Stress relief. Blatant AU, as should be fairly obvious very quickly, but an AU of the interesting kind. Divergence, as opposed to crap where they might as well change the names and get it published properly, since it doesn't have jackshit to do with Bleach.

Ahem.

If I owned Bleach, Bleach would not be awesome. As it is awesome, I believe the logic follows that I do not own Bleach.

This chapter: Ichigo gets messed with. By himself, depending on how you look at it. we're in volume 7/8, in the shattered shaft, folks.

"A graceful fall you have there."

Ichigo landed with a painful thud in a tangle of limbs before he realized he was even falling. The cool white floor was curiously reassuring, strangely familiar - as was the voice, thick with amusement, and the hand that reached down to help him to his feet.

"I thought so too," he muttered darkly, frowning as he took in his surroundings, and his helper, for the first time. Where am I? The last thing I remember was the shaft…

The room was quite spacious and a little stark. While Ichigo had never enjoyed his art classes, not being a very skilled artist (though certainly better than Rukia), his assignments had tended to be pencil, black and white with extensive use of values; thus, he could appreciate the tasteful, if odd, display.

The black shihakusho of the man standing across him was a dark contrast to the largely white and gray furnishings. The dark brown hair was slightly messy, and compounded by the thick-rimmed glasses and soft, unassuming smile, he just radiated a feeling of Nice Guy.

And Dork, too. "Who are you?" Ichigo asked.

Lips upturning more, the brunette gestured to one of the plush white mats. "I don't believe you would be here, should you not have wished to talk."

It took Ichigo a second, instinctively dropping into the intended seat, before he realized his question had been blatantly ignored. He opened his mouth to complain, only to find himself falling silent at a raised hand.

The brunette, smile fading a little, used his other hand to sweep aside a gray curtain, revealing a black sky crisscrossed with white cracks.

Those… Ichigo realized, stomach dropping in horror. They look like the cracks the Menos came out of!

It came back in a fragmented memory - the pieces of decayed chain of fate, dropping away from his chest to reveal a hole…

"I see you recognize the problem," said the other, allowing the curtain to drop back into place. Despite the situation, he seemed calm. "Outside of your body, the mask of instinct is already a quarter formed. You have roughly ten minutes before the Horo-ka, the Hollofication process, is complete."

"Then what am I doing here?" Ichigo demanded, rocketing to his feet and looking around, not entirely sure where to go. "I have to - to find a way to…" Damn Urahara. He didn't know what to do.

'Become a shinigami or die.' If he got out of this, it would be Urahara that died.

"Ichigo." The brunette cut through his encroaching panic with just the tone. "There is a way to abort a Hollow transformation."

"Become a shinigami, I know," Ichigo snapped back, to a genial smile. But how…

The man opened a door he hadn't been aware was there, allowing full exposure to the roaring chaos of the night, and Ichigo saw that the white room was only part of a complex, one that stretched out of eyesight.

"The hell…?"

"Somewhere, in this palace, you will find your own, inborn shinigami power," the brunette murmured. A bone-shattering crack of thunder heralded the appearance of another fissure in the sky. "But if you do not find it in time…"

He didn't continue.

Ten minutes….

Cursing, Ichigo dashed out the door into the gloom.

He was prepared for the tempest; despite it, the wind nearly took him off his feet, the chill biting through him like icy fangs, and forced him to squint lest he get sand in his eyes. Between the screaming of the wind and the jarring cracks that he realized were not limited to the ones in the sky but also lightning, his hearing was spent.

I have to move. It took all his willpower to force one foot forward. I have to move…

Why?

A sudden gust of wind swept him from the ground, blowing him several dozens of feet backward into a dune, passing through the building he had exited like it wasn't there at all. What the…

Why do you go forward, Kurosaki Ichigo

"What d'you-" mean, he tried to say, only to get a mouthful of sand and start choking, cutting off any other words he could have said.

What is your purpose?

Purpose?he wanted to ask. What purpose - the reason why he was here? To regain his shinigami powers. Not that he was having much luck.

Why? …whatever it was repeated. Why do you seek power?

This was… about Rukia, Ichigo supposed. Thanks to her helping him, she had the death sentence. He couldn't just stand by and let her get killed without even trying to help. He owed her a debt, a large debt, and he wouldn't be able to rest until it had been settled. With that in mind, he began the arduous task of getting to his feet.

And then?

He stopped short, slightly confused. What 'and then'?

All you have is an objective.

There's not much a difference, Ichigo snapped inwardly. Light… buildings gave off light. Now, could he see any light? No, and it figured.

Purpose defines one's reason to exist, came the replyYou have nothing.

Will you continue to go as you are, an unguided force? With no intent, no resolution?

Despite himself, Ichigo found himself hesitating. No intent or resolution…. It sounded so pointless. But he had purpose. He would prevent Rukia's execution. Whatever the cost.

And then?

Damn corny voice-overs. He had not bothered to ask what happened after. He hadn't wanted to ask what happened after. Hadn't wanted to think of it.

Because he didn't have anything for after.

As if by magic, the wind stopped. Taken off-guard by the abrupt loss of opposing force, Ichigo lurched forward, landing in an undignified heap for the third time in less than ten minutes. Brushing sand off his face and spitting out his mouthful, he flushed at hearing a chuckle and looked up to meet amused brown eyes.

"Most graceful," the brunette remarked candidly, offering his hand. He smiled as Ichigo grudgingly took it and stood, brushing himself off.

"What're you here for?" It was more than a little rude, Ichigo knew, but it was enough to make him suspicious that he would appear immediately following the cessation of the wind.

"Nothing for after, Ichigo?" The brunette looked away, up into the cracks lining the sky, ignoring the question. Glancing back, he extended a simple katana out with one arm, meeting Ichigo's eyes with steely resolve. "I know your purpose. If you will only let me show you, that after you fear will be its beginning."

Ichigo caught the sheathed blade out from the air, slightly stunned.

"If you would accept my assistance, remember... My name is Kyoka Zangetsu."

The world fractured, took a pause - and then shattered.

The cool, smooth texture of the wooden sheath in his hands was the only thing that stayed with him, as the world whited out and his skin burned unpleasantly, if only for a second. When his vision cleared, Ichigo shuddered and shook his head at the strange distortion of his sight.

Urahara's kids - Jinta the redhead and the creepy girl Ururu - stood almost protectively in front of the shopkeeper, both in loose approximations of the opening form of karate.

"Carrot top," the redhead started. "Is that you there? And what's with the shrimpy sword?"

"Who else would it be?" Ichigo demanded, slipping the sheath into the sash of his shinigami uniform. He chose not to address the second question - the zanpakuto was much smaller than his first one, and he privately wondered why. He raised a hand, pointing past the brats at Urahara. "And you! You should have wished I'd lost it back there!"

The hilt was so much smaller and the blade so much lighter, he was surprised himself that he didn't misjudge the resistance and end up tossing the zanpakuto feet away.

Instinctively weilding it diagonally across his chest defensively, he concluded, "Because I'm gonna kill you!"

Before he could even move, the shopkeeper was there, a slim blade clearing his cane to block Ichigo's own blade. Urahara smiled, and it was nothing like the friendly expression he recognized from the brunette in his mind.

I know your purpose, he recalled, feeling unsettled, and nearly lost himself to distraction before a voice cut into his thoughts.

"But first, Mr. Kurosaki," said Urahara pleasantly, showing no effort despite putting enough force on the blocked swords to prevent them coming free, "get rid of the mask, if you would."

Mask? Slightly surprised, Ichigo raised a hand to his face, feeling the ultra smoothness of his fully-formed Hollow mask, not having noticed its presence. Digging his fingers under the edge, he was able to pry it away without much effort, and he felt some relief as the world righted itself. "Better?" Urahara nodded, relaxing, and let out a yelp as Ichigo cracked the mask across his face.

"Ow…" the shopkeeper whined, rubbing his nose with his free hand. "You certainly seem creative today, Mr. Kurosaki, so why don't we carry that creativity over into lesson three?" He stepped back, breaking the weapon lock, and tapped the brim of his green-and-white striped hat. "Lesson three will have no time limit. It will last as long as it takes, until you can cut my hat from my-"

Jerking back, the blonde hardly caught the blade before it buried itself in his skull.

"My, my." Urahara looked slightly surprised, as the zanpakuto slid free of his grip, before it was replaced with a dark satisfaction. He brandished the cane sword in front of him. "If that's how you want it… wake, Benihime."

Ichigo's eyes widened, and he leapt back; the cane-sword lengthened and widened, the hilt taking a bend near the end and becoming more decorative.

There was no time to think and observe further, though he would have liked to; a second later Urahara was there, the blade in his face, pressing back, driving him closer to the shattered shaft. Ichigo was, however, able to discern that by the shape, it was probably a direct combat blade.

Which means I'm screwed.

He ducked under a slice, blocking a second that seemed to come a fraction of a second after, and then tried an attack of his own, only to misjudge the force required and over swing.

Damn it…

Ichigo leapt a few times to the side for a few meters of space, hissing as the cut on his shoulder protested. Off shoulder, thankfully, and mostly a superficial wound; a little deeper, and Urahara would have cut the muscle through.

"Running, Mr. Kurosaki?" the shopkeeper asked candidly, and he blurred and was right there again. "It won't help you."

He blocked the strike, easing his weight the left, allowing the majority of force to pass through. The blonde didn't lose his balance, but Ichigo hadn't intended for it, instead went for an uppercut.

Metal met metal, and locked.

Urahara's shadowed eyes met Ichigo's brown.

"Although this second zanpakuto of yours is much better than the first," he stated calmly, "there is no empty blade that can withstand Benihime's fury. There is no empty blade that can withstand Soul Society; it serves no purpose."

It was about that time that Ichigo lost his footing, flying backward; gritting his teeth in a snarl, he turned in midair, landing roughly on his feet, ignoring the jarring pain. Serves no purpose…

Urahara's words burned him like fire.

Empty blade.

Empty purpose.

Damn it, but he wasn't useless. He had his goal, had to save Rukia, had to repay the debt he owed. And then… well, he didn't know.

If you would accept my assistance…

"Purpose and objective," he spat, holding the sword out in front of him, one hand on hilt and one on blade. "It's all the same thing. Fracture - Kyoka Zangetsu!"

…show me.

Muhaha.

(end corny villain laugh)