Bleach- "Into A Realm of Endless Possibility"
Title: Into A Realm of Endless Possibility
Universe: Bleach
Theme/Topic: N/A
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of violence
Character/Pairing/s: Kenpachi, Yachiru
Warnings/Spoilers: OOC and weirdness.
Word Count: 1,010
Summary: The difference between dead and dying is a million miles.
Dedication: sophiap’s really late birthday fic! Ahaha clearly my ideas are no good this month. Also, happy anniversary on your fic journal, m’dear!
A/N: Okay yeah, this is kind of like that Zoro fic, except Zoro and Kenpachi are the same in totally different ways ok. Or something.
Disclaimer: No harm is meant by this!
“He is dying,” they whisper amongst themselves in fearful tones, as the news washes across the gathered crowd of onlookers violently fast. “Zaraki Kenpachi is lying there dying.”
“I didn’t know a monster like this could be killed.”
“He bleeds the same as any other shinigami after all.”
“And so a beast is slain like a beast.”
Kenpachi hears it all from where he is splayed out on the ground, dark red blood bubbling up from his mouth and from the gaping wounds all along his body. The spectators pause in their fighting to stare down into his insides, exposed outside today on the battlefield.
“Zaraki Kenpachi has finally been killed today,” they whisper fearfully.
Not yet, Kenpachi thinks to himself, because he can still hear them. They’re like ants crawling on the ground, trying to pick up the carcass of a bigger creature to carry home with them.
“The eleventh division captain has been defeated. Spread the news! Zaraki Kenpachi has fallen in battle today. Send a messenger to Yamamoto-soutaichou; inform him that this flank will collapse without a captain here to defend it. Zaraki-taichou is dead and we must either retreat or have reinforcements!”
Kenpachi is not dead.
And he does not feel like dying today either.
As he thinks this he stops to take stock of the situation, ignoring the scurrying of the insects all around him. Instead, he listens to the ice-cold pain screaming through his body, the hurt that means he is still alive. His vision is blurry and a chill sweeps through his limbs with every inhale he takes, making it impossible to move, beyond painful to breathe. He can feel his insides quivering weakly, the slowing of his heartbeat, the sound of the dirt soaking up his blood in buckets.
He realizes that those ants are a little bit right; he is in the middle of dying.
But he’s not dead yet.
And that is a million miles of difference.
“Sound the retreat!” the insects carry on, oblivious to the discrepancy.
More blood pours out of Kenpachi’s wounds and seeps into the ground.
Get up, he tells himself, and feels irritated. Like a lion with flies buzzing around its tail. I’m not dead yet.
Alive is all that matters.
Because Kenpachi has always believed that being alive means that anything is possible. It is why he has left so many of his challengers that way at the end of a fight, despite what people might have to say about him on the matter, despite what rumors might have gathered in his shadow, whispering nonsense.
He’d left so many of those opponents alive because he knows that alive means a world of endless possibility.
It means that maybe he can fight with that person again one day in the future, after they have become stronger, faster, more of a challenge. When they hunt him down in search of vengeance. Alive means he can enjoy another battle, because death often does him no good in this world, neither to give nor to receive.
Life means that anything can still happen. The world can always change as long as you are there to change it, even if you’re dying.
So long as you aren’t dead yet.
Kenpachi, buoyed by the thought, shudders and closes his eyes.
“He’s finally expired,” they murmur. “How tragic.”
He tightens his fingers around his sword.
“He longs to fight even in death,” they theorize. “How like him.”
And then, after counting backwards from three, Zaraki Kenpachi grunts and stands up again.
They say nothing.
Instead, they scream.
He smiles and listens to their shouts while using one arm to hold his insides inside, while telling himself not yet over and over again even as he feels the warm, wet squish of blood and organs pulsing dully against the palm of his hand. He thinks he doesn’t feel like dying today. Because alive means possibility.
“Zaraki-taichou,” an insect sputters, somewhere down by Kenpachi’s feet, “please sit down. You’re wounded, sir.”
Zaraki ignores him and takes a step forward, towards the distant sounds of the battle still raging over the hill. He’s not done yet.
He’s still alive.
“Monster,” he hears some of the other shinigami murmur fearfully in his wake. “He’s a monster after all.”
He smiles to himself when the familiar words rustle through the ranks of the joint divisions. That’s more like it.
He takes another step forward, and as he does, a familiar weight lights on his shoulder.
“Ken-chan,” Yachiru declares, “you look happy, ne.”
Kenpachi supposes that he does. “Where’s the fucker who tried to gut me?” he asks her.
Yachiru points straight ahead. “That way?”
Kenpachi looks skeptical. “You sure?”
She nods and stands on her tiptoes atop his back, staring out over the distance. “Mmmhmmm! I can see him wearing Ken-chan’s jacket from here, ne. It’s all red now, though.”
“Oh?”
“Yup!”
He laughs, and the pain finally starts to stop when he hears her report; it starts to get pushed back by something else altogether, something a lot like anticipation. The hand holding his insides inside twitches against his stomach, growing hot alongside the rest of him, as he prepares to finish what has begun here today, in a universe full of endless possibilities.
Behind him, the shinigami who watched him dying now watch him stride over the crest of the hill like he’d never for a moment, been anything but alive.
“Impossible,” they mutter amongst themselves with very, very small voices.
Zaraki Kenpachi ignores the quiet buzzing of the insects on the ground below him and instead, looks over the top of the high hill, heading straight towards the back of the first enemy to excite him this much in a long time.
He proceeds to get his coat back.
Later that day, in the infirmary of seireitei’s fourth division hospital, yet another legend surrounding the mysterious and fearsome eleventh division captain is born.
“He is immortal,” they say.
The most frightening part is that they know it is by sheer force of will.
END
EDITS PLZ.
Universe: Bleach
Theme/Topic: N/A
Rating: PG-13 for mentions of violence
Character/Pairing/s: Kenpachi, Yachiru
Warnings/Spoilers: OOC and weirdness.
Word Count: 1,010
Summary: The difference between dead and dying is a million miles.
Dedication: sophiap’s really late birthday fic! Ahaha clearly my ideas are no good this month. Also, happy anniversary on your fic journal, m’dear!
A/N: Okay yeah, this is kind of like that Zoro fic, except Zoro and Kenpachi are the same in totally different ways ok. Or something.
Disclaimer: No harm is meant by this!
“He is dying,” they whisper amongst themselves in fearful tones, as the news washes across the gathered crowd of onlookers violently fast. “Zaraki Kenpachi is lying there dying.”
“I didn’t know a monster like this could be killed.”
“He bleeds the same as any other shinigami after all.”
“And so a beast is slain like a beast.”
Kenpachi hears it all from where he is splayed out on the ground, dark red blood bubbling up from his mouth and from the gaping wounds all along his body. The spectators pause in their fighting to stare down into his insides, exposed outside today on the battlefield.
“Zaraki Kenpachi has finally been killed today,” they whisper fearfully.
Not yet, Kenpachi thinks to himself, because he can still hear them. They’re like ants crawling on the ground, trying to pick up the carcass of a bigger creature to carry home with them.
“The eleventh division captain has been defeated. Spread the news! Zaraki Kenpachi has fallen in battle today. Send a messenger to Yamamoto-soutaichou; inform him that this flank will collapse without a captain here to defend it. Zaraki-taichou is dead and we must either retreat or have reinforcements!”
Kenpachi is not dead.
And he does not feel like dying today either.
As he thinks this he stops to take stock of the situation, ignoring the scurrying of the insects all around him. Instead, he listens to the ice-cold pain screaming through his body, the hurt that means he is still alive. His vision is blurry and a chill sweeps through his limbs with every inhale he takes, making it impossible to move, beyond painful to breathe. He can feel his insides quivering weakly, the slowing of his heartbeat, the sound of the dirt soaking up his blood in buckets.
He realizes that those ants are a little bit right; he is in the middle of dying.
But he’s not dead yet.
And that is a million miles of difference.
“Sound the retreat!” the insects carry on, oblivious to the discrepancy.
More blood pours out of Kenpachi’s wounds and seeps into the ground.
Get up, he tells himself, and feels irritated. Like a lion with flies buzzing around its tail. I’m not dead yet.
Alive is all that matters.
Because Kenpachi has always believed that being alive means that anything is possible. It is why he has left so many of his challengers that way at the end of a fight, despite what people might have to say about him on the matter, despite what rumors might have gathered in his shadow, whispering nonsense.
He’d left so many of those opponents alive because he knows that alive means a world of endless possibility.
It means that maybe he can fight with that person again one day in the future, after they have become stronger, faster, more of a challenge. When they hunt him down in search of vengeance. Alive means he can enjoy another battle, because death often does him no good in this world, neither to give nor to receive.
Life means that anything can still happen. The world can always change as long as you are there to change it, even if you’re dying.
So long as you aren’t dead yet.
Kenpachi, buoyed by the thought, shudders and closes his eyes.
“He’s finally expired,” they murmur. “How tragic.”
He tightens his fingers around his sword.
“He longs to fight even in death,” they theorize. “How like him.”
And then, after counting backwards from three, Zaraki Kenpachi grunts and stands up again.
They say nothing.
Instead, they scream.
He smiles and listens to their shouts while using one arm to hold his insides inside, while telling himself not yet over and over again even as he feels the warm, wet squish of blood and organs pulsing dully against the palm of his hand. He thinks he doesn’t feel like dying today. Because alive means possibility.
“Zaraki-taichou,” an insect sputters, somewhere down by Kenpachi’s feet, “please sit down. You’re wounded, sir.”
Zaraki ignores him and takes a step forward, towards the distant sounds of the battle still raging over the hill. He’s not done yet.
He’s still alive.
“Monster,” he hears some of the other shinigami murmur fearfully in his wake. “He’s a monster after all.”
He smiles to himself when the familiar words rustle through the ranks of the joint divisions. That’s more like it.
He takes another step forward, and as he does, a familiar weight lights on his shoulder.
“Ken-chan,” Yachiru declares, “you look happy, ne.”
Kenpachi supposes that he does. “Where’s the fucker who tried to gut me?” he asks her.
Yachiru points straight ahead. “That way?”
Kenpachi looks skeptical. “You sure?”
She nods and stands on her tiptoes atop his back, staring out over the distance. “Mmmhmmm! I can see him wearing Ken-chan’s jacket from here, ne. It’s all red now, though.”
“Oh?”
“Yup!”
He laughs, and the pain finally starts to stop when he hears her report; it starts to get pushed back by something else altogether, something a lot like anticipation. The hand holding his insides inside twitches against his stomach, growing hot alongside the rest of him, as he prepares to finish what has begun here today, in a universe full of endless possibilities.
Behind him, the shinigami who watched him dying now watch him stride over the crest of the hill like he’d never for a moment, been anything but alive.
“Impossible,” they mutter amongst themselves with very, very small voices.
Zaraki Kenpachi ignores the quiet buzzing of the insects on the ground below him and instead, looks over the top of the high hill, heading straight towards the back of the first enemy to excite him this much in a long time.
He proceeds to get his coat back.
Later that day, in the infirmary of seireitei’s fourth division hospital, yet another legend surrounding the mysterious and fearsome eleventh division captain is born.
“He is immortal,” they say.
The most frightening part is that they know it is by sheer force of will.
END
EDITS PLZ.