lighting up the hall in an almost blinding flash. Sajin blinked and stared on in horror and grief as the bottom half of the young woman lay in pieces.
“What?! What?!” he heard one young man cry, on the verge of hysterics. “What happened to her?! What...who could do such a thing to a person?!” Another explosion reverberated in another part of the barracks, chilling Sajin to the bone. Another person...maybe more just died in the same manner as that woman.
“Isn't any outside help coming?! They're bound to have heard this all!” another woman yelled.
“Wait...I...I...” one Shinigami stammered; Komamura rumbled in reply, “You can't feel anything outside of the walls of our headquarters...it's as if there is some sort of barrier around us, disabling us to feel reiatsu outside...and likewise to those outside feeling ours. This is a well calculated attack. No. One. Move...” Then, using the voice of his wolf-like self, so that all his underlings heard his order, “NO ONE MOVE AT ALL! THERE ARE TRAPS! I REPEAT: NO ONE MOVE!”
* * *
Outside, atop the surrounding wall, Barrett shook his head with a smile.
“Famous last words, Captain,” he said as he hefted a large .50 Caliber rifle onto his shoulder, the weapon outfitted with an electronic scope, a special clip filled with reiryoku crystals to make the weapon even more effective; not his Varðmann, but a slightly more inferior version loosely based off of the capabilities of a Null form Varðmann.
He activated the scope, it revealing all beings within the walls of the barracks thanks to infrared readings. “Hold still, everyone; say cheese!” He leveled the sights on a Shinigami next to Komamura.
* * *
“Captain,” whispered a man beside him, Sajin looking down at him. The man looked back at him with traumatized eyes. “What-”
That was all he could utter before his head disappeared in a splatter of blood and gore, staining Sajin all over his body and face.
“No...” he whispered in disbelief as the body fell limply, blood oozing out of the neck and pooling at his feet.
“Captain, we can't stay still!” another exclaimed. For the first time in his life, Sajin was at a loss as to what to command this man that was about to disobey a direct order. He couldn’t say anything in time as the man turned to run down the hall. As soon as he came to a corner, he nearly tripped over some sort of thin wire that had been set up to snap. An instant after that what appeared to be a pickaxe swung from the ceiling and penetrated the Shinigami's chest.
“No!” Sajin whispered again. Too many people were dying under him, how could he call himself a Captain of the Gotei Thirteen if he was allowing this to happen to his own men and women!? He finally saw it, in the wall that separated the inside from the out, the hole, the point of entry of that projectile that had destroyed that man's head. With his sharp eyes he could just make out the well dark-camouflaged figure standing on the surrounding wall outside with that weapon; his dark-blue even better than the black most would associate with stealth. Sajin snarled in fury.
“Get down!” he ordered the men in front of him as he raised his clawed hand. They did not hesitate to drop down before the mighty Captain sent a telekinetic blast from his hand, through the wall and at their assailant.
“Whoops!” Barrett said as he saw the maelstrom rushing towards him. He easily flash-stepped out of the way, but Sajin took advantage of every spare second this bought them.
“Follow me!” he ordered as he slung Itsuki over his shoulder and used the same technique to blast through the walls that lead to the exit. That achieved the detonation of more mines and sprung other traps that were awaiting them; and whatever else he might have missed he would shield with his great body for his men; too many had died under his watch already.
“Go!” he commanded, running down the hall ravaged by his own doing, his men still not hesitating. At least he still had their trust and loyalty.
* * *
“Oh yes,” Barrett said with glee as he watched the Shinigami Captain and his underlings run to the exit that lead to the courtyard. “I've been looking forward to this part especially,” Barrett said excitedly as he sat down cross-legged and bore a remote control on his lap, outfitted with all manner of joysticks, buttons and flick-switches; and a screen for the robot's camera too! From the robot's point of view he did see the Shinigami walk right into his cross-heirs.
* * *
Sajin lead his men behind some cover, surely out of sight of their attacker now. He gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts.
“Captain! Look!” whispered one of his men, pointing up at the night sky. Sajin looked and immediately noticed what he was trying to point out. There was a faint barrier discoloring the outside world slightly now.
“That's what's cutting us off...they can't even hear the destruction physically,” Sajin growled, balling his hands into fists.
“Something's causing it...we should find out what it is, break it, then call for help,” one suggested.
“Yes, that is the best option...but we need to be mindful of-” Sajin roared again when they came under fire once more, but it was way more intense than that single shot before. It was a hail of projectiles pelting into his men from an unknown direction. Gathering his wits, Sajin ascertained the direction in which the loud fire was coming from. Some sort of four-wheeled robot in the shadows, the muzzle flash of the machine gun mounted atop it giving away its position along with the noise, the yellow reiryoku bullets flashing through the air like neon.
“Come on!” he shouted, his men following him to more cover, trying to avoid the relentless rounds directed at them. He lost three more men, wounded but not dead. He wasn't leaving them.
“Take Itsuki and hide there!” he said to his men, pointing at a wall that would shield them from the fire. They did not question his order, they followed it immediately. He went after the ones that were down, but the fire was still following the men he had sent away. Just as he knelt down to help the wounded, he looked back at his hidden soldiers, and saw they were safe from the gunfire behind the stone wall.
* * *
“Oh that won't do,” Barrett said from his perch, seeing the bullets were ineffective against their cover. With a bloodthirsty grin and flicked one of the switches.
* * *
Sajin raised his hand to destroy the robot with his telekinetic technique, but it was too late. Just as he sent a whirlwind at the device, a rocket spewed from an extra pod that was situated next to the machine gun, leaving the entire device behind to be blown away. Sajin's disbelieving eyes tracked the missile to-
The last he saw of their faces was a mixture of surprise, fear, worry, hope that their Captain had stopped whatever it was that-
All of that was torn away in an instant when the rocket impacted the wall, and made it all disappear in a flaming blast, filling the air with dust and debris and the sheared limbs of his men.
“WHY!?” Sajin heard one of the men beside him cry in sorrow, tears streaming down his face as he stared on at the carnage.
Why? He repeated the man in his own head, his heart drowning in loss, sapping the will to live from his veins.
And then his sharp ears picked up more gunfire from one of the other courtyards of the headquarters, along with more screaming: surprise, anger, pain, fear, death.
“Captain, go help them!” he heard one of the wounded say to him, pleading. He did not hesitate; he was reluctant to leave them in their states, but he fulfilled their wishes to save those who were in more immediate danger. He leaped over the building and to the other courtyard, on the edge of the roof overlooking the scene below. Already three quarters of the men who had made it out here had been cut down by the camouflaged enemy. Some had their Zanpakutō in hand, others hadn't even gotten a chance to draw them; and those that were still standing had taken cover wisely.
Sajin grabbed the hilt of his Zanpakutō, but was immediately assaulted by some sort of metal object, bumping into his snout. Snorting in surprise, he followed the strange metal canister as it bounced down to the ground and-
The next thing he knew his ears were ringing, and all he could see was white. Deaf and blind, he reeled in shock, lost his balance, and tumbled down the side of the roof. He felt himself free falling for the shortest moment before thumping onto the ground. Vision was gradually returning now, and slowly his hearing. He felt hands on him, heard distantly someone shouting his rank, and then felt them cut down by more projectiles...and yet, the assailant had never opened fire on him; not now that he had a clear chance, and apparently not so before when he had as much chance with him as the young man he had robbed life of in front of him. The murderer was taunting him with the lives of his men.
Sajin staggered to his feet as his sight and hearing finally returned. He looked around, and his body quaked with rage and grief at the sight. The ground was flowing with fresh blood, still warm; blood streaming out of the bodies of the fallen. Their eyes were wide and empty, mouths agape, holes torn into them-
And from the direction he had just came, three resounding shots. He had left three behind...and those shots were execution shots.
“Nooo!” he cried, flash-stepping over the roof again with his Zanpakutō finally drawn, but when he got there it was too late; the three he had left behind all had a single hole in their heads which oozed their crimson life force. Sajin shook his head, not comprehending. How could this happen? How could he let it happen?...he didn't even feel his enemy's reiatsu! He was doing all of this with regular human methods! Gasoline, guns of reiryoku bullets separate from his own power, that flash bomb that had blinded and deafened him for that short moment that seemed to last a lifetime.
Gunfire again, within the barracks this time.
“No more!” Sajin screamed, bolting into the building, his Zanpakutō gleaming in the light of fires that had spread throughout the building; the air outside was filling with smoke now, contained by that barrier. But all Sajin knew that every time he heard one of those bangs one of his men was being killed. He arrived at another bunk room where he had heard the last shot from, and there stood the murderer, dropping two Uzi sub-machine guns that were spent, muzzles still smoking, covered in blood of a fresh kill before his feet.
“You...I know you,” Sajin seethed, his yellow eyes alight with wrath and hatred as he glared at the still form of Barrett Leo. “I would know your methods from anywhere...using typical human technology as your primary and your spiritual abilities as a last resort.” Barrett turned to face him, his eyes laughing.
“If you knew my style then you could've done a tad bit better at protecting your men from me.”
“I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET THE DAY YOU WERE EVER BORN!” Sajin raised his Zanpakutō. “Roar, Tod-” he began the command to release his Shikai, but Barrett simply whipped his regular Varðmann out and shot Sajin's sword hand. The Shinigami Captain hissed in pain as he lost his grip on his weapon, the blade falling to the ground with a clatter.
“I'll let you live, Sajin. Why? Because at this point you want me to kill you. Fare-” Caught up in the moment, in his arrogance, Barrett failed to notice that someone had been hiding under a pile of blankets beside him on the bed; and that someone screeched in rage as he whipped out his Zanpakutō and slashed at Barrett's face. Barrett snarled as he toppled backwards, blood running down his face from the graze of the sword. Sajin snatched his Zanpakutō from the ground, but Barrett, despite his cockiness, knew when to walk away from a fight. And he flash-stepped away, but not before firing a shot into the man's shoulder to distract Sajin. Sajin went to his man first.
“Are-” he began, but the man replied, “Go after that guy! He wants you to...” he trailed off at the solemn look in his Captain's eyes.
“It's too late, he's gone.” Suddenly, a huge round tore through his chest, through his lung.
“Captain!”
* * *
“Owie,” Barrett murmured as the laceration across his cheek and up his temple stung, but he had shot Sajin from afar with his Fyrstu Varðmann, a Dragonuv sniper rifle, suppressed. He ripped his balaclava off and fished his final instrument of destruction from his crates. First he used the remote to deactivate the barrier generators he had surrounded the headquarters with. Now the sound and smell of burning buildings and flesh was free to spread around Seireitei; and the agony of what was left of any survivor's reiatsu. But Seireitei did not stir, for they were too deep in sleep, and those in pain and nearing death were too weak to amplify their pressure.
“Ah, Seireitei,” Barrett sighed as he flicked the red cap of the remote to reveal the red detonation button for his thumb to press on. “Yeah, I'm like you; the smell of coffee actually doesn't wake me up. That's why we need alarm clocks,” he raised the remote over his head. “Wakey wakey, hands of snakey.” And he placed that fatal amount of pressure on the little red button.
And it was obliterated. The sound of the explosion echoed throughout Seireitei, waking up many to finally know that something was a little amiss. The buildings of the Seventh Division's headquarters were leveled to the ground by Barrett's explosives, the air choked with dust, fire and dancing orange embers.
“And I'm outtie,” Barrett said before he disappeared in a blur of motion, leaving nothing but his spent instruments behind, and his evil deeds, and only a few people alive to give the details of the deeds.
Dark thoughts rise up

Deep in your mind

The killing of hope

The end has begun
Self-destruction leads its way

Your weapons turn against yourself

Cutting through, killing you

A downward spiral, the shadowbeast has won
The shadowbeast calls

A vulture of life

Your worst enemy dwells

From within
Weak is your body,

Helpless your soul,

The beast destroyed your will

Left nothing but an empty shell ~Arch Enemy 'Enemy Within'
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The Mirrors Of My Soul