(no subject)
There is blood on the steps of Thirteenth Division. Blood that, for once, isn’t his, which makes it all the more horrifying. There’s enough there to be more than a small injury, pooling and dripping down the stairs.
He picks up his pace a little, avoiding stepping in the pools as best he can, and going to pull open the heavy wood doors emblazoned with his division’s insignia. The doors themselves are strangely clean, though as he pulls them open they drag a tattered piece of fabric with them - it’s almost entirely soaked through with blood but in the few spots it’s not, it’s a soft pink, with the edge of a flower pattern peeking out from under the crimson red. There’s a clarity to the image, as if this one piece of the world has suddenly come into perfect focus.
It’s gone a second later as he steps inside, trying not to think too hard about the meaning behind that scrap of pink. The hallways are worse, though - more red than their original color, and it’s only a few steps in before he sees the first body. It’s one of his division members - unseated, but he knows the man’s name, his smile, the sound of his laughter. The smile is gone, now, replaced by a vacant look of fear as his body lies lifeless against one wall. He can feel fear and sorrow, tight and heavy in his chest, and he forces himself to continue on; to leave the body for a moment to try and find the culprit.
The rest of the building is the same. Some bodies are more ripped apart than others, but they are all familiar faces and none of them have died peacefully. He forces the grief down, telling himself there will be time for it after. He stops abruptly outside his office door, though - Sentarou and Kiyone sit on either side of the door in grotesque parody of guards. Their zanpakuto are driven through their chests, pinning them to the wall. He swallows once, audibly, forcing down the rising bile, and pushes open the door.
Inside of the office is the first bit of life he’s seen in the building - at least until the second glance. At first, all he sees is Kaien’s face - the familiar shock of black hair, the warm smile, and all he can think is Thank the gods they left him, at least. Then he takes in the rest of the tableau - the usually-blue-green eyes are pools of blackness, and there are splatters of red on his hands and arms, staining into the fabric of his shihakusho. At the base of the desk he’s so casually sitting on, resting up against his legs, is the broken body of Kuchiki Rukia.
“Taichou,” the monster wearing Kaien’s face drawls, reaching down with one hand to gently stroke Rukia’s hair. “So glad you could join us. I saved the best for last, see?” Ukitake’s blade is out in an instant, but his hands are shaking, knuckles white on Sougyo no Kotowari’s hilt. The hollow laughs softly, something about the sound cutting in to Ukitake’s chest. “That’s not very nice now, is it? After all, you brought this on them.”
The voice is so much like Kaien’s it hurts, and Ukitake tries to reply; to stave off those accusations which hurt as much as sword cuts, but as he goes to speak, a shapeless tendril of darkness shoots out from behind ‘Kaien’s’ back to wrap around his throat, cutting off the flow of air. “If you’d been a little stronger, maybe you could have saved them.” Sougyo falls to the ground in a clatter as Ukitake claws at the shadow around his neck - trying to tear it loose, trying to breathe. “But you always put your own pride first.” The entire scene is dimming now as Ukitake’s own vision narrows, struggling to hold on to consciousness. Then, abruptly, the image cuts off.
[ originally posted here]
He picks up his pace a little, avoiding stepping in the pools as best he can, and going to pull open the heavy wood doors emblazoned with his division’s insignia. The doors themselves are strangely clean, though as he pulls them open they drag a tattered piece of fabric with them - it’s almost entirely soaked through with blood but in the few spots it’s not, it’s a soft pink, with the edge of a flower pattern peeking out from under the crimson red. There’s a clarity to the image, as if this one piece of the world has suddenly come into perfect focus.
It’s gone a second later as he steps inside, trying not to think too hard about the meaning behind that scrap of pink. The hallways are worse, though - more red than their original color, and it’s only a few steps in before he sees the first body. It’s one of his division members - unseated, but he knows the man’s name, his smile, the sound of his laughter. The smile is gone, now, replaced by a vacant look of fear as his body lies lifeless against one wall. He can feel fear and sorrow, tight and heavy in his chest, and he forces himself to continue on; to leave the body for a moment to try and find the culprit.
The rest of the building is the same. Some bodies are more ripped apart than others, but they are all familiar faces and none of them have died peacefully. He forces the grief down, telling himself there will be time for it after. He stops abruptly outside his office door, though - Sentarou and Kiyone sit on either side of the door in grotesque parody of guards. Their zanpakuto are driven through their chests, pinning them to the wall. He swallows once, audibly, forcing down the rising bile, and pushes open the door.
Inside of the office is the first bit of life he’s seen in the building - at least until the second glance. At first, all he sees is Kaien’s face - the familiar shock of black hair, the warm smile, and all he can think is Thank the gods they left him, at least. Then he takes in the rest of the tableau - the usually-blue-green eyes are pools of blackness, and there are splatters of red on his hands and arms, staining into the fabric of his shihakusho. At the base of the desk he’s so casually sitting on, resting up against his legs, is the broken body of Kuchiki Rukia.
“Taichou,” the monster wearing Kaien’s face drawls, reaching down with one hand to gently stroke Rukia’s hair. “So glad you could join us. I saved the best for last, see?” Ukitake’s blade is out in an instant, but his hands are shaking, knuckles white on Sougyo no Kotowari’s hilt. The hollow laughs softly, something about the sound cutting in to Ukitake’s chest. “That’s not very nice now, is it? After all, you brought this on them.”
The voice is so much like Kaien’s it hurts, and Ukitake tries to reply; to stave off those accusations which hurt as much as sword cuts, but as he goes to speak, a shapeless tendril of darkness shoots out from behind ‘Kaien’s’ back to wrap around his throat, cutting off the flow of air. “If you’d been a little stronger, maybe you could have saved them.” Sougyo falls to the ground in a clatter as Ukitake claws at the shadow around his neck - trying to tear it loose, trying to breathe. “But you always put your own pride first.” The entire scene is dimming now as Ukitake’s own vision narrows, struggling to hold on to consciousness. Then, abruptly, the image cuts off.
[ originally posted here]