Bleach 1. Prologue

It would be great if I could get a beta-reader for this fic. :) Please leave a review if you're interested.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

**Prologue**

"You haven't been eating."

"Really? A novel concept to you, I suppose?"

-

If he were to pick a word to sum up the situation, it would be irony. Oh yes, it was epitomizing irony in every manner, the way they shied from him, the way they locked him away, and the way they did all the things he hated.

The second choice would be bitter. It was bitter and unspeakable hatred for his existence, his fallen hopes and loyalty. Bitter like the taste of his own blood welling up his throat. Bitterness was defeat.

The third choice…

…

… would not exist.

-

She left, closing the door behind her. He did not respond, only continued to stand with his hands in his pockets, staring out into the bright, hateful sunlight until he thought he would go blind.

But he couldn't go blind, not when his eyes had thousands of years of darkness to make up for the excess of light.

He stood still, never moving because he no longer had a reason to. And that was reason enough.

She came back an hour later, eyes hardened by determination. She strode in purposefully, and he could feel her trying to mimic the quick assurance with which he had regarded her. It amused him, but the reason to stand still overpowered the reason to move.

"You still haven't been eating." For all her courage and bravado, her voice was barely a whisper above the wind.

He did not turn, only answered with silence. If she wanted to be like him, he would be like her. Neither of them acknowledged that the roles they now played were only shadows of what they saw of each other.

"Now it's _your_ turn to stay alive." She said, picking up a piece of bread on her way toward him. "And it's my turn to keep you alive." She was holding up surprisingly well, showing no signs of fear in his presence. He would've laughed at the naivety of the shinigami who thought that her simple imprisonment in Hueco Mundo would traumatize her. After all, she was a strong woman.

She was in front of him, staring up at his face. He made no move to look down at her.

"I know you can eat. I've seen what Aizen makes you drink, so there must be a stomach for it all to go to." She was tapping a place over his ribcage, and he sighed inwardly at her lack of anatomical knowledge.

She, of course, sighed aloud. She pried open his mouth and hooked out the piece of bread she had placed in it the day before. The wad came out looking exactly as it had when she had last seen it; Ulquiorra lacked saliva, she concluded. Tearing off a new crust, she dipped it in water before pushing the soggy mass past his lips, watching as his tongue settled around it and his jaws anchored themselves shut.

"Swallow it."

He did not, and for the first time since entering the room, she hesitated. She was nervous, he could feel it, though his perception seemed less acute than it had been in the past. The effects of his fast were beginning to show; his features had become even sharper, and his reiatsu had reached an all time low, though that could have been the circumstances of the room. He resented the shinigami's stupidity. Hollows do not need food, they required souls.

In contrast, her body had adjusted to freedom accordingly, rebuilding muscle she had lost in her many days of imprisonment. Her eyes glowed again, and her hair once again shone of sunsets and autumn, although she would liken it to oranges and carrot juice, a combination she apparently enjoyed.

Oh, irony, save him now.

She grimaced. "Ulquiorra, please. Swallow it." Once again, he refused. Seeing this, she reached for a fork. Ulquiorra knew what would happen next. The woman would try to prod the shit down his throat, he would pretend of choke and she would stop. They would then engage in a one-sided staring contest, in which she would try to drill holes into his nose with her eyes.

And then she would leave, and he would resume staring at the sun, all the while remaining as pale as he ever was.

She brought the fork around, and he tensed the muscles in his neck. He hated the feel of her fingers on his lips. They felt so soft and breakable, it was repugnant. He felt her raise the thing to his face.

But then, in one swift motion, she jabbed it into his left eye. Ulquiorra couldn't help utter a helpless gasp, and as he did, he felt himself swallow.

_Shit._

As soon as it began, it was over. He was standing motionless again, his mouth closed and his remaining eye staring out the window. Orihime smiled primly, pulling out the fork and his eye with an unpleasant squelching noise. She suppressed a shudder and opened his mouth again. Ulquiorra decided she was satisfied because she beamed, turning and almost strutted out the door, still waving the absurd fork with his eyeball speared at the end of it.

Now the light fell on his face and illuminated the empty socket. It was warm, and he closed the lid against the light, resigning himself to another four hours of self-humiliation and disgust.

----

A/N: Just a prologue, was originally going to be a oneshot, but plot bunnies raped the idea...

Review if you think it'll work out as a multi-chapter... or if you want to beta read it


	2. 一

Capitulo uno... :)

I want to thank all of you who reviewed, alerted, fav'd... I really want to reply to your reviews, it was very nice of you to write something, but internet time is limited. I just want you to know you're appreciated.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to my beta reader. you are amazing, and i love you very much, yes. You critique is insanely good, it brought up points I don't think I ever would have noticed. just... beyond awesome.

Nothing to say other than the Winter War is still going on, and there will be some semblance of plot.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or any of it's characters, etc.

Chapter 1

"Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Why did you do it?"

-

It was more of a mental battle between them than a physical one. A contest of who would endure the pressure of silence for the longest amount of time and who would give in. It seemed to Orihime that she lost far more often than not.

Today, it had changed. It had become a battle of words. Today would mark the clash of their ideals and fates, echoes of shadows that danced across the water. Today…

-

She bounded in like a ray of sunshine; but rays of sunshine did not burn as she did. He shook imperceptibly, trying to throw off the sudden sting of heat and joy that flooded in with her. Loathing coursed through his veins, and his lip curled ever so slightly into a faint snarl. He wanted to kill her, blast her to pieces for mocking him like this, coming back everyday to remind him of his pitiable condition and feebleness. His hand twitched in his pocket, and he fisted it to stop any further movement. He hated her more than any of the other trash around, because she was the same as the taunting light he saw but could never have.

"Ulquiorra-san…" She almost sang the word, "Dinner time!"

He said nothing, though that was to be expected. But then again, who was he to judge what was expected and what wasn't?

She waved a hand before his face, just as she had done countless times before. He ignored it, just as _he_ has done countless times before. But his distant mood did not perturb her; in fact, it did quite the opposite. She was glad things were commencing as planned. Humming, Orihime began to take plates and silverware off the tray and set them on the table in the middle of the cell, trying to arrange them properly and balance the tray in her hand at the same time. She managed to do this until the very end, when some imaginary force tilted her already precarious being and sent the empty tray crashing to the ground with a loud clatter.

She would've cursed, but to do such a thing did not seem appropriate, so she held her tongue. Instead, she straightened up and looked brightly at her charge, perhaps hoping that to engage conversation would help to cover up the sudden, awkward silence filling the room.

"Ulquiorra-san, guess what I did today? Today, I went out for brunch with Ishida-san. He really is very charming, I like him a lot. We went to this pretty clearing and sat by the creek, and he brought food that he made himself. I would've liked to put some red bean paste on it, but… he told me he didn't have any… Anyways, then Rukia-san came over and joined us and we talked about our weeks and how they went, things like that. It was fun having some free time, especially since we're at war. So, I spent most of the morning with them, but _then_ I remembered I had stuff to do, like healing people and feeding you---" Her voice, her never-ending voice, seemed to come from the depths of a verbal volcano. In contrast, his seemed more like a bottomless pit where words were few and far between. He wanted to silence her, strangle her, smother her; just _end_ that never-ceasing voice that tore at his mind. Quiet. _Quiet._

"_Why_?" He interrupted, his voice edged with pain. His throat burned with a myriad of insults and questions, but he restrained himself to a single, all-encompassing word.

"Why what?" She seemed eager to hear him speak, but her smile was wavering ever so slightly. The empty tray lay forgotten on the floor. "Why I remembered? Oh, so Ishida-san said something about---"

"Why do you persist? For what reason do you idiots continue to disgrace me?"

The smile was definitely trembling now. "I thought we were doing you a kindness."

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. "You fools, you utter fools," he whispered, "It pains me to recall the humiliation of being captured by imbeciles like you, to be taken care of by an imbecile like you. I have never before felt shame such as I feel now, to be scrutinized by your filthy eyes and kept alive for your pathetic amusement. I am no better than a traitor in your hands. And you, you who thinks you are doing me a _kindness_? If you had wanted to show me mercy, you would have slit my throat at the first opportunity and ended this wretched existence."

Orihime's eyes stung, but she bit her tongue and pressed onward, "And then we- we went back to Soul Society, Ulquiorra-san-"

"Shut up, _woman_."

She really thought she would cry, but refused once again to give him to pleasure of winning. "No."

"Do it." His voice was deathly quiet; a hiss. There was a time when she would have been afraid, but now she found that an unexplainable anger was welling up of inside her. An anger she had never felt before, an anger that ate at her mind and tore at her eyes, making her want to cry and scream and laugh all at once. Her smile disappeared completely and her hands began to shake. No, no, never again. Never would she let him walk over her, tear her down, break her apart. She was not weaker than him. No, he was nothing; just a Hollow with a soul made of stone and no heart at all.

"NO!" she shouted, her shrill voice echoing through the cell, "No, I won't! _You_ shut up for once, you keep your arrogant remarks to yourself, because you'll never know kindness or love, or happiness! Because for you, everything is just destruction, pain, and death! The only thing you know is exactly what you're made of, and you know what? I think you're the pathetic one, who is so afraid of compassion that you just hide and snivel in the dark like the _trash_ you really are!"

It was then that she felt herself hit the floor, a new bruise forming across her cheek. Yet, the only thing she could think was, _"I just got bitch-slapped for the first time in my life."_

There was a crash, and angry voices filled the cell. Strong hands grabbed her and started to drag her away, but she put out her arms and gripped the doorframe to halt their progress. Her eyes snapped open to see the small crowd that had somehow made their way into the room. Ichigo, Rukia, Renji… and Ishida, who was holding her by the waist as if his life depended on it. Over the furious shouts, she heard an audible thud, and Ulquiorra doubled over, coughing. At once, Ichigo had him by the throat, smashing his head back against the granite wall. The Espada went limp; he looked somewhat dazed.

"What did you do to Inoue?" Ichigo growled, his nose inches from Ulquiorra's.

A green eye fluttered open and stared balefully at the shinigami. The others fell silent, and only Ichigo's harsh pants could be heard. Orihime was transfixed by the sight, her grey eyes wide as she surveyed the figures.

"Well?" Ichigo said, shaking the arrancar slightly, causing the helmeted remains of his hollow mask to thunk awkwardly against the stone wall.

Suddenly, Ulquiorra jerked his head forward and rammed it against Ichigo's. The two went down with Ichigo on the bottom, and Ulquiorra wasted no time wrapping his pale hands around the shinigami's throat and commencing to strangle him. Ichigo writhed, his superior weight prevailing as he rolled them over, crushing the smaller arrancar to the ground. Zangetsu flashed through the air, stabbing into Ulquiorra's left shoulder. Crimson blood spattered indiscriminately over the shaft of light spread before the open door.

There was another terrible, piercing silence. Orihime stood before the scene, watching the little red puddle grow larger and larger. Ichigo swept his sleeve over a bloody nose and glared down at Ulquiorra, who glared right back up. The latter raised an ashen hand, pulled the zanpakuto from his body with a sickening sound of metal sliding over flesh, and sat up. Ichigo retreated, eyes smoldering as he backed towards the doorway. Their gazes met in the tacit understanding brought only by an unfinished fight.

And Ulquiorra looked away, his emerald eyes closing contemptuously. The tearmarks running beneath them seemed to burn into the pale arrancar's skin under the dim light, like spindly black rivers. Zangetsu fell to the floor with a clang that seemed to resonate throughout the too-quiet cell, blood staining it's blade and flecking haphazardly onto the floor.

Orihime felt the first tears finally burn their way down her face. She looked up at Ichigo's bloodied face and nose, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve, wincing as the bruise dealt earlier by Ulquiorra smarted painfully under her hand.

"Inoue---" Ichigo was cut off as her palm met his cheek with all the force she could muster. He gasped and took a step back, a hand coming up to touch the spot where she had struck him.

"Y-you… you men are all the _same_." She said tremulously, before disappearing around the corner, her bright hair whipping out of sight.

-

She ran, ran as fast as she could, relishing in the ice-cold clarity that each lungful of frigid air brought to her head and the sting of the wind whipping past. Her hair twisted through the dark behind her like a beacon of light, like a copper flag fluttering tumultuously in an unruly gale.

Her feet thudded across the wooden floorboards, ringing in her ears like thunder. Doors flashed by, but she only caught glimpses of their occupants as she sped past, searching desperately for the one door she needed right now.

With a crash, she burst into her room and flung herself down on the bed, sobbing. She beat the covers with her fists, trying vainly to release this terrible feeling of hatred. It didn't make sense; nothing made sense anymore. Why had she done it, and what had driven her to this point of absolute insanity?

Orihime took a great, gasping breath and raised her head, tangling her fingers in her hair. It wasn't fair. She tried so hard to be the happiness, the light everyone wanted, but only received darkness in return. Nothing. She got nothing. Brushing a hand over her eyes, she took another shuddering breath, trying so hard to make sense of her fate. This hand, this hand that had hurt someone, a loved one. She did not want this hand anymore, for it was a crime against herself.

Her fingers curled into a fist, and she rested her chin on it, feeling the tears still streaming over her cheeks. She pulled her hairpins out, letting her hair fall quietly around her face like a wispy dream. They were her curtains of shame, hiding her from the world as she wallowed in sorrow and confusion. Love seemed like such an impossible, naïve delusion now, like a long lost memory of innocence and simplicity. It was not love that stood by her today.

Today, it was nothing that stood by her side.

-

A shaft of light crawled across the room, glaring off the pristine marble floor. The heavy creaking of unseen hinges stopped, followed immediately by the rapid tap of footsteps.

A figure halted in the middle of the room. It was impossible to distinguish his face as the last source of light closed itself off with the door.

Far above, physically beyond reach, sat Aizen Sousuke. He looked down upon the scene with a benign smile on his face, expecting a new focus for his powers. The singular light above his head threw his features into a sharp relief, turning the smile into something immeasurably more terrible than the simplicity it represented. This effect was not lost on the messenger; a fact that was made glaringly evident as a shudder jolted his frame. Aizen, seeing the proper response, motioned his permission to commence.

The figure in the middle of the room bowed, then said, "They have Ulquiorra Schiffer, my lord." His words echoed incongruously through the chamber, cutting easily through the thick silence.

Aizen smirked a smirk that hid his disappointment. "I already know this."

"I… see a possibility in which he will turn traitor and serve the others."

"Then let him." Aizen replied, as if he did not find this news to be very alarming. "I have plenty of power at my disposal; he is insignificant."

There was a shift among the gathered Espada as they heard this.

"But, my lord. Forgive me if I speak brashly; isn't he, a rather dangerous pawn, out of your control? As long as he is in the enemy's hands…" The person below the throne stared up at Aizen, questioningly.

The shinigami's smile did not waver. His answer was sure and firm as he gave it, "Ulquiorra Schiffer, my numero cuatro Espada... he is of no threat to me; I have complete faith in his loyalty. I have always respected his judgment, and there is no reason for that to stop. But if he should waver in his allegiances, he can do nothing to me. Do not underestimate my influence, my dear arrancar."

His eyes glimmered coolly as he surveyed his subordinates.

"For now… let the events play out."

----

Again, thanks so much to my beta for this chapter :)


	3. 二

_SPOILERSSPOILERSSPOILERS_

_FUCKING SPOILERS, DO YOU HEAR THAT?  
_

_As in, chapter 353 spoilers. No, it's not in the story, just in the Author's notes (next), and I really very much needed to say these things. Again, one more time:_

_SPOILERS_

_:((((_

_Chapter 353: Ulquiorra dies. I was completely devastated. DEVASTATED, do you see that? So very upset. I thought there would be more, something on his character, something else to him that we haven't seen nor guessed. Even a flashback. I hoped, I really did, and he ups and dies._

_I guess I was more attached to him than I thought. I really liked him as a character and didn't wish he had to go... hell, I wish those spoilers were utter BS, but that's not the case, it never is. Dammit, I really did love him as a character, I even spent time analyzing him so I would predict how he would further influence the plot.  
_

_Now I'm sad. And tempted to give up Bleach just because he was the only reason I kept reading. Don't condemn me for it, I (almost) did the same with Death Note. I mean, I respect Kubo's decisions and his right as author, but he can't stop this... disappointment I'm feeling. I would cry, but I'm not that sentimental. And I'd like to think I'm not a creepy fangirl, thank you.  
_

_However, I did appreciate Kubo's separation of his character, showing how he differed from the other Espada. One thing that saved my ass from total rejection/depression due to the spoilers/chapter._

_Wow, this is getting long. I must have liked him more than I thought. Now all my fics are going to feel really weird... because NONE of it will be canon, only wannabe canon. I'll most likely get over it eventually, but that's the worst part.  
_

_I wish he lasted longer. I just didn't want him to die because I didn't want to forget him._

_END SPOILERS/RANT_

Now, back to business. I was slow at getting this chapter up, but when I read all the new stuff being put up (and how amazing it all was) I felt obligated to get off my fucking ass and do this fucking shit.

The recent chapter still depressed the hell outta me. Don't call me a rabid fangirl, I'd rather not be.

This chapter seemed kind of shaky, I'm still unsure if I like it or not. I just can't wait until to get to the fight scenes. Yes, there will be blood.

BIG, BIG thanks to my beta-reader. I don't know what I'd do without you. Flounder, probably, in crappy writing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

-

Chapter 2

-

"Are you sure? I mean, is this really what you want?"

"Is that a luxury I can afford?"

-

He never thought that it would end like this. He thought that he would always reside within Hueco Mundo; live there, die there… within his whitewashed paradise, his grayscale purgatory. He expected nothing less, and nothing more.

Oh, how his judgement had failed.

-

His face was turned away from the bars, right cheek pressed against the cool plaster surface of the wall. The days had sifted away rapidly, and he was definitely feeling the effects of his enforced fast. His pulse crawled along at a snail's pace, and what little energy he had left was now being channeled into his instinctive efforts to stay alive. The only indication that he was still living was the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

That was how they found him, nearly two weeks succeeding his imprisonment, leaning motionless against a dark corner of the world.

Ulquiorra did not make any indication that he heard the rattle of bars as the two unfamiliar shinigami entered. He could not bring himself to lift his head and stare into the face of defeat. He couldn't have done so even if he tried; the muscles in his neck felt like lead.

A hand grasped at the back of his neck --- his arm --- shoulder --- bright lights streaming through his eyelids --- the floor scraped… once --- twice --- and he felt rather than saw the passage of his being dragged past the bars of his cell and into the hallway beyond. This meant nothing. Merely leaving the chamber would not free him of that which it represented. He chose to remain limp.

"On your feet." A smooth, yet unpleasantly nasal voice echoed vaguely next to his ear. "I don't want to be seen with a pathetic wretch for a captive."

He felt a twinge of annoyance at that. Did it really look as if he wanted to be the captive of a pathetic _shinigami_? Biting his lip, Ulquiorra raised himself to a shaky stand, blinking the fuzzy shapes back into focus.

He saw two fools, staring at him as though he had suddenly sprouted horns… which probably wasn't far enough from the truth to be entirely ridiculous. He wanted nothing more than to cero them out of their miserable existence and then resume the process of putting an end to his own. The memories of the past few days were blurred at best, running into and over each other in a giant pool of delirium. His mind grappled with the confusion, but it was to no avail. He felt as if a hundred years had just passed and that he slept through all of them, not remembering a thing but snatches of… something. Or nothing.

He did remember one thing, however, and that was the sun: bright, unforgiving, and beautiful in its harsh fury.

Ulquiorra realized the shinigami's mouth was moving, but it was moving too fast for him to distinguish what was being said. The world tilted, swayed, and then returned to normal for a moment before lurching off its axis once again. His mind was hazy; he couldn't think further than the sudden cold that wrapped around his body, so cold it felt as if he were burning up from the inside. The walls caved away, then swelled inwards, crushing toward the hallway, falling, smaller --- he grabbed the shinigami's arm as he reeled off balance --- the voices, shouts, and the shinigami leaping back --- the vertical bars were suddenly horizontal --- and he toppled into a wall sideways --- no, that was just the floor ---

… Nothing.

-

The odd sensation of cold cut through to his back, seeping in through the thin cloth that his stark gray uniform was comprised of. He squirmed in discomfort, then realized he had been secured to the table with thick leather straps. If it had been any other situation, he would have ripped through the bonds as if they were nothing but wrapping paper, but he felt so drained he could hardly keep them in focus.

Suddenly, he was aware of a pair of eyes staring down at him, unblinkingly. And then he was aware of two other pairs of eyes. No… three. How weak had this ordeal made him? Blinking owlishly up at the many curious --- or was it disdainful? --- dots staring down at him, he opened his mouth to speak --- and then palm of a hand met his cheek with a loud smack. He snapped his mouth shut in surprise, flinching against his better judgment.

"Do not speak, Espada. We have… _orders_ for you. Mayuri?" It was a strong voice, a woman's voice, that was much clear, but he could not see her properly to recognize her face. The sounds echoed in the space around him, as if spoken from the other end of a long metal pipe. He was surprised to find his once acute mind struggling to comprehend the words being spoken.

"Yes, yes… well," A thin, irritating voice floated in, and Ulquiorra's first desired reaction was to locate the source of the sound and rip its tongue out if only to cease the meaningless noise, but he restrained himself to silent seething. It wasn't as if he would be able to break out of his restraints, anyway. The unpleasant voice went on, somehow managing to elicit an unwilling shiver from Ulquiorra's spine, "It has been a rather complicated task figuring out what to do with you, and then how to ensure that you will behave. But a conclusion has been reached, not without difficulty, I assure you, so listen carefully."

Ulquiorra attempted to clench a hand, but the muscles were so weak he could barely form a fist. He did not like this man, but his curiosity overran his anger and he focused all his attention on that reedy voice. A dry cough tore through the silence before the shinigami continued.

"You will assist us in the Winter War against Aizen, meaning that you will be joining the ranks of our shinigami and fighting the filthy traitor along with us." The smirk that undoubtedly accompanied the statement could be heard in the man's --- Mayuri's? --- slippery voice.

A sudden and inexorable rage flared within Ulquiorra's clouded mind at the words, but he managed to squash it down. The 'Mayuri' continued with a reedy chuckle, sensing Ulquiorra's anger underneath all the pain and lethargy, "You will attend meetings with the captains and receive orders from a division, which we will assign to you later. You are also to give us all information you have about Aizen's plans and the inner workings of the arrancar. However --- " Ulquiorra's blurred peripheral vision picked up on the outline of a bone-white finger, raised importantly to make a point, "If you are to act against orders in _any_ way, _any_ shinigami --- captain, lieutenant, every goddamn fifth seat of whatever division --- will have the authority to kill you on the spot. Understood?"

Ulquiorra said nothing, but continued to stare straight up, assessing the situation. At length, he turned to the blurry shape of Mayuri and said through clenched teeth, "You really are dense. I do not fear death, so it is utterly pointless to threaten me with something as trivial as that. It is disgusting and barbaric; exactly what I expected from trash such as you."

There was a sharp cry of outrage from the woman, and an arm raised itself to strike at him once again, but another hand stopped its progress in midair. It was then that a different voice, a new voice, spoke up.

"Espada… do you not understand that killing you is not our main objective? I realize that death is not a frightening experience for you, but I also realize that you fear the shame and humiliation we are able to inflict upon you. You shall _not_ speak to us in that way again, and you _shall_ maintain whatever respect and decorum you are capable of towards us. If you find such a task to be too difficult, we shall have to resort to other, more… _unpleasant_ measures of securing your loyalty."

Once again, there was little measurable response from the arrancar. He watched the shinigami closely through unfocused eyes, then nodded slowly. It hurt to do so, but for the mean time, he swallowed his pride and consented to the cold conditions set by the filthy shinigami.

For after all, he was no good to Aizen dead, now was he?

-

Her voice cracked, and no sound came out. Her breath felt hollow, as if the air had suddenly solidified and concentrated itself into a substance far beyond air itself, and yet still managed to pass though her lips and clutch at her skin, numbing it. To form words, at this point, would seem be an impossible task in and of itself. She tried anyway, forcing her mouth to move,

"Good morn…"

The words trailed off croakily, and she cleared her throat painfully before trying again. "Good --- good morning."

There. Now she felt somewhat presentable to the world. Smiling faintly at the small triumph, she brushed her copper hair wearily out of her eyes before pulling herself out of bed and quietly exiting the room, feeling her joints crack at the sudden movement.

To her relief, the hallway outside was mercifully empty. Orihime knew she looked a mess, and explaining it to someone would only serve to worsen her situation. It seemed that the whole of Soul Society was avoiding her, and she preferred it that way… at the moment.

The sun was as bright as ever, but she couldn't quite feel its warmth. Her mind felt numb, and she briefly reflected that her efforts to steel herself for this moment had just gone down the drain. She felt every floorboard under her feet, saw every detail with a sharpness that started to hurt her eyes. But for all the flutters and trembles that her senses caught, she felt strangely detached, as if she saw nothing at all.

Orihime's feet carried her along the familiar path to the holding cells, tracing the footsteps that had become a routine up until the most recent week. She had been deathly afraid of facing the former Cuatra Espada again, the memory of their… _quarrel_ still painfully fresh in her mind. But she was the kind of person who _liked_ routine, who _needed_ it, so she forced herself to brace her inner-resolve as she approached the large building that housed one of the most dangerous prisoners in Soul Society. It had never looked more ominous than it did now. As if to agree with her thought, the steel-encased, tatami-style door slid open with an eerie creak, yielding to her touch with a low whine that seemed too horror movie-esque to be real. Quietly, as if it would alleviate her fears, she slipped inside the darkened building.

There were no guards, and no Espada in sight. She breathed a sigh of relief that turned almost immediately to a gasp of comprehension. _Ulquiorra was missing_. That could only mean they had taken him to be… to be… 'briefed', was the only word she had for it. She _knew_. She had listened to them back when they thought she hadn't been in earshot, and she had heard _exactly_ what they had been planning for him. The only thing Orihime _hadn't_ expected was for the shinigami to carry out their intentions so soon. She licked her dry, chapped lips before daring to back out of the doorway. A shiver ran up her spine, and she made a quick retreat back to the main path as she contemplated the unfortunate turn of events.

To her great surprise she felt, for the first time in her life, utterly indifferent. She felt… _nothing_. There was no ripple of worry, no surge of satisfaction; just an empty feeling that told her the terrible truth: she did not care what they did to him, to Ulquiorra Schiffer.

Truthfully, she was rather tired of lying to herself. She had never particularly liked Ulquiorra in any way; he was, in her mind, the capable, albeit mentally disturbed, guard that kept his distance, and yet still managed to be a threat even in his absence. An enemy, no, _the_ enemy. The cold, methodical _thing_ that had represented all of the evils that had plagued her for so long.

On top of all that, Orihime seriously doubted that _he_ liked _her_ in any way, shape, or form, either.

It was a strange feeling, admitting to herself the possibility of being disliked. The thought had never actually occurred to her before. Most would call her overly philanthropic, but in all honesty, Orihime preferred it that way. After all, she had never encountered anyone with the capacity to truly hate, to loath entirely.

_Stupid._ What was she doing here, thinking about whether or not she _liked_ him? If Ishida could only see her, he would scold her for being idle and then commence to usher her along to her next destination. Well, since he wasn't here, she would have to do it herself, now wouldn't she?

First order of business: catch up on the details of Ulq --- _the prisoner's_ status. Orihime felt a frown tug itself onto her features, the smallest amount of doubt creeping up behind the wall of solemnity. A stray breeze swirled around her head, causing her bangs to flutter around her eyes, as if teasing her, mocking her. She brushed them away exasperatedly, stepping stiffly along the path back towards the division in which she had been residing for the last few weeks.

_If only she could convince herself that she really _didn't _care._

----

A:N Okay, or not okay? Either way, speak up, or I'll never improve!


	4. 三

A:N

Hello hello, sorry if I say that too much, but eloquent greetings over teh intrewebs are hard...

Thank you to all you amazing people who reviewed, added this to alerts, or even fav'd it.

And thank you to my fantastic beta-reader. You are so frikkin' awesome... I can't even put it in words. You are made of awesome, how's that?

Disclaimer: Bleach and it's characters belong to its author. I don't own anything.

Chapter 3

-

"Their revulsion is evident. I can read them far too easily."

"It'll get better. The hate, I mean."

-

Despair was something he understood very well; sometimes even _too_ well. But rage was something entirely different. As was hatred… for hatred was a thing in and of itself. He thought he understood, he believed what he saw, and he strove to interpret his findings. They were such pathetic fools, these shinigami… flaunting their pitiful emotions as if he really cared to see them.

It was true that he knew very little of the human heart, but _this_ was something he could see very well. Therefore, he concluded, the heart was not so much an enigma as he had originally thought it to be.

-

Soul Society was in utter chaos.

With only one battle into the war, Aizen had sent the shinigami reeling. Whole divisions had been destroyed, and many others were disabled due to the severe injuries and lack of available personnel. The few able-bodied captains were scrambling to prepare for the overwhelmingly impossible tasks that lay ahead and still somehow maintain their own division, all while trying to restore some semblance of order. Compared to the all-encompassing, panicked confusion of the Seireitei, a single prisoner seemed to be a positively trivial matter.

But the need to overcompensate was prevalent, and unnecessary complications arose.

"What do you propose we do with him? I still think we should have executed him." Second Division Captain Soifon said detachedly, marching briskly towards her destination, the prisoner barracks. Beside her strode Sixth Division Captain Kuchiki Byakuya, equally harried in his movements. He coughed lightly before speaking.

"We mustn't jump to conclusions. After all, this is the Fourth Espada we are talking about; he may be of some use to us." The logic behind his words was blindingly obvious, but so was too the blatant disgust and disdain that the stoic captain's tone held. Soifon's lip curled, whether in amusement or irritation was unknown, before retorting,

"I am not disagreeing about that. I'm certain he _would_ know a great deal. But it's a dangerous opening to exploit." Her words lacked their usual resolve, instead sounding mechanical, as if it was what she was made to say. Byakuya raised a thin eyebrow as they turned a sharp corner, their pace seeming to increase with each step.

"Then what would you propose? He is no use to us dead. This arrangement… it is for the better." There was a note of derision in Byakuya's voice as he said this. Hesitation was not something he appreciated.

Soifon looked away, her mouth forming a thin line. "Then interrogate him. Either way, there will be a time when his purpose has reached a limit and the risk has reached a maximum. He will have to be killed as soon as possible." Her tone was clipped, as if she was unsure how to face this particular dilemma in the face of all the other highly apparent dilemmas centering around the Seireitei.

Byakuya harrumphed scornfully. "Executing him will do little to solve our problems."

"Keeping him won't, either." Soifon shot back. Again, with the doubt, the clipped tone… Byakuya sighed and swiftly turned down another hallway, his sea-green scarf trailing behind him like a proud flag. He could feel Soifon's disdainful glower burning into the back of his haori, but he quickly pushed it to the bottom of his mind.

He didn't have time for half-hearted arguments.

-

It was dark by the time Orihime allowed herself out of the Fourth Division's headquarters. For once, she felt useful; her healing powers had proved to be a great asset to the shinigami, and, given the many casualties, she oftentimes found herself working late into the night. It did not bother her. Rather, the long hours served only to give her a warm sense of pride that she at last had something to offer.

The air was warm despite the late hour. A certain humidity hung about it, and the possibility of a storm suddenly occurred to her. The breeze was faint, crawling sluggishly along as if weighed down by the water that struggled to fall even as it was borne upwards.

A small sound to her left caught her attention and she turned.

Ulquiorra was standing there, watching her. The moon cast no reflection in his eyes, the silvery light sliding over them like water on rock. The deep green seemed to take only from the darkness around him: flat, empty pools of color that waited for a ripple to be cast. She could see the faint emotion roiling just beneath the surface, the outward stillness a contradiction to the complexity of the mind within. It was like a lake; a dark abyss of a lake that a person might _think_ they knew and understood its lack of depth, only because they could see their reflection upon its surface.

An involuntary shudder ran up her spine at the thought. As her sienna eyes caught his viridian ones, she couldn't help but shy away at the ice she saw behind them. His gaze was hard, holding a harsh sense of finality as he stared her down like a predator might do to its prey.

Neither of them moved. The stray breeze seemed to wrap around Orihime's lungs as she inhaled it, firmly rooting her to the spot. Ulquiorra was as statuesque as always, with only his expressive, yet burningly intense gaze bringing static to the situation. He was staring at her with those emerald eyes of his, looking right through her, _burning_ her.

With those ice-cold emerald eyes.

They could have stood there forever had a shinigami not appeared by shunpo, swiftly followed by a second. Ulquiorra's head swiveled over to stare at the new arrivals, regarding them with a calm indifference that bordered on annoyance. The moment was immediately broken, like glass shattered on a sidewalk, and Orihime felt herself shiver as she was freed from Ulquiorra's intense gaze.

"Espada," the shinigami said coldly, "We are leaving."

Orihime knew her confusion showed on her face, for Ulquiorra glanced back towards her and said in a curious tone devoid of all emotion, "I am going to the human world. The shinigami have decided that I would be of greatest efficacy aiding in the recovery of battle sites there."

A beat was skipped as he looked away, shadows engulfing the planes of his narrow face. Then,

"I will kill any remaining hollows residing there."

With a flicker of movement, the three figures vanished, and Orihime was left to stand alone in the moonlight.

-

Screams filled the thick air, the echoing howls and shrieks of Hollows as they flailed away from the shining blades, from death. Ulquiorra felt no remorse as his bare hand plunged into the face of yet another wailing victim, a sickly crimson soaking into his torn white sleeve up to the elbow. They came in snarling packs, blinded by the all-encompassing hunger, and then died in packs, cut down by the merciless steel that healed with pain. His shoulder twitched and he whirled, fingers slashing through another as it was rent in two. Pathetic.

They were all _so_ pathetic.

A different cry rose up past the others, and he turned slowly, to watch. A Hollow, animalistic and brutal, towered above a fallen foe, whose cries for help only served to further enrage the creature. _An Adjuchas_, Ulquiorra mused, _one with substantial reiatsu_. The shinigami scrabbled on the bloodied, broken ground, trying in vain to recover his lost zanpakuto. The others shouted, closing in as they tried to save their comrade. Ulquiorra blinked, drinking in the scene with somnolent unconcern.

He was standing before the Hollow in a flash. Regarding it coldly, he parted his lips as if to speak, but no words formed. Instead, Ulquiorra inhaled, softly and quietly, yet with a sense of urgency that edged his breath with purpose. The Adjuchas thrashed and convulsed, rearing back as it staggered away, trying to escape its impending death.

Ulquiorra pressed his lips together in a hard, disapproving line, and the Hollow fell, all life sucked from its grotesque, serpentine body. Dark eyes regarded the fallen form with disdain before he stepped away, back to his place within the shadows.

The shinigami all watched him with a wary eye, still ignorant of his full capabilities. But what they did understand was the effectual help he provided and, secretly, they felt a certain sense of security as they realized this.

-

Rest was not something he needed.

As the rest of the reconnaissance team slept, he stood alone, marveling the silence that was his world of the past, the present, and… he could say nothing for the future. The uncertainty frightened him, but he refused to acknowledge it. He could afford no distractions, especially concerning his current position. _Although_, he thought, _a small squad of useless shinigami poses little threat to me…_

Hmph. Asinine fools; they placed too much faith in his supposed loyalty. And to think they could kill him… shinigami could not equal Hollows in strength. If he so desired, he could slaughter the lot of them and take his leave. And yet, he could not bring himself to turn and carry out this most logical course of action. His body would not comply and his mind seemed to lack the strength to force himself to.

"Arrancar."

He half turned to stare at the shinigami out of the corner of his eye. It was her, the woman who had hit him back in that cold room. She was watching him through narrowed eyes, her mouth set in a hard scowl. Save for her small stature, Ulquiorra would have compared her to Grimmjow; the same face, same expression, so easily read through thinly veiled haughtiness. He ignored her as she approached, stopping short somewhere behind him.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" the tone was suspicious, biting, but the were words spoken out of free will. For Ulquiorra, this was the first shinigami to speak to him outside of necessity, and he felt a faint ripple of amusement that came out as a scoff.

Lip curling into a sneer, he said, "About as much you are, apparently."

He sensed her stiffen and smirked inwardly. So easy to manipulate.

"I would expect nothing less from an arrancar." She said calmly, like a tempest wind at the eye of a storm. Vaguely, he noted that her self-control was harder to break than that fool Grimmjow's. He pressed harder.

"And it seems that _I_ have expected too much of the shinigami."

He could hear her breath at his shoulder as she drew ever closer. She was irritated, but not angry. He wanted her to be angry. He continued, irate,

"You are clearly delusional; do you think that you could win this war? Did you honestly think that I, the Cuatra Espada, would actually make a difference in your feeble attempts towards victory?" He refused to look at her, to see how close she really was. This woman was not worth his time; he could have turned around and killed her if he so wished, repercussions aside. It would have been an understatement to say that he was surprised, though, when she began to whisper into his ear with one of the coldest tones he had ever heard from another being, besides himself.

"If it were up to me, _Espada_, you would have been killed as soon as you were brought through the gates of the Seireitei. I, for one, see _no_ reason to keep you alive." She was still calm. Ulquiorra closed his eyes, the prospect of a challenge tugging at his consciousness. But her words twisted around his mind, betraying the insecurity he tried so hard to hide. It chafed, reopening the raw wound even as he struggled to ignore it. The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he had done.

"I see no reason, either."

The woman's surprise hit him like a wall, mingling with his own. She drew level with him, but he refused to look at her. He was acting on impulse again, and it disgusted him. He would not humiliate himself further by conceding to the enemy's requests. The shinigami inhaled and he braced himself for a solid round of verbal abuse.

"Don't you?"

Blinking, he processed her question. It did not sound like a threat, nor did it feel like one. The hostility seemed to ease between them as they reached a tacit discernment of each other's pains. But even though he had only one answer for her question, he turned the word around and around in his mouth before he spat it out.

"No."

He could feel the tension siphon away as he said this. He watched out his peripheral vision as she turned to face him.

Minutes passed before she spoke.

"There was a time when I thought the same as you. I thought that the world was nothing, that existing was only a specious meaning to hide the nothingness that was the truth."

There was nothing he could say to this. He still avoided her gaze, staring straight ahead. The silence stretched again, snapping and creaking before she snorted, crossing her arms.

"How humiliating. I am comparing myself to an arrancar, to _you,_ of all people. Well… I can't help but wonder," she said, pausing as she chose her words, "Would you compare yourself to one of us?"

His eyes hardened imperceptibly. "Never."

"…As expected."

The phrase was uttered with an underlying layer of skepticism and he felt the inexplicable need to prove himself, to this _shinigami_ of all things.

"Did you honestly think I would? Tell me, what is it that you find so doubtful?"

His accusation did nothing to dissuade her. "As I said… I once thought the same as you."

He glanced at her and their eyes met for the first time.

And the hate between them was transcended by understanding.

-

An ominous stillness filled the stale air. Not a single being moved among the shadows, creating the illusion of empty space as the rustle of cloth reached their ears even before those of footsteps. Aizen Sousuke entered the room, followed closely by Ichimaru Gin and Tousen Kaname. As the door only began to swing shut and the baleful light still streamed through in an endless tide, the shinigami was cast in an ethereal glow that, for a moment, gave the impression of the god he believed himself to be. Then, with a thud, darkness fell and he was Aizen again… but still a god, nonetheless.

With a sweeping gaze, he took note of the silent occupants as they held their positions around the hall. A brief smile, as was his customary greeting, and he spoke.

"My dear Espada…" he began, his initial smile waning into a falsely benign smirk, "Welcome to the first meeting with our new brothers and sisters."

Aizen surveyed the dark shapes as they leaned closer, revealing faces thrown in harsh relief from the artificial light. There were ten, and six new faces filled the gaps in the circle. A malignant air hung about the group, foreshadowing for the events to come.

The God smiled, and his subordinates flared.

"I have nothing more to say. Commence attack on Soul Society at once."

A Garganta opened and warm light flooded the room, which was almost immediately blotted out as the Espada swarmed the gateway.

-

A:N

Ha, how was that? Not too messed up?

Fight scene coming up next chapter, because I fucking love writing fight scenes.


	5. 四

I was so slow in uploading this. But seriously had a lot of fun writing it, I love writing fight scenes.

Another huge thank you to my beta-reader, plus a disclaimer stating that I don't own anything.

**Chapter 4**

**-**

"Maybe… this was what you were meant to do. _I_ think it is."

"… You are wrong."

-

Expectations: easy to imagine, easy to convey; yet so impossible to meet. Never before did he think that he would ever struggle so badly with any set before him, but now he floundered in the sea of needs and requests, sinking deeper and deeper with each ill-placed step. And all the while, he somehow knew that he could never reach the shore that marked the ends of the everlasting ocean of expectations. In fact, he didn't quite know how to meet them at all.

And then… _then_ there was the question of whom to accept them from.

-

As Orihime stared, her face upturned towards the skyline, the only thing she could think of was how the day had started like any other, and how she had believed it would end like any other. The rip in the sky groaned and widened, pieces of the dimension shifting away to reveal the faces of ten arrancar, bone masks stark against the dark backdrop of chaos. Her hands shook. Even as blood rushed in her ears and her mind _screamed_ at her to run, she stood motionless, rooted to the spot.

Around her, doors burst open and shinigami rushed out into the halls, fear and shock written on their features as they saw the dark blotch in the sky.

The two sides remained motionless for a moment. Then, with a flicker of movement, all hell broke loose.

-

He must have dozed off at some point, but managed to remain upright, silent even as he slept. Through the clearing haze, he felt a change in the air around him. A peculiar warmth was suddenly permeating the air, lifted upon the tepid breaths of the waking world. Slowly, Ulquiorra let his eyes slide open. He blinked.

Dawn was something he had never truly seen before. It was not only in the physical sense of the sun --- something unheard of in the darkness of Hueco Mundo --- but the admiration, the acknowledgement of the existence of something such as light. He found his gaze arrested by the glowing pinprick that turned the treetops into dark candles, its tiny flame waning and spreading until the horizon was set aflame by the sheer brilliance of golden sunlight. It was a paradox, the contradiction of the very foundations of his being eating him alive, yet enamoring him beyond his comprehension.

And then he heard the faint grind of dust under approaching footsteps.

A hand was laid on his shoulder, barely touching the fabric of his somewhat bloodied uniform. He turned at the slight contact and saw the flat eyes of the shinigami captain, Soifon. Her expression was inscrutable as their gazes met; no trace of their conversation from the night before could be seen on her face.

"We're leaving." The short sentence was uttered as a command.

He gave a curt nod and followed her through the barrier back into Soul Society.

What was she to him? Did he actually think anyone, _anyone _would actually give enough of themselves to care? Foolishness, he thought, it must be affecting me just as it affects the trash around me. It was frightening, not understanding the situation. He had always been so resourceful, but as he watched the shinigami's retreating back, he couldn't help feel the overwhelming fear that came with ignorance. What was this… confusion? Is this… a heart? Familiarity… is that what that woman --- Inoue Orihime --- talked so easily about?

Ulquiorra snorted quietly to himself. He had been naïve to sink this far into the shinigami existence, drawing ever closer to that thing called a '_heart'_. But he did not understand. A heart, a heart.

What was a heart?

-

Panic.

Frenzy.

Noise…

Orihime had never seen war. She had never tasted the air, thickened by the blood of countless victims, metallic and salty on her tongue. She had never felt the heaviness of consistent fear weighing down on her shoulders as she scrambled over broken grounds, half-expecting to be killed at any moment. Her entire body tingled as she imagined blades cutting through her, ceroes incinerating the world around her. But nothing, nothing was worse than the screaming, the shrieking of people, Hollows, _everyone_… as pandemonium raged.

Her breath caught in her throat as she skidded around a corner, running from what, she didn't quite know, running toward what, she didn't quite care.

_Oh god, oh god, let me find someone, anyone… I have to help, I have to heal someone, save someone! All the people dying, oh god…_

She heard footsteps hard on her heels, the roar of an unseen enemy giving chase. Orihime let a soft sob escape, her heart leaping to her throat. She knew that the arrancar was only toying with her and that death was now imminent. The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning, and she felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she abruptly came to terms with the inexorable brevity of existence.

_Ulquiorra, save me._

Her eyes widened in shock stronger than the realization of death. Her first thoughts had always been given towards Ichigo, towards Kurosaki-kun, who had always been the savior who never failed. And her, she had always cried for her nakama, always looked to them for help, _for strength_. And now, in face of mortal danger, she had cried out for Ulquiorra, of all people.

The thought only served to heighten her panic.

As her breath started to come in gasps and her legs began to drag from the weight of exhaustion, she felt the point of the blade singing towards her. She tried to raise trembling hands to her hairpins, tried to conjure a shield, but her arms were numb, her tired body too shocked by the sudden onslaught of death to respond to her will.

Orihime closed her eyes as the wind rushed past her, the world fading away into silence.

But the blow never came. Regardless, she kept her eyes closed, burying her face in her hands as if waiting for life to end swiftly. She closed her eyes and willed darkness to come, as she had done so many times on the first day of the holidays. Vaguely, she thought Ulquiorra would chide her for being so impractical as to compare two opposites as if they were the same thing.

_Please, kill me quickly._

"Inoue."

The voice was taut with strain, but she knew the sound anywhere. Her head snapped up, and she was greeted by Ichigo's warm brown eyes, his sword trembling against the arrancar's.

"Kuro… saki-kun?" her voice was barely a whimper, tears filling her eyes as she realized she was once again only a burden.

A smile shone through the worry, and Ichigo gritted out, "Are you okay?"

It took her a moment to process the question before she nodded yes, but she felt far from it. Instead, she stamped down her inner turmoil and tried to steel herself, willing herself to be strong, for Kurosaki-kun.

"Good." The smile broadened, though still wavering from the effort of holding off the arrancar. "Just hang in there for a bit, I'll make this quick --- "

"I --- I'm sorry."

The words tumbled out in a desperate rush for freedom. Ichigo had frozen save for the trembling in his arms as he tightened his grip on Zangetsu. "What?"

"I'm sorry for everything, Kurosaki-kun!" Orihime wailed, holding out her hand beseechingly.

There was a momentary silence and Ichigo's shoulders relaxed, his rigid demeanor falling away into the warmth she knew so well. He half turned his head again.

"It's okay, Inoue. Now stay back." he said, his voice softer than it had been a minute ago. "I have to take care of this guy first."

-

The first thing he heard were the screams. Ulquiorra allowed himself a small hiss as he was greeted by the sight of the dead, the burning, and the fighting that ran haphazardly across Soul Society. Chaos was the only thing that could describe it, the crumbling buildings, the swarming people trying in vain to escape what he saw as certain death. Flashes of light exploded among the battle, reiatsu spiking and fading all around him.

Chaos.

He heard a soft curse beside him and Soifon disappeared. He watched as she reappeared among the confusion below, sword drawn and flashing. His lips thinned as the rest of the shinigami trash followed, throwing themselves into battle without a second thought. The fools should have planned, should have looked to see where their presence would be most advantageous. Green eyes flickered back and forth among the figures, finding and noting where the white-clad enemy stood among the black uniforms. Finding no place worthy of his attention, he turned his head to the right.

His eyes widened. He spotted the unruly head of orange hair, a mere pinprick of color moving about among the confusion. Kurosaki Ichigo.

The shinigami was holding out badly. From what Ulquiorra could feel, his reiatsu was falling in steady increments, while his opponents only increased with confidence and savage joy. A closer inspection told him that he did not know this arrancar, but he took note of the formidable reiatsu and formed the only conclusions he could.

Aizen had created more Espada.

There was no hesitation involved. Ulquiorra drew Murciélago, the solid hilt secure in his hand. His entire being tensed with the anticipation of a battle, and he allowed a brief moment to still himself, to focus. He inhaled once, exhaled once. Then he moved, darting towards the ground in a sonido, his left hand shooting forwards the catch the blade as the right whipped his sword toward the face of the shocked Espada.

But the surprise only lasted for a moment. The arrancar arched backwards, tearing the blade upwards and out of Ulquiorra's grip. The two leapt apart, surveying each other through wary eyes. The other's reiatsu was high, very high, and Ulquiorra knew that this was an artificial Espada, with power that could rival his own. The thought did not settle well with him, and for the first time since he could remember, he felt the stirrings of anxiety flutter in his chest.

He heard a violent coughing emerge from beside him and he looked down to see the Kurosaki brat, heaving for breath as he struggled to his feet. Ulquiorra immediately disregarded this. Now that Kurosaki's survival was ensured, there was no point in validating the extent of his injuries. As long as he lived, it was enough.

He turned his head and, with a jolt of surprise, saw that the woman was standing there as well, her hands clenched among the folds her uniform. _Goddammit_ that woman was always there at the most inconvenient of times. He did not want a fight that included the protection of two useless 'comrades'.

"Woman." He said, keeping his voice short and clipped, "Heal the shinigami, and be quick about it."

Ulquiorra blinked as the other Espada shifted, broken stone crunching as he adjusted his stance. Green eyes bored into the calculating face, taking in the other's appearance. The arrancar was a good head taller than him, with bleached blond hair that was almost white. Eerie yellow eyes leered back at him, all but glowing with adrenaline and power. The Hollow's mask sat atop his head, curving across to extend down the bridge of his nose. A zanpakuto was clutched in his hand, handle wrapped in tight grey silk, the guard flashing in the light before the shadow of the Espada's hand darkened its surface. Their gazes connected for a brief moment, and in that moment, Ulquiorra saw the calm assurance of power behind the other's eyes, the same kind of assurance that he himself carried so easily with his unshakable aplomb.

There was nothing to be said. The two arrancar clashed again, swords meeting in a flash of sparks. The contact lasted only for a second, and silver streaked through the air as the blades crashed together again and again. As Ulquiorra sidestepped a thrust, he dropped, sweeping low with his zanpakuto, aiming for the temporarily unprotected legs. The enemy leapt, touching down behind him and Ulquiorra continued with his slash, whirling around and lifting his blade just in time to block the sword cutting down towards him.

With a screech, the intersecting blades slid past each other, and their wielders were forced apart, neither stumbling from the sudden change in pressure. It was a dance, a furious dance in which a mistake could and would cost a life. It was strange, Ulquiorra thought has he twisted himself in an attack from above, for such an analogy would have never occurred to him in Hueco Mundo. Something was changing, and he did not like it.

His hand shot out, grazing the other's cheek as they whirled past each other, and he stepped back quickly to avoid a blow he could not block. Blurred steel swept by inches from his face, and he actually saw two strands of dark hair part company with the others and fall to the ground.

This was the closest anyone had come to killing him in a _long_ while.

The mystery Espada's zanpakuto came whipping back up and Ulquiorra's left hand flickered out to block it. The sharp edge dug into his skin, and bright red trickled down the silver side. He jerked his arm to the right and slid himself to the left, behind his opponent. His sword shot forward and finally made contact, stabbing into the other's shoulder even as he turned. Ulquiorra brought his sword out and around just in time to block another sweeping blow, the impact jolting his arms painfully.

Gritting his teeth, he heaved with Murciélago, throwing the arrancar back. He jerked himself to his feet and followed, raising his zanpakuto in anticipation of a retaliatory blow.

Then his eyes widened. The Espada had turned, whipping his sword out towards Orihime, whose eyes widened impossibly further at the sudden attack. In a flash, Ulquiorra had appeared between them, swords crashing together.

There was a brief lull, and then, with a sharp report and an ear-splitting crack, Ulquiorra's zanpakuto broke. Shining fragments of metal hit the ground a second before the blade did, clattering upon the bloody ground with a despairing sense of finality.

The arrancar's yellow eyes remained cold as he swept his own blade down, ripping Ulquiorra open from collarbone to hip. Dark blood welled up, gushing from the wound even as the flesh began to knit itself back together. Ulquiorra felt his fallen zanpakuto's hilt slip from his fingers, but he never heard it hit the ground. His head spun and his spine arched backwards as he collapsed towards the ground. Eyes narrowed in anger and pain as a single word escaped his numb lips.

"_Shit."_

But before he could reach the ground, a hand was at his throat, jerking him up. He didn't move, hanging limp from the other's grasp as he waited patiently for the wounds to heal themselves. This had been expected; the arrancar's reiatsu had felt even stronger and denser than his own, and Ulquiorra did not think for a moment that he would get out of this battle unscathed. But this did not prevent the predictable shock he felt that came with this swift defeat.

"Oho."

The arrancar's light voice echoed strangely in his ears. He felt himself raised off the ground, a hand still gripping his neck with enough force to cut off his windpipe, but not enough to strangle him. He lowered his gaze to the yellow one, refusing to raise his hands to touch the one holding him.

"So you're the former Fourth Espada, huh?"

The dark mouth curved down slightly. "Former?" Ulquiorra echoed, voice low and cracked, yet firmly unyielding. It was only then that he realized the blow that felled him had torn his shirt as well, and the black number stood out plain as day against his white skin and red blood.

"Of _course_…" suspicious eyes flickered between the inscrutable face and the four tattooed on Ulquiorra's chest. "If you weren't the former, then how could I be the current?"

Ulquiorra froze, eyes locking in their sockets, his buzzing mind swiftly calculating the only plausible conclusion.

_Replaced_.

He had been… _replaced_.

Unnecessary. Superfluous. A deep ache welled up in his chest at the thought, the knowledge that he had been expendable. Something must have crept onto his face, for his opponent smirked, the expression more terrifying than any he had worn thus far. The hand tightened its grip, crushing Ulquiorra's windpipe. Immediately, instinct overwhelmed him and an animalistic panic overtook his mind. Back arched, he gave in to his need for oxygen and whipped his hands up to his throat, gripping the wrist of the Espada. But despite the fear, he fought to keep his expression dispassionate, empty.

The hand tightened further.

"Why are you here?" The new Espada asked, golden eyes narrowed pitilessly. "Why have you betrayed Aizen-sama?"

Ulquiorra snarled and spat in the arrancar's face. _Ridiculous, _he thought, _As if _I_ would humiliate myself further and give him a reason_.

The other arrancar made no move to wipe his face, nor did he take his eyes off Ulquiorra. The two remained motionless, not even blinking as they stared each other down, like two hungry predators meeting in the midst of a midnight forest, silent threats unspoken, silent claims untouched. The sounds around them swirled, adding motion where there was none. Slowly, Ulquiorra's vision faded and the pale, angular face before him dimmed until he could barely make anything out save for those malignant yellow eyes.

Then, with a jerk of his arm, the Espada threw Ulquiorra to the ground. He hit the stone with a pathetic, wet-sounding thud, landing in a small heap before the spectators, who had been, up until this point, all but forgotten.

Disdain was written over the fair features as he looked down at the fallen form. "I won't kill you… this time," he said, "But only because I think you still have more to you than what has been demonstrated today." There was a silence in which he stared one last time upon the former Fourth Espada. Then he turned and began to walk away, sheathing his bloodstained zanpakuto as he did.

As he retreated further and further away, he added in a carefree tone, "And because you haven't given me a damn answer."

Without another word, he disappeared.

A:N

Did it work? Yes? No? Yeeeahh?


End file.
