Two Months...
A fleeting, inconsequential amount of time for a shinigami — yet for some, it seemed as if a millennia had passed, at a snail’s pace no less. There were many changes afoot within the Seireitei, the amount of damage control necessary to try and salvage the situation — words could not describe.
The Twelfth Division found plenty to do, they alone held the ability to save the lives spared by the Commander, and so it was incumbent upon them to exhaust all efforts, to invest every ounce of energy, every tool, every mind at their disposal in ensuring the Commander’s mercy was not wasted. The lives of three rested on their shoulders, as well as the hearts of at least two others.
There exists many halls, many turns, and many rooms — one such room finds itself haunted by the Phantom of the Seireitei.
It is this small space that the Captain has called home, for the past sixty days. True to his moniker, the man has been like a ghost, drifting and floating through the halls and streets of the Seireitei — back and forth — to and fro between the Twelfth and his own Squad’s barracks in Second.
During one such excursion, he finds a report waiting for him upon his desk. Deadpan eyes peruse the carefully written and composed report. With every line written, the news became more grave...and the graver it became, the angrier he became, fury that was mentally directed to the still missing Xioalin.
Leafing through page after page until finally, he lands on the last piece of paper.
Quote:
Division Transfer
Fourth Seat Kazumi Fujioka, Corps Commander of the Interrogation Unit relinquishes her post, and has put in for a transfer to the Ninth Division.
He stands alone, in his office as he puts the paper down. First Xioalin abandons his post, now Kazumi has transferred out. Though his face remains stoic internally, he is stormed and bombarded with a flurry of questions.
Had he pushed her too hard, too fast? Was her new position too much for her heart? Was she more fragile than he’d imagined? Or...perhaps, the weight of the Division’s newfound infamy had become crippling.
That was mere days ago. He sits now, resting against a wall within his prepared quarters, zanpakuto resting against his shoulder. The Captain sleeps...yet, finds no rest.
’...ster..”
It whistles and travels like a passing breeze. Faint..subtle...quiet. Easily dismissible.
-
-
-
Kyomu remains still; he does not flinch or stir from his slumber. Silent like the grave, unmoving like the dead.
’...aster..”
-
-
-
Again, this time louder — clearer..more focused. Still, it does nothing to disturb the idle phantom.
“MASTER”
Tightly closed lids fling open, the Captain — once slumbering within his prepared quarters in the Twelfth Division, now stands...elsewhere, in a world all too familiar to him. His feet, absent of geta and housed in white socks, are covered by a fine mist that flows ceaselessly along the ground, as he stands upon the tatami mat. Amber hues gaze ahead in the darkly lit room. Fusuma panels line the walls both before and behind Kyomu, as far as the eye can see — it is only at the distant end, does he find the barricaded end.
SLAM
The panels collide against one another, slamming themselves shut with a resounding thud, barricading the Captain in on all fronts. He does not flinch, does not falter, well accustomed to this world’s mechanisms.
”Kukukuku”
The sound of mocking laughter fills his ears; echoing from both everywhere...and nowhere simultaneously. Like his current surroundings, Kyomu is not unfamiliar to this laughter...and he knows it does not belong to the keeper of this world. His ghosts….no, they are nothing as simple as that...his
demons have followed him, even to this place.
”A good reaction boy. Though, you seem to be missing something...and I’m not talking about your geta…”
What? What is it he meant, what was he tal-
Kyomu glances down at his waist. How could he, of all people be so oblivious, so ignorant. In this world, which should belong to him, he finds himself absent of both geta...and zanpakuto.
In a place beyond the scope of his vision, beyond the reach of his spiritual perception a figure watches. From their crouched position it is as though they rest on an elevated surface. The figure remains idle, and mute.
In his moment of surprise the fact that the fusuma panels have re-opened is lost to him. It is only by chance, mere happenstance that the glint of something catches his notice. He propels himself forward rolling along the ground, landing on one knee — missing the swinging guillotine by but a hair’s breadth.
”Your reflexes are still...passable. Still...you realized too late, and too late always means death in our line of work...no?”
The voice of another demon. Have they completely compromised his inner world? Are they the reason Genzōken is not here? The reason she will not appear….or..
cannot?
Pushing himself off the ground, rising once more to his feet, he gazes to his left. He feels his world is compromised, feels as though it is foreign to him and so..he must look at it anew, scouring every inch of the expansive room that lays within the scope of his perception.
His eyes then slowly drift towards the right. Like before, he scrutinizes every inch, every nook and cranny of this side of the massive room; from the seemingly harmless tatami mats, to the presently idle fusuma panels.
”Where’s my zanpakuto? What have you done with Genzōken?”
The Captain finally speaks, and it is in the form of a question, one that demands an answer. He is met with silence...and then a fit of cackling laughter.
” KU KU KU KU. So, you accuse us of having done something do you? Perhaps that guy simply does not wish to be seen by the likes of you. Not even a mere shell of your former self. Why would they possibly wish to stand before so weak a master...a pathetic little man crying at every grievance.”
The barricades close once more, the gravity in the room intensifies. At first it doubles with each passing second..and then it triples in intensity. His eyes shift from one side of the room to the other, he’s still locked in, the room available for him to maneuver...miniscule at best.
He focuses his eyes, his ears, the mist clouding and muddling his spiritual perception. He stills his breathing, stills his heart. He needs to drown out the noise of his own body and those of his racing thoughts. He strains his senses and then...he hears it. His body moves to react as arrows, unfettered by the increased gravity fly at varying intervals from both his left and his right.
With no sword to parry, no weapons housed upon his persons he can only dodge best he can — it’s hardly enough. He finds his shoulders, and his back grazed by sharpened metal, and then he is once more reintroduced to pain, as an arrow pierces his left shoulder, another his right thigh.
The Phantom winces but stands his ground, and the panels once more fling open.
”Perhaps Genzōken has abandoned you, just as the Central 46 abandoned you when you failed. As your Third seat abandoned both you and his duties, and as your Fourth Seat has now abandoned you. Perhaps that girl for which you care so much for, will also abandon you...perhaps she already has.”
Kyomu glances down at the arrows still embedded into him. He grips the one lodged in his shoulder, braces himself, and works the arrowhead out of his flesh, flinging it to the ground. He takes a breath, and moves to emulate the act, removing the arrow lodged in his thigh. He grunts as the metal shifts around in his flesh before finally pried free. He stares at the arrow, its tip doused in his blood. Fingers coil around the wooden shaft, clenching tighter until it snaps in half.
”ENOUGH OF YOUR GAMES, RETURN MY ZANPAKUTO...NOW!”
He bellows, flinging the broken arrow to the side. Blood spills from his wounds, dripping down, staining the tatami mat, his haori and his hakama. Again, there is silence, and again..it is short lived.
”So angry, so emotional..so foolish..and weak. Is that what you now amount to? A mere boy who shouts at the world. You demand answers do you? Then, demand them..from HIM.”
The panels shut with a resounding thud. Kyomu takes his stance, eyes darting left, right, up then down preparing for the next wave of attacks. Seconds pass and nothing...minutes then pass...and still..nothing. Finally the doors slide open. He stares ahead and takes a cautious step forward.
There’s no-
”Looking for me?”
A small child like voice chimes out from behind him, a hint of angst within it. The voice is a familiar one but..it couldn’t be. He spins around to confront it and is taken aback by what he sees.
It is...him...but younger, far younger. What surprises him most of all however, above being met with his childish self, but the fact that this younger him...was holding his zanpakuto.
”Or, perhaps you were looking for this guy here?”
The young Kyomu remarks, pointing at the zanpakuto resting against his shoulder. The Captain stares through narrowed eyes and like before...he glances to the left, and then the right, scouring every inch of the room. He does not respond, waiting for the mocking antagonizing voices of the demons housed within his mind. Neither of the Kyomu’s utter a word, trapped in a deadlock of silence.
-
-
”...who exactly are you?”
The Captain is the first to break the silence. The boy that is him, or is meant to be him. The younger Mukuro takes a second, tilting his head before finally moving forward a few paces.
THUD
The zanpakuto strikes the ground, the boy leaned up against it, using it as a perch or resting post.
”Well, clearly I’m you. But tell me, who do you think I am?”
Kyomu hesitates, then he too takes a few paces forward, the distance between the two closed further. He glances at the zanpakuto, then back at the face of his younger self. It was like staring into a disturbingly warped mirror, a window into a past long forgotten..or, so he thought.
”You’re clearly not the elders, and...though you hold a resemblance to my past self, there’s no way that you’re truly me. So...if I had to take a guess, I would say you’re meant to be a representation of my past..a representation of the weakness in me.”
The boy blinks a few times, then tilts his head again in pondering. Still, he remains perched against the zanpakuto, leaning from one side to the other.
”You’re sharper than you look, didn’t think you’d catch on that quickly. You’re..somewhat correct. I am your weakness..in a sense. I am the emotional, sentimental you. The you that still clings to having connections. Though honestly...I wished you’d stop all that crying.”
”..what are you talking about? I don-”
The boy points behind his older self, keeping him from completely refuting the statement. The Phantom hesitates, this act could be a trap, meant to catch him off guard and unaware in a moment of distraction...it
was the oldest trick in the book after all, something his younger self shouldn’t be above using. Still the boy points, never lowering his hand.
Kyomu finally relents, and glances over his shoulder, eyes widening at what he perceives. The tatami mats lay ruined across the floor and beneath his feet. Fusuma panels lay sprawled along the ground, some barely hanging on their hinges, riddled with holes, and ruined by mildew. This place, when had it become so inhospitable?
”If you don’t cry, then why is this world in such a state? A place that should be condemned, not fit for even rats to call home.”
Kyomu turns away, clenching his teeth in frustration. He seeks to avert his eyes from the sight of the world. He can refute the words of this projection before him all he wants, but there was no disputing this place which reflected his heart and soul.
”All hope is not lost though.”
The child speaks, finally moving from his place of rest. With zanpakuto in hand he waltzes over to stand directly before his older self, and stretches out the sealed blade towards the Phantom.
”If you want this world to return to its proper state, if you want everything to be as it should be. All you have to do is take this sword, and kill me.”
He spoke matter of factly. Kyomu stared at him incredulously. He glances at the offered blade, then back at the face of the boy, the face of himself. His mind begins to race, repeating the words just spoken, seeking the deception within them. He ran through word after word for the meaning hidden between the lines. Was this a trap? A trick? Would he truly give him the blade to kill him? What effects would this have on himself? Is he being told to reject and deny this aspect of himself? Questions, there were only more questions being asked, no answers, and as a result...no action. The boy stares at his adult self hesitating and frowns. He opens his mouth to speak but-
“What do they call you?”
This voice...it was them. He recognized this voice. He glances all around, seeking out the form to accompany it. He finds that only he and his younger self still reside here. But he was certain he had heard him.
”They...call me traitor.”
He answers, and then he waits.
“And..what else?”
”They call me villain.”
“What else?
”They call me evil, coward, fiend, despicable, untrustworthy.”
He announces every ill spoken name ever spoken of him; every curse, every insult uttered aloud and in whispers.
“And so...what are you?”
His breathing increases, deepens as he stands there. His heart beats rapidly within his chest. He closes his eyes...and breathes. Slowly...inhale...exhale. And then...his eyes open.
”I am all of these.”
“And why is that?”
”Because I must be. Because the Seireitei needs me to be all these things...and more.”
A mist rises from the ground, and finally
she steps forth. With glowing eyes they stand beside the young Kyomu, staring at the one they call master.
“Yes. You are all those things. Hero and villain, killer and savior. Hide the truth within lies, and lies within the truth. Deceiving both enemy and friend alike. Do not doubt, do not falter, do not hesitate.”
Kyomu gazes into those glowing orbs, and the two stare at one another for what feels to be an eternity.
PLOP
The sound of a single droplet striking the mat below disrupts this standstill. The younger Mukuro glances down and finds a blade piercing his gut. He glances up towards his older self, who still only glances at the form of Genzōken’s spirit.
”Heh, well done. Seems you were able to do it after all. Yes, killing me doesn’t necessarily get rid of me. What matters is what I represent..what the act of ‘killing me’ represents. Never forget, and like now, do not avert your gaze from the path ahead. No matter what names or slurs they call you, no matter who leaves, or how many people forsake you. Remember this moment.”
The child begins to fall, and fades before its body can collapse onto the ground. His zanpakuto rests within his hand once more. He gazes at the spirit of Genzōken as they take a knee before him.
“Well done. My Master.”
His eyes spring open and once more he finds himself in the accommodations prepared for him by the Twelfth. There is a slight knocking at his door before it’s finally opened by the person on the other side.
A meek looking male sticks his head in, glasses that appear too large for his face gaze into the room.
”Captain Mukuro? I was sure he was meant to be here. Ah-there you are! H-how didn’t I notice you before?”
The man upon scouring every inch of the room takes a moment before he recognizes the form of the Captain before him. An act that paints him a fool in the eyes of the layman, others unaware of just how perceptive this diligent scientist was. Kyomu says nothing, slowly rising to his feet.
”Yes...well, I felt it important to inform you that, Lieutenant Yūgure, along with Captain Oda and Third Seat Suta have recently awoken.”
Kyomu glances down at his zanpakuto housed within his grip. There is an air about him, indescribable. It is like glancing into a pool of muddy still, calm yet muddy water. Impossible to perceive what lies beneath the surface, yet disturbingly quiet, peaceful almost.
”Take me to her.”
He speaks as he pushes forward, walking past the strange man who can only shuffle after the Captain to take the lead and escort him.
