#Yes its also more Long Hair Legend Propaganda

[ra-archives]

A collection of Sprint prompts from the LU Discord that I've done, varying in quality.

[robbyrobinson]

Favorite Monsters and Cryptids

1) Black-Eyed Children: What these beings are no one knows. Some cite them as being demons or vampires who require permission to be allowed in. Some say they're alien-human hybrids or tulpas (thought beings). Even interdimensional entities or the ghosts of deceased children. They are described as either wearing old-timey clothing or dark-colored hoodies. They have extremely pale, oftentimes peachy skin tones and speak in a monotonous, adult-like fashion. They approach their target's home or car to knock or their door or window saying that they needed to get in because of bizarre reasons. If they are further denied entry, they become increasingly enraged and reveal their dark, turquoise eyes. In some cases, the witness almost considers opening the door...at least until they catch a glimpse of their eyes. 

2) Mothman: A large, red-eyed creature that was described as stalking Point Pleasant from 1966-1967 in West Virginia. Typical descriptions depict the Mothman as bat-like in appearance that had a deafening screech. On December 15, 1967, the Silver Bridge collapsed killing 46 civilians. Strangely enough, Mothman seemingly disappeared after the tragedy, many believing that the Mothman was a harbinger of the bad omen. 

3) Reptilians: Crazy conspiracy theory aside, Reptilians are shapeshifting extraterrestrials said to hail from the Alpha Draconis star system. David Icke, in particular, believes that they infiltrated the Earth to take over each of the world's governing bodies. Some also say that they terrorize humanity because they feed on negative emotions and what better way than to stoke the flames of anger and fearmongering than with propaganda? 

4) Shadow People: Ever thing you catch something moving from the corner of your eye? Shadow People are believed to be different things ranging from guardian angels; demons; interdimensional beings, etc. The Hatman is often considered to be the leader of the Shadow People and is considered as being the most dangerous out of his wicked kind, but many say that he is an entirely different being. 

5) Kuchisake-Onna: A Japanese urban legend, it is said that Kuchisake was once a beautiful woman married to a samurai. When the samurai felt that she was being unfaithful, he cut her mouth and killed her. Since then, she had become a vengeful spirit wearing a trench coat with a surgical mask. Carrying a pair of scissors, if she approaches a victim, she would ask them if they thought she was pretty. If they say no, she kills them. If yes, she would remove her mask to reveal her Glasgow grin and asks the question again. If the victim said yes again, she would make their mouth like hers. 

6) Teke Teke: Another ghost from Japanese folklore, Teke Teke was a woman or schoolgirl who was bisected by a train. One take of the legends have her ask her victims if they knew where her legs were. If they said no, she would rip their legs off. Another variation has Teke Teke go after the listener if they heard the story. 

7) Eight Foot Tall: A demon disguising itself as an 8-ft tall woman wearing a sundress and straw hat. She targets children and is recognizable by her demonic droning. 

8) Machine Elves: They are extradimensional entities often described as being sighted by those taking DMT. They claim to be the architects of different planes of existence but have unstable forms that continually contort. Everything happens at a fast pace in their world with all of them having high-pitched voices.

9) Greys: The stock character many think of when the possibility of extraterrestrial life is speculated. They are buglike in depiction with almond-shaped black eyes. Some say they were created by the reptilians as a slave race that deflected. They are commonly associated with alien abductions.

10) Butterfly People of Joplin: In 2011, a devastating tornado hit Joplin, Missouri that killed several people. But from the disaster, many children claimed that they experienced winged beings that saved them by holding back falling debris with their wings. One boy was found miles away in a field claiming that the Butterfly People wrapped him in it to smoothen his fall. 

11) Chupacabra: Later takes of the cryptid posit the creature as being more canine in its features. They are accredited to draining the blood from livestock such as goats. 

12) Jersey Devil: its origin story is really unique. The story goes that when a mother of 12 kids was due to have a 13th, she in annoyance, prayed for that child to be a devil. The baby is born and appears to be relatively normal. But then it, of course, transforms into a horrible abomination, escaping into the woods. 

13) Bigfoot and the Abominable Snowman: Bigfoot or the Sasquatch is an ape-like, humanoid creature believed to have been sighted in several parts of North America. Some believe that the Sasquatch is either an ancient ape species that had escaped extinction, or some even assume that Bigfoot is the missing link that researchers have been searching for. The Abominable Snowman is similar to Sasquatch in some fashion, the exception being that the creature was sighted in the mountains of the Himalayas. There have been some samples of hair believed to have been those of a Yeti's that were analyzed to be the fur of an extinct species of bear from the time of the ice age. 

14) Mongolian Death Worm: In the Gobi Desert, there is believed to be a large species of worm that is said to have lethal venom that could kill anyone who even slightly touched the creature. It can even generate electricity. The worm was also known to hunt camels, and would then lay its eggs in the intestines. 

15) The Loch Ness Monster: Probably one of the most famous examples of a cryptid in cryptozoology. Believed to be an ancient creature such as a plesiosaur, the Loch Ness Monster, or Nessie, is believed to inhabit Loch Ness. Described as having a long neck, flippers, and endless humps, accounts of the creature date far back to the time of Saint Columbia. Interest in the creature continued until in the 1930s, an alleged photograph of the monster dubbed the Surgeon's Photograph goes down in history as one of the best cases for the existence of Nessie. Even though the photograph was a hoax, many others had given their accounts of the Loch Ness Monster through the use of sonar and photography. 

16) Black Stick Men are what happens when you take drawings of simple stick figures and give them sentience. They are believed to be two-dimensional in appearance, and can even generate electrical discharges. Unlike with other paranormal entities, Black Stick Men are not connected to supernatural events. So, they just appear randomly for no real rhyme nor reason. They are believed to feed on negative emotions and their presence incites aggression and uneasiness. 

17) Wendigo: In Native American myth, a Wendigo is born when a hapless human commits the act of cannibalism in desperation. As punishment, they are transformed into a monster with an insatiable hunger that would never be quenched. They don't have a corporal form, but they are often represented as antlered-humanoids. 

18) Ningen: These are giant, aquatic humanoid entities that are commonly sighted in the waters of the Arctic. Some species are alleged to grow to great lengths.

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 9

Crown of Thorns

Before they set off for Seireitei the next morning Ichigo hands a backpack to each of his friends.

‘Backpack’ isn’t the right word. It’s a sling bag that will strap across one shoulder each. Kukaku had been nice enough to provide him with them. They’ve got basic medicines, rations, a small flashlight and a bowie knife, a few other things that came in strangely useful in Ichigo’s experience. Like a roll of tinfoil, and a ball of rubber bands.

“Once we get into the seireitei, we’re gonna make a flashy entrance. People are going to see us and they’re going to report on what we look like. As soon as we land we need to find the laundry, or the barracks, and steal uniforms.”

He holds a hand up to keep Uryu from objecting.

“I know you hate it. Deal with it. Orihime and I will be the most distinct. Chad and Uryu can probably change clothes, maybe hair styles and be fine. She and I will have to change hair color.”

They won’t have time to dye their hair, and even if they did Ichigo knows they were both loath to do so. Orihime prided her hair for Sora, her brother. Ichigo was just plain stubborn.

“There’s wigs in both of our bags,” and in Ichigos, his Chaldeas combat uniform in all its white and black glory. It will cover the rather distinct mark on his chest. He turns to their guide.

“Yoruichi. There’s different squads, what do we need to know about them? Characteristics, duties, positions. Anything.”

The cat has been staring at him this entire time. Ichigo doesn’t quite know what to make of it. She shakes herself out of it.

“You’re right. Each squad has different duties and different specialities. There’s also rivalries between certain squads. Each squad has approximately 200 individuals.”

“That’s not good,” Ichigo grimaces. “200 is small enough to be able to recognize people by face if not name.”

“Yes, but the turnover rate for unseated officers is low enough I don’t think it will pose a problem,” Yoruichi continues. She gives them a run through of symbols and squads associated with them, before moving on, “the first division is made up of those who are able to take charge. They rank highest, besides seated officers. They will be the second worst to masquerade as. The absolute worst will be the second division, who work as covert operations. They handle wetwork.”

“Assassins,” Ichigo understands. “And spies?”

“Sometimes. That also falls to the Third division, which serves as a secondary source of information gathering and is in charge of media, communication, and, for lack of a better word, propaganda. Fourth division is medics and combat medics. The fifth has historically been an emergency response system, and are one of the most combat ready.”

Ichigo nods along. Orihime would be best suited to the forth then. Chad, perhaps the fifth?

“The sixth division runs internal affairs. Even if Rukia had not been their captain's sister, it would have been someone from the sixth sent to retrieve her. Seventh doesn’t have a particular speciality as far as I know, but they are typically sincere people. The eighths division is made up almost entirely of women, and they are the reservists and jacks of all trades. They work closely with the thirteenth. Rukia’s own division.”

“Are they mostly women as well?”

“No. They typically do the most work outside of the soul society, sending people to the living world and protecting people from hollows. Ninth division is also combat oriented. They are entrusted with the defense of the seireitei. They count the paperwork of all high ranking officers as well. The tenth is in charge of inter squad cooperation and joint task forces. The eleventh is full of heavy hitters and combat specialists. They are one of the largest divisions, and also the one with the highest mortality rate. Twelfth is research and development. We should avoid them as well.”

Ichigo taps his fingers along his leg. “Orihime should find something from the fourth. She’s the only one who can heal, and can probably pass her abilities off as a zanpakuto if needed. None of the rest of us could be in the eighth, and the thirteenth seems too close to each other to be fooled. I don’t know enough about science for the twelve.”

“I could probably pass, but I would rather not,” Uryu agrees.

“That’s fine. I think it’s best if I say I’m in the eleventh. I have the sword and the fighting ability too. Chad, I think you’d be best for ninth. And Uryu, sixth. We need to avoid one through three if we can.”

“Ichigo…”

Ichigo looks up at Chad. “Huh?”

“When did you start planning like this?”

Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer that. He learned on the battlefields of france. He learned in the streets of london. He learned on the decks of the Golden Hind, the plains of america, the mountains of the middle east and the deserts of egypt. They had been weaker, they had been lesser. They had heart and desperation, but they had to fight smarter not just harder. It was the only option. He had to learn or he had to die.

“Chaldea, I guess,” he finally says. “We need to be quick and careful. This is a rescue mission, not a war.”

Chad looks at him for a long moment. Finally, he nods.

“Okay.”

They break apart and come back together around the ball that Kukaku hands them. She looks at Ichigo intently.

“This energy needs to be balanced between all of you equally. Your power is insane. You’ll have to put barely any into it.”

“That’ll suck,” Ichigo says bluntly. “I’m not good at holding back.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “No choice though. Let’s go.”

Before they can start, Ganju grabs his wrist. Ichigo keeps himself from elbowing him in the face.

“What?” Ichigo asks, turning to look at him.

“Why are you going through all of this for one shinigami? Why is she so special?” Ganju asks. For once he looks absolutely serious. Ichigo stands straighter and lifts his stubborn jaw.

“It’s because she saved my life. And my family’s lives. She gave her power to me, and because of that she’s going to die. I owe her,” he said again, “And I will repay that debt.”

Ganju searches his face for something. Whatever he finds must satisfy him. He lets go of Ichigo, but Ichigo grabs his arm before he can get far.

“Why are you coming along? It’s not like you have a stake in this. You’re not one of our friends. You’ve never even met any of us before this, and you clearly hate shinigami.”

Ganju looks ready to say something, but Kukaku shoves her way between them and cuts it off.

“Enough chit chat, let’s go already. You’re wasting daylight, idiot.”

Ichigo can’t argue with that. They circle the sphere and Ichigo lets only the barest of his reiryoku bleed into it.

He’s not oblivious. He knows the difference in his power and theirs is about where he and Mash had been when they’d first began. She was endowed with the power and skills of a great warrior of ages past and he was little more than an amateur mage who fought punks on the side.

Now he’s got his own power, his own sword, and he’s been trained by the best warriors to ever walk the earth. He’d learned at the knees of literal legends. He’d faced down gods and demons and he’d lead armies.

He had the power, he had the experience.

It’s time to go.

They climb into the canon, form the sphere, and the chant begins.

Kido isn’t so different from magic. The only difference is the type of energy that’s being used. Reiryoku and mana are the opposite of two coins, the body and the soul. The living and the dead.

Ichigo figures now he stands somewhere between the two. He doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t need to.

All he needs to know is how to fight and win, for the sake of his friends.

*

Ichigo will admit, it’s somewhat terrifying how  big this goddamn continent is. They’ve been marching for what feels like forever. He knows that the northern army has been holding the celts back for at least a week. He doesn’t know how much longer they can last, and they themselves are still a good week from the white house.

The stress of the situation was still heavy on Ichigo’s shoulders, but Kyo was a good person to carry part of it. Mash is under just as much stress as he is, but she must be made of stronger stuff than he is.

She presses on with all the faith in the world that they will stand victorious when the dust settles.

Ichigo has less faith, and more bullheaded refusal to accept any other outcome.

Kyo, he can tell, doesn’t understand this.

They stand in a field of death. Celts lay at their feet, blood drips from Ichigo’s sword and stains his cheek. His orange hair is dyed red in places.

These are soldiers who were born only to fight. They were made to die at the behest of a wicked queen and an artificial king. They never knew childhood. They never knew joy or a future. They only knew the present, they only knew what they were made to do.

To fight. To kill. To die.

“This is wrong,” Ichigo says, his hands fisted at his side and his jaw set in stubborn anger. In one hand his sword weeps bloody tears into crushed flowers at his feet. A mansion sets in the background, once grand, and around them stretches the ruins of a garden. A headless cherub gushes brown water into a red basin.

Kyo reaches down and plucks the flower from its place on the ground.  Ichigo knows well he has the heart of a poet and the mind of a scholar.

“Orchids,” he says, showing Ichigo where the violet petals stretch through the violent stains.

“I doubt we can get perfume from them.” The stench of rot and death hasn’t set in just yet, but it will. Ichigo would rather not stick around.

“No, but they’re out of place here, don’t you think?” He must see the scowl on Ichigo’s face, for he goes on without prompting. “Orchids are a spring flower. One of the four gentlemen. They’re a rather old concept in art.”

“Old for you must mean ancient for us,” Ichigo tries to turn the subject, but Kyo merely shrugs.

“You humans live short, scared lives. And we, long and terrible ones. It’s the way things are…”

It’s there again. The look in Kyo’s eyes. The one he’d had when he was first telling Ichigo about Rukongai and seireitei, and the empty throne that sits atop the world. There’s a longing for change, Kyo is too stubborn and ambitious not to have it, but there’s something else holding him back.

Ichigo scowls and closes the distance between them in a single stride.

“You just sound defeatist. So it’s hard, so you’ll have to fight. So you just give up? Are you going to give in to the status quo when you return to Soul Society?” Ichigo demands. He grasps Kyo by the front of his shihakusho and drags him so close that their noses almost touch. Brown eyes meet brown, one set wide and the other narrowed. “Half the fight is always mental. If you talk like that, you’ll never win, and nothing will never change!”

Ichigo bites out his hardest truth. “A victor should talk about how the world should be. Not how the world is.”

Kyo opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish. Ichigo has never seen the man so wrong footed before. Even when Ichigo had shoved part of his soul into Kyo’s body, there hadn’t been time for him to be so stunned.

Now he gets to see those brown eyes shift. From shock to understanding to a near burning determination that his calm demeanor barely betray’s.

Ichigo is getting good at reading him.

He can see the blossoming dream inside his heart. Soon time will erase everything, but maybe, just maybe, some things will remain. Impressions, hopes. Dreams.

Kyo lifts the orchid up between them, purple and red in equal turns, and incinerates it with only a whispered spell.

* *

They’re forced to split apart upon entry.

It’s not ideal, nothing about the situation is. All the same, Ichigo deals with it.

He finds himself spat out into a street with no name and no distinction with Ganju, who lands in a pile of sand while Ichigo himself land catlike on his feet. Yoruichi still sits on his shoulder, steady and growing familiar. She isn’t Fou, but the presence is welcome all the same.

It takes all of ten minutes for someone to find them.

Typical.

Ichigo glances at Yoruichi on his shoulder. “Are you staying, or do you wanna step to the side?”

Yoruichi considers him with those wide golden eyes of hers. He always feels like she’s looking more than skin deep.

“I’ll be off to the side. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Give me some credit,” Ichigo rolls his eyes and bends down enough that Yoruichi can hop to the ground comfortably.

He tilts his head at Ganju. “Hey. I’ll take the stronger one. Do what you want with pretty boy.”

“Oh?” one of the opposing shinigami smiles and flutters his weird feather eyelashes at him. “You really think I’m pretty?”

It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. Ichigo grimaced at him. “You look like you spend twenty minutes in front of a mirror every morning. If you don’t exfoliate, I’m a hollow.”

“Well, Yumichika, looks like this guy has got you pegged!” the other one, a blond man who has his sword propped on a shoulder, grins at Ichigo. There’s red around the corners of his eyes. Make up? Tattoos?

“I’m not pegging anyone, thanks,” Ichigo says dryly.

The three dead people stare at him blankly.

“Huh?” pretty boy, Yumichika, asks.

Ichigo shook his head swiftly. “I’m not explaining that.” At least Yoruichi snorted at him.

“Well, doesn’t matter. All I need to know is that today…” the bald man started bouncing around on his toes with his sword out in front of him. Dancing? “I’m lucky! Lucky, it’s my lucky day!”

“Ichigo!” Ganju hisses, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m not fighting these guys, they’re way too strong! I’m gonna run.”

“What? No. If you run we might get split up! That’s a terrible plan, just hold him off until I finish my fight.”

“Hah?” Ganju scowls at him. “Since when are you the boss?!”

“Since I knocked your ass flat on the ground, that’s when!”

“I don’t care what you say,” Ganju scrambles out of the sand box he made. “I’m outta here!”

Ichigo watches him go sprinting before he looks to Yoruichi. “Oi. Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Yoruichi gives a long suffering sigh. “I suppose I must. He is Kukaku’s brother, after all.”

Without another word the cat trots off at Ganju’s heels, keeping pace easily.

Ichigo is left with the two locals.

“...Did that cat just… talk?” Yumichika points after the runaway, his perfectly trimmed brows furrowed.

“Ee-yup.”

“Yumichika,” the bald one nods to his companion, who grunts in response and takes off after Ganju. Ichigo has no choice but to let him go and trust Ganju to handle himself. He doesn’t know if he can take the both of these guys at once. They’re clearly close. He’s sure they’re a terribly effective tag team too, and he really doesn’t have time for this.

“Your friend. He could tell we’re stronger, and he ran. You would have been smart to do the same,” the bald man says, eying Ichigo speculatively.

Ichigo merely shrugs. It’s not in his nature to back down from a fight. It never has been, and now it is even less.

“I figure, if you are stronger you’ll catch up,” They aren’t, he can see clearly.  “I’ll have to fight you either way. Besides, if you’re not then I’ll just kick your ass now and move on.”

He shifts himself, draws his sword and bares his teeth.

The man laughs, sounding far too delighted. This is someone who revels in combat.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” he praises, drawing his sword from his scabbard. Ichigo blocks the blow that comes, and ducks the swipe of his sheath. Ichigo bounces back and comes against him again, a whirl of blade. He twists out of the way of another blow and smashes his elbow above the man's eye, splitting his brow. He barely moves back from the blade that slices through his own. Blood drips into his left eye, a mirror of the damage he’s inflicted. They separate.

It’s the bald man, his opponent, who brings them to a pause. The air isn’t as heavy as he would expect. This man may want him dead, but Ichigo can tell; he’s fighting for the fun of it.

(Ichigo loathes to admit it, but he is too. Rukia is going to die, Ganju is being chased by someone dangerous, and Ichigo is here having  fun )

(It makes him sick to realize that the life of one person weighs less heavily than all of human history.

Rukia is his friend, how can he think such a thing?)  

“That was good. You’ve got good reflexes. You’re stong. What’s your name?”

Ichigo doesn’t see a reason to pretend to be anyone he’s not.

“Ichigo,” he says easily. “And you are?”

“Ikkaku Madarame. Third seat of squad eleven. Ichigo huh? That’s a good name.”

“You think so?” Ichigo arches a brow, privately waiting for him to say something about strawberries.

“Yeah. They say guys with ‘ichi’ in their names are strong and forthright. So…”

He lifted his sword again, his scabbard in a reverse grip behind him and grins like mad. “What say we be friends, Ichi?”

Ichigo wishes Urahara were here, if only so he could crow an ‘i told you so’.

Ichigo levels his sword and can’t help the curve of his mouth. “Fine. But only if I win. If I lose. I figure I’ll be dead.”

“Deal!”

They come together again.

“You seem young,” says the chatterbox, Ikaku. “But you’ve adapted to my fighting style well.”

Well? What can he say, he’s met a lot of dual wielders. EMIYA, other EMIYA, Diarmuid saber, Diarmuid lancer, Scathach, Jack the Ripper, and more. He’s fought with them, trained under them. His hand still itches to hold a sword that isn’t there.

He settles it on his hilt instead.

“Who taught you to fight?” Ikaku asks. He wipes away the blood on his brow with an ointment. Ichigo makes mental note of it. For now he settles on keeping one eye closed, and waits for Ikaku to try to take advantage of his ‘weakness’.

“Who’s to say? I pick up what I can from everyone I know,” he says truthfully. “Are we gonna talk or fight?”

“Fight, obviously! Now,” he slams his sword and scabbard together. “Extend! Hozukimaru!”

Huh. A duel wielder and a lancer all in one. What an interesting person.

It doesn’t matter. Ichigo crosses the ground between them. He pours his power into his blade, until it shines pale white and blue. Ikkaku brings his halberd up to block, but Ichigo cuts through it like butter.

Zangetsu slices through Hozukimari like it’s not made of wood and steel and soul.

Zangetsu carves through Ikkaku’s chest and stomach. It’s not deep enough to kill, but the blood flows heavily. Ichigo finishes it with a hard elbow to his jaw, and Ikkaku falls to the ground.

Zangetsu returns to his resting place on Ichigo’s back and Ichigo gets to work. He has no intention of killing if he can help it. In this case, he can.

He uses part of Ikkaku’s own balm and his first aid kit, one of the things he’d packed in his bag, to seal the injuries. Ichigo hasn’t got time to wait around for Ikkaku to wake up, but this is a good chance for him to get information.

So he sits and changes his hair color, and watches the clouds roll by while Yoruichi plays cat and mouse with the pretty boy.

* * *

The whitehouse is a twisted vision.

Ichigo has seen pictures of his classmates on vacation in front of it, and pictures online or in books. He knows, at least vaguely, what it’s supposed to look like. It’s not supposed to be a twisted desecration of red thorns eating away at pale stone dragons.  

Ichigo eyes one of the macabre statues, wrapped in thick, strangling vines made of the same blood red bane that Gae Bolg is. So many thorns. Scathach had called them unbearable. Ichigo is caught somewhere between pity and anger at the berserker that’s caused so much pain and suffering. He was born for this, created from a wish and twisted by Medb’s black heart.

A pitiful creature to be sure. Ichigo knew Cu Chulainn well. He was a creature of duty and loyalty, of compassion and determination. Once he decided he wanted to protect someone that was the end of it. He would battle an entire army on his own, suffer uncountable pains, and still die with his pride intact. He had.

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way his own Caster eying the thorns, his red eyes dark. If Ichigo remembered right, he had died at the point of his own spear during Medb’s quest for vengeance against him.

Ichigo bumps his shoulder with him and gives him a questioning look.

“ ‘m fine,” he assured, touching Ichigo’s shoulder. “I sworn m’self to you, Master. Have faith in me.”

“Will my loyal dog not use my name?” Ichigo rolls his eyes. He still manages to get a cracked smile from the druid. Caster lifts his staff and settles his shoulders.

“After you.”

Ichigo leads the way inside.

It’s just them again. His core servants, and now Florence Nightingale. For a medic, she’s one of the scariest berserkers he’s ever seen. He’s not sure even heracles would win a fair fight with her when she’s determined to save someone.

Indeed, when they finally step into the interior, where Cu Alter and Medb are waiting for them, she wastes no time explaining that she’s going to cure them.

Although, Ichigo has never heard someone say that the best course of treatment would be  suicide .

He privately agreed with the king of savages. Nightingale is crazy.

That doesn’t mean she’s not wrong. Ichigo can see it plainly. Cu Alter, the king that Medb created, really has had his joy sealed away by his duty to destroy. There’s no pleasure in the fight for him, and for a warrior such as he it must be equal agony to the red thorns that pierce his hide.

Ichigo shift, Kyo at his side, while his band steps forwards in formation. Mash and Rama take the front, a strong defense and a strong offense that can switch easily to long range at a dimes turn. Cu Cullainn and Nightingale bring up the rear, supporting them with runes and healing spells, while Medusa stays staunchly at Ichigo’s side.

Her hair floats around her, a hissing halo that rattles with chains. Her scythe has manifested in her hands.

Ichigo lifts his right fist, the command spells burning in his skin. He only has two left, and three spells in his combat uniform. This will be their final fight. They have to win. They have to.

If they lose, they lose the world. Everyone’s suffering and sacrifice will be wasted. Yuzu and Karin, and even his dad will be lost forever. His mother will have never even been born.

“Go!” He shouts, his voice cracking through the air.

Rama aims at Medb while Mash tries to keep Cu Alter at bay. Ichigo’s Caster uses the distraction to start weaving runes into deadly traps, while Nightingale reverses the worse of the damage as she’s able.

It’s going well. They’re this close to overwhelming the duo when Medb does something that Ichigo will never be able to forgive.

She summons 28 demon god pillars to the northern army.

Cu Caster get’s in the final shot.

Gae Bolg still does not kill the wicked Queen of Connacht, but it’s master does deliver the last blow that sends her glittering into dust on the wind.

That one instant of victory, however, is all Alter needs.

Gae Bolg leaves his hands.

Ichigo knows the details of the Noble Phantasm. A spear that affects probably, and turns ‘trusting the spear’ into ‘piercing the heart’. Once it’s active, there is no dodging it. There is no blocking it with anything shy of a realty marble.

It does not pierce Rama again. Nor does is strike down Mash, or Nightingale, or Meduse, or even their own Cu Chulainn.

Ichigo chokes.

He doesn’t feel it, not really. But he sees it. He sees the red jutting out of his chest. The hole that has pierced through his heart. ]

He chokes. Blood drips from his lips, down onto the spear. Brambles crawl beneath his skin, spreading the hole until black gapes within the red. Blood pours down his chest, staining the white of his shirt.

Ichigo chokes. Black bleeds into his vision from all sides and his mouth tastes like blood and chalk and void dust.

White drips down his lips.

Darkness consumes him.

* * * *

“Alright,” Ichigo tugs his wig in place one more time, double checking that there’s no orange hair poking out to give him away. Ganju is next to him, tying the shihakusho in place with a grimace over his face.

“I hate this,” he grumbles. He secures his sword back in place. His armor is barely hidden under the sleeves of his new uniform.

“You didn’t have to come with us,” Ichigo pointed out.

Ganju scowled at him. “Yes I did.”

“Your sister didn’t tell you to-”

“It’s not about my sister!” Ganju snaps. Ichigo shuts his mouth at the look in his eyes. Burning with anger and grief.

“It’s about… my brother,” Ganju’s hands were shaking. “He was killed in cold blood by a shinigami. He was a genius, a lieutenant, and a good man. But he was betrayed and killed by his partner. I was young… So I don’t know everything. But I will never forget that shinigami’s cold eyes, when she dragged my dying brother back to our home. Or the way he  thanked her for it. I’ve never understood. But you.”

Ganju grabs him by the front of his shirt. “You’re different from other shinigami. So I followed you here, so I could understand. Why he loved the shinigami until he died. I want to see for myself what shinigami are like!”

Ichigo meets Ganju’s eyes squarely. “I’m not a real shinigami, so I can’t and won’t speak for them. I’ll let you see for yourself, Ganju. Just as long as you watch my back.”

Ganju gives him a short, single nod.

Yoruichi, who has spent the entire time standing in the corner while they ready themselves, flickers her tail and stands.

“We should get going. The longer this takes, the more danger we will be in. Everyone will be on high alert, and while this can help us blend in in the confusion, we still need to stay on our toes.”

Ichigo nods sharply.

They duck out of the barracks they’d stolen into and start down the pathway. Ikkaku had told him Rukia was in a white tower, and they could see it from here. The problem was that none of them knew the way to get to the white tower. They’re just wandering around blindly.

There’s nothing for it.

They walk on.

Ichigo looks around as they go. Some of the walls carry Lily of the Valley on them, stamped in careful black ink.

“Mary’s tears,” Ichigo muses, mostly to himself.

“Huh? No, they’re plants,” Ganju argues, looking at Ichigo like he’s just lost his mind.

Ichigo scowls at him. “I know that. They’re Lily of the Valley, but some people call them Mary’s Tears. There’s an old legend in the west in the living world that they grew from the tears Mary cried when her son was crucified.  They’re a sign that their messiah is coming back.”

“That’s very interesting,” comes a smooth (terribly, awfully,) familiar voice from behind them.

Ichigo feels his heart tighten. He turns.

Kyo stands behind them. Brown hair, brown eyes. He’s older now. His face is more angular, the last of his puppy fat has melted off his face, and he’s finally taller than Ichigo. His smile is polite and geniel. Ichigo is almost fooled. He can still see the sharp intellect behind them.

A white haori hangs off his shoulders. Kyo has been made a captain.

It’s all Ichigo can do not to reach for him and hiss out the truth.

But this isn’t the place. He cocks his head and frowns.

“I’m friends with Jeanne d’arc,” he says straight faced. Ganju at his side has gone tense and still. Ichigo elbows him. They’re more than a little suspicious out here like this. Two men and a cat.

Except, Yoruichi is now gone.

Two men and no cat.

“Is that so?” Kyo looks faintly amused, even as he assesses them sharply. It’s barely hidden in his deep eyes. Ichigo knows him well enough to see it, and to see something unexpected. A faint recognition. “It’s rare for someone in the eleventh division to be so knowledgeable.”

“How did you know…?” Ichigo is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kyo does not speak his name, he does not broach any subjects. It stings far worse than Ichigo had ever imagined. Hadn’t Nero felt something familiar about them too? But she hadn’t remembred them, and neither does Kyo.

“You were with third seat Madarame after he lost the fight with the Ryoka, weren’t you? The eleventh rarely tolerate people who aren’t in their own squad.” He had waited at Ikkaku’s side for field medics, with his own choppy work keeping the barely conscious man stable. It shouldn’t be a shock that someone saw them and spread the word. But how did Kyo recognize him from just that?

“Oh, right,” Ichigo says like that makes sense. In his mind he’s screaming.

  Kyo, kyo! Don’t you see me? Do you remember? We’re friends, we’re friends! We fought in america, we travelled the continent, look at me goddamn it. I know the name of your sword, I know where you were born. Kyo-  

“Excuse us,” Ganju grabs Ichigo by the back of the neck and forces him into a sharp bow. “We need to get going. Invasion and all that.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyo says smoothly. He gestures behind him. “I won’t keep you. We all must do our best to protect Seireitei.”

“Right…” Ichigo barely keeps his hands to himself.

He’d promised. He  promised .

His mouth opens to say something, to beg time between only them, to send Ganju away if he must. But down the street comes a pack of blood hungry shinigami, looking for a piece of the invaders, and Ichigo has no choice but to let Ganju drag him away by the collar of his shihakusho.

A woman with a badge on her arm appears at Kyo’s side as they’re being pulled away, her brown eyes wide and curious. Kyo draws her attention away and that’s the last Ichigo sees of him. It drives him insane.

* * * * *

He comes in the dark.

Silver hair and a white haori, he manages to go utterly unseen by all. It’s a skill even Sosuke Aizen has trouble mastering without the aid of his illusions. Gin’s footsteps are light, barely a whisper against the hardwood of the office building. Even the omniskido would be hard pressed to beat his skill with sneaking around.

It’s one of the things that Aizen prizes him for. The other being his unfailing loyalty and his willingness to do whatever he was told, with or without answered questions.

These things include going out to spy on the young would-be Ryoka. Everything is happening exactly as he’s expected. They’ve even brought the Shihoin heiress back to Soul Society with them. How useful.

“Well?” he asks, without further prompting. Most of his attention is still on one of the monitors in front of him that details the boy sitting outside the Shiba house. A camera fly can only get so close with Shihoin around, so he must settle for watching the human stare at stones in his hand like they’ve personally offended him.

The boy must be mad, to come with such a small group, but this is a while different type of crazy. Sosuke is fairly certain he’d seen the human-shinigami- possible -hollow speak to the rocks.

“He’s got good reflexes,” Gin says, peering over Sosuke’s shoulder. His presence is familiar and not unwelcome. Few get so close, even when Sosuke pretends to be gentle and kind. He keeps them all at arms length, the brown nosers and sycophants.

“I saw that much. You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Gin smiles widely at him and lifts, from out of his pocket, the innocuous looking marble. It swirls with blacks and blue’s and glows faintly it’s own ethereal light. A faint red in the center bleeds purple into the blue. Incomplete as it is, it still reacts to interesting things and people.

Gin drops it in his hand. It’s warm to the touch, nearly burning. He’s never seen the red in the center flicker so bright before, like a tiny ball of fire in the very center. There’s something not quite right about this intruder. Ichigo Kurosaki. Sosuke has known him for many years, even if he’s never gotten close enough to see the boy in person. That would involve getting far to close to Urahara and Shihoin, and if he is honest even Sosuke is not foolish enough to go up against legendary assassins in their own home field.

“It tried to burn a hole in my pocket when I got within fifty feet,” Gin reports succinctly. “What does that mean?”

Sosuke has no idea what that means. But one of his rules of his own behavior is that he never admits to not knowing something. So rather than say as much to Gin, he offers him his own faint smile, the kind that puts other people at ease but sets his most faithful companion on edge.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says instead. “Now. Are you ready to be the bad guy, Ichimaru?”

Gin’s smile, snakelike and cold, only grows. His eyes curve upwards.

“What other kinda guy would I be for you?”

* * * * * *

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

VI

September 19, 2277. It’s been two days since the incident. I still can’t figure out my mistress’ motivations for helping me with that sorry excuse of a trial. Perhaps she’s protecting her 2000 cap investment, but she took the money back from Ahzrukhal’s body when I shot him. Letting me be apprehended by the people would certainly mean losing an asset, but she can always hire other mercenaries to take my place as her bodyguard. Whichever is it, I don’t know. Things had calmed down in Underworld. Barrows decided that the Ninth Circle should be repurposed as an assembly area. Carol invited my mistress and I for lunch, and Greta said the food was on the house. Percy spent hours listening to Carol’s stories while I ate my meal in peace. I appreciated being able to sit down and eat. Ahzrukhal never granted me such a thing. By the time we left Carol’s Place, Percy was blushing and smiling ear-to-ear from the stories and compliments the ghoulette told her. Carol stood in the doorway, an arm around Greta, as she watched us leave for Megaton, mentioning something about saying hi to someone named Gob. Miss said that we are going to her house in Megaton. On the way, we made a detour to a scrapyard, the sun almost setting. “Hey, Charon, could you help me look for a handbrake?” Percy asks, bent over a fallen motorcycle that she’s stripping for parts, and I set my sight on the horizon, watching for threats and actively avoiding looking at her. “My contract entitles you to combat services. I’m afraid you have to look for it yourself,” I tell her, unmoving from my spot. I still refuse to look at her. “Please? Two pairs of eyes are better than one,” she asks. That word again. Please. I realize she’s not issuing a command. She’s asking me a favor. I see a pleading expression on her face, and I roll my eyes.

Grumbling as I marched over to help her look, I got on my knees next to her to look for the damn thing. When she laughed at my frustration, I finally allowed myself to look at her. Snowflake chopped my mistress’ dark hair to a very short bob, no longer the combat hazard that it used to be. When I tore away my eyes from her and started to really look for the item she mentioned, I found one just lying a few feet from us, and held it out to her with a flat expression. She looks at me, laughs, and tucks the handbrake safely in her sack of scrap. “Oops. Didn’t see that just there, sorry.” “Your eyesight could put us at a disadvantage in combat, mistr-.” Percy gives me that look again. I realize my mistake. “Miss.” Laughing and shrugging me off, she stands up and shakes the dirt off her knees. “Okay, maybe I can tolerate ‘miss’, Mr. Dreamboat. I still prefer Percy, though.” I can’t help but grumble and groan in exasperation, but the jokes are better than what I experienced from past employers when I unintentionally disobey an order. Far better. “I will endeavor to adjust to your preferences, Percy.” “Thank you. I appreciate the effort, big guy,” she replies, moving on to rummage through a toolbox next to an old, decrepit car. “It’s hard to unlearn all the habits you picked up from your previous employers, so don’t sweat it. I’m giving you a wide room for error. You are allowed to make mistakes, unless it gets one or both of us killed, of course.” “I shall do my best not to commit such errors, miss.” Then, I heard a laugh bubble from her throat again. “A skin mag? Really?” she mutters, perusing a pornographic pre-war magazine hidden underneath the tools. She looks over her shoulder and sees me waiting for her, and she seems almost bashful. “N-not that I was planning on keeping it,” she stutters, tossing the magazine aside. “What my employers do in their spare time isn’t my business.” Percy pauses, then throws her head back, laughing in relief. “Finally, I’m in good company,” she said, breezing past me to pick up and tuck the magazine in her pack. She goes back to rummaging through the toolbox with an embarrassed smile.

Then, we both hear it. Gunfire, and barks. Percy immediately drops what she’s doing and runs towards the noise.

Cursing, I followed close by, and a raider was shooting at a dog. A scavenger lies dead on the ground, the dog’s former master I presume, and another raider, with teeth marks on his neck. Not wanting to waste ammo on a lone raider, Percy retrieves her baseball bat from her pack and gives the raider a hard smack on the head, and the dog lunges in for the kill, sinking its teeth in the raider’s neck. I didn’t even have to move a muscle.

Then, the dog sidles over, whimpering, a gash on its side. My mistress immediately falls to her knees and pets the animal. “Charon. Charon are you seeing this? It’s a dog! An actual dog!”

I was confused by her enthusiastic reaction, then I remember that she’s from a vault. She probably saw them only in pictures. “Hi boy. You’re okay,” she coos at the mutt, running her small hands on its head and giving it a good pet.

“You lost your friend, did you boy?” The dog whines at her, almost as if it can understand the words she’s saying. “Hey, I lost my dad too. I’m still looking for him.”

At her remark, the dog licks her face. “Huh. Well aren’t you smart? I think I should call you... Dogmeat. Like that dog from an old sci-fi flick. Do you like that, boy?”

Dogmeat slobbers on Percy’s face even more. Then, he bounds towards me, sniffs me, and decides that my hand is worth slobbering on.

“Charon, I think he likes you too,” Percy coos, and the edge of my lip twitches upward. I let go of my inhibitions and pet the dog’s furry head.

“C’mon, let’s get home.”

Eyes were on us when we arrived in Megaton. The sheriff, a man called Lucas Simms, went over to greet my mistress, and asked about me and the dog. Percy tells him that we are her new friends. Simms tipped his hat at me, told me that I am welcome as long as I treat Megaton’s people right, then went on his way. Seems like a decent enough man.

Percy dug in her satchel for the key to her house, and when the door swung open, we were greeted by one of those old Mr. Handy robots from before the war. My mistress dumps her sack of junk near the door. The dog gives the robot a curious sniff before moving on and settling at my mistress’ feet.

“Well, this is home. It’s not much, but it’s a place to sleep in. What do you think?”

There’s a salvaged couch and a busted pre-war television set in the living room, a stove in the kitchen, and school lockers repurposed as storage. A shelf holds her cutlery and there is a lone sink near the fridge. No toilets or showers. The stairs don’t have any safety railings, but thankfully the area above has some. I’ve seen houses in a more sorry state, but the house had no windows nor other exits. Still very much a hazard.

“C’mon, don’t be shy, big guy. You’ll be living here with me until we sort your contract out,” Percy asks, sitting on the couch and kicking her boots off.

“I don’t like the look of this place.”

“Yeah I- huh?” Percy looks at me with wide eyes. I realize that I have been too blunt and insulted the house of the girl who patched me up after being ambushed by super mutants.

Dammit.

“There is only one entry and exit point. It’s unsafe in case of an emergency, such as a fire, or a home invasion,” I tell her and cross my arms, not daring to meet her eyes.

To my surprise, she nods. “Yeah. It freaks me out. I still haven’t asked Moira to help me drill windows.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“It’s still adequate shelter,” I tell her, but she moves on.

“Follow me,” she tells me, climbing up the stairs. There were two rooms, one that didn’t have a door on the left, and a smaller one with a door on the right. “I use the room on the right to store things, but you can have it. I’ll move the things tomorrow.. I think there’s also a spare mattress inside,” Percy tells me, opening the door, and some items come spilling out.

A bedroom? Under Ahzrukhal’s employ, I didn’t even have a bed. I didn’t even get sleep.

“Miss Percy, this isn’t necessary.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am trained to go without sleep. Providing me with a room would only be a waste of your resources.”

The mistress looks at me in disbelief. “Wait, are you saying that Ahzrukhal didn’t let you sleep? You just stand in that corner all night?”

“...yes. I only leave for meals and to relieve myself.”

Percy does it again, that gesture where she raises her hands in frustration. “Christ, no wonder you’re so grumpy. Just take the damn room, Charon. It'll give both you and me some privacy, and you’ll get some sleep.”

I didn’t get privacy from my previous employers too, save for the times I needed to piss or shit. My head is light from all the things Percy is granting me, but I’m still grateful.

“I- yes, miss. Thank you.”

Thanking Percy felt foreign on my lips. My employers never did anything for me to be thankful for. I can’t help but feel suspicious of this girl, but her smile hides no malice behind it. It’s baffling, but I decided that I still like being under her employ.

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll be right back. Just need to fetch some groceries and disinfectant for my suture kit from the store. I need to boil those tools soon...”

“I’ll accompany you,” I tell her, but she shakes her head. “I’ll be fine Charon. Now go on, make yourself at home. You can clean up in the sink then get some sleep.”

I nodded. As soon as the door shut, I walked to the sink and undressed. I can’t even remember the last time I took a sink bath. Then, I changed into a sleeveless white undershirt and gray boxers… the only spare clothes I own. I go in my room, turn on the lamp on a table in my room, and see everything in my room. There’s an assortment of junk, weapons, and armor.

Then, I see it. Power armor with a white paint job. The letters “USA” with a serial number next to it.

The straw that broke the brahmin’s back.

??? ??, ????

I flinch from a burst of snow, the metal of my armor feels frozen to the touch. The side has been cracked open, red staining the snow. My blood. I touch it and it stains my gloved hand. A .308 round tore through the metal. A pair of hands drag me to safety and I hear my orders from the radio. Get back up. Get back up or risk being taken prisoner. I can’t disobey an order.

Scrambling to my feet, I pick up my rifle. My legs drag me to the sniper’s nest, squadmates covering me, and I can taste iron in my mouth. I do not stop. I have been trained to withstand this. I looked for the tell-tale silver-white reflection, and when I saw it, I opened fire. The sniper uncloaks and lies bleeding face-first, broken on the floor. I see the red star on the nape of his armor, and he rolls on his back, and attempts to reach for the 10 mm on his hip, and I kick it away. He’s begging in a language I can’t understand, but I pay no attention to it. The only thing that matters is my orders. Aiming for the head, I shot him, and the helmet broke into pieces.

At the sound of my gun firing, I look at the soldier and see that there weren't any chunks of gore underneath his shattered helmet. Instead, I was looking at a woman’s face. The body wasn’t a man’s either; the sniper’s breasts heaved as she breathed rapidly, dark eyes wild. She’s underneath me, back pressed against the dirt, and I feel heat on my back.

It’s Percy.

“Charon.”

Every damn muscle in my body hurt like hell, and my head feels like it’s been split open. I look at my hands, rough and peeling, with no bloodstains. A small hand was on my bicep, and I heard the whine of a dog.

“Oh, thank God,” I hear a person gasp. It’s my mistress’ voice.

“Percy. What day is it?”

“It’s September 20, Charon.”

“What year?”

“2277.”

I let out a shaky exhale. My mistress beckons me, and I follow her wordlessly. Percy leads me to the couch, and we sit on the opposite ends of it. Dogmeat follows us too, putting his head on my lap. A look of worry is etched on Percy’s face. “That’s some nightmare, big guy.”

Just great. The first sleep I had in fuck knows how long, and I get a nightmare.

“Do you mind telling me about it?”

My jaw hardens. “If conversation is your order to me, I shall converse with you.”

“Hey, it’s not an order. If you don’t trust me enough to tell me yet, I understand.”

Relief floods through me. I grunted in acknowledgment. My mistress stands up and heads to the kitchen, and comes back with a plate of food. Broiled mirelurk cakes. “Um, here. I made these last night and reheated them. Please, eat with me.”

My eyes wander to my mistress. Her short hair is tousled, her eyes are still heavy with sleep, her face is clean, and she wears nothing but a black shirt and gray boyshorts. Now she’s serving me breakfast.

I think about the domesticity of the scene and decide to say nothing about it.

We finish our meal in peace, and she gets up to put the dishes in the sink. I busy myself with stripping and cleaning my shotgun, and my mistress busies herself with a book. Dogmeat eats his breakfast on a dog dish that Percy bought last night. It was a comfortable silence.

Then, she broke it.

“I need to say something,” she starts, looking at me with a firm expression. “Remember when I said that I was studying to be a doctor in the vault?”

I nod at her, and she clears her throat. “Part of my training is psychiatry. It's... how do I put it… the study of the health of the human mind. So, aside from keeping you physically healthy, I can also help with that.”

I let my mistress continue. An anxious look is on her face.

“And uh, I know the theory behind most of it, but I have no experiences providing those services to a patient yet. I need to properly diagnose you, but, you were screaming and saying some things in your sleep. I don’t think that what you experienced is a regular nightmare, big guy.”

I blink at her a few times.

“Charon, I think you were experiencing a traumatic recall.”