From the Author: Alright. Now that I'm done with my university exams, I'll have far more time to do other things. Like writing fiction. So here I am, writing this story. I do hope you like it. I'll put a lot of effort in it.

Warning: This story contains sexual themes, crude language, violence. It is narrated from the perspective of a perverted sadistic nihilistic misanthrope who deems life as an endless joyless string of suffering.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. It is property of Tite Kubo.

Sore Loser

Chapter One: The Unsheathed Sword

Heat. Dense, suffocating heat. It felt like the inside of an over. As if hell had broken out and the fires of the abyss were scorching the floor, the walls, the ceiling, enveloping the entire room in a bubble of unbearable swelter.

And it was night. A night when the moon was a skinny, lifeless chunk of stone, hanging in the sky like scraps of cheese from the lunch of some cosmic giant. Stars glittered mockingly in the cloudless sky, as if they were selfishly happy that they were light years away from that sin-infested place called Earth.

And in a small apartment with grayish walls and exiguous, old furniture, a lanky fellow was turning feverishly in his hard bed, tormented by a never-ending nightmare, and muttering indistinguishable words. His arms flew around his skinny body like the twigs of a dry tree, buffeted by the autumn wind; his shoulder-length raven hair was coated in sweaty tufts. Suddenly, he cried out a name in the sweltering air and his eyes shot open. He stood in his bed, his breathing sharp and erratic. The man inhaled and exhaled again and again, trying to restore his internal balance, but it was a lost cause. No matter how long he stood there, struggling to catch up his breath, he could never make those nightmares go away. They always came back. Haunting him relentlessly like the retribution from some vengeful unknown deity.

The man stood in his bed for another five minutes, listening to the silence around him. There was no one here but him.

There has never really been anybody here but him.

He sighed in relief and lay in bed again. He stared vacantly at the ceiling, his thoughts wandering off to a place he himself didn't know. Honestly, what was he thinking?

Was he thinking about his life? His past? His future? Or maybe his thoughts were not even concerned with his fate? He never really understood what happened in those times when he just… lied in bed, staring at a point in the distance. It was like he was unplugging a siphon and all of his rational thought was pouring into the gutter. His mind was going blank, ceasing all processes like a computer shutting down to prevent intensive damage inflicted on the systems.

He had no idea why he was like that.

Five more minutes passed. Nnoitra covered himself with the sheet and closed his eyes, delving into a far more peaceful, nightmareless sleep.

Nnoitra Jiruga was a man of many controversies, conflicts and contrasts. His appearance resembled the one of the stereotypical high-school delinquent with those small, ill-natured eyes and that stooped posture which towered above most people. His smile was the most intimidating part of his exterior: a sharp, jagged blade, especially the teeth on the upper jaw, which were slightly bucked. His hair had an unclean, greasy glitter which he could never get rid of, no matter how many times he washed his hair and what shampoos he used. Nnoitra's face gave most people an unpleasant feeling, girls were always apprehensive when he happened to be walking behind them at night through the park, afraid that he might be a stalker or a rapist. His figure was slim and skinny, his arms and hands were long and thin in a somewhat effeminate way and when complemented with his soft, pale, hairless skin made the wrong impression on people unfamiliar with his character. Nnoitra, however, was not a frail or defenseless man. His elegant hands packed a punch that had knocked out many teeth and broken many noses in the past. When he had to fight, he didn't bother following any rules or morals, there was no such thing as a fair an honorable fight to him. If the occasion called for it, he would resort to any dirty trick or underhanded method to emerge victorious. Nnoitra was a person who valued his life.

He was also a person who valued victory above anything. It was because of his wayward and ill disposition that he would always get in fights in the past, be it with the children on the playground (when he was in 3rd grade), his classmates (when he was in 12th grade) or even random people who were unfortunate enough to start an argument with him. His firm believes in his views and ideas of society, politics, religion, human life and existence as a whole had long degenerated into bellicose chauvinism. He didn't hide his detestation and repulsion towards anyone who didn't fit in the imaginary picture of the world he had constructed in his head. Nnoitra would stubbornly deny that reality might be any different than the one projected inside his warped mind and whenever his confidence in that dreamworld of his was shaken, he would attempt to force it on the real world through brute force.

It was out of the question to state that Nnoitra had many friends. In fact, he had many enemies. Most of them ordinary people he had to live with in the same apartment building: couples with children, retired folks, students tenanting in the room above his. It was amazing how inexhaustible his mordacity and rancor was. The people who got in a fight with him would quite often choose to give up instead of quarreling with this man whose mouth could fulminate profanities limitlessly and whose thick-headedness could withstand any logical argument. When they would turn their backs on him, they would listen to his mocking, complacent cackle, their irritation and hatred towards Nnoitra would turn into pity and vague sadness for this deranged individual. It was only because of the residents' admirable geniality, patience and tolerance that they hadn't called psychiatrists to take him away to a mental hospital or filed a lawsuit against him.

Nnoitra considered himself to be a loner. A total outcast from society, a man fated to never fit anywhere in the world of humans. However, his foreordination didn't strike him as something that came by the hand of some ireful god, rather than something he caused upon himself. Nnoitra was too pride to acknowledge himself as dependant on other people, nor did he need something as illusory and trivial as affection from other people. He always thought that he didn't need other people to exist…

But then why…

…Why?

…Why did that black hole, filled with agony and despair open up in him at times? Why did it suck him up in some kind of living nightmare where the world seemed so distorted and dark, what was that mocking laughter that roared all around him, screaming at him that everything could have been different, but he missed the chance to change things…

Nnoitra woke up. He stood up in his bed and stared in front of him. The morning sun was shining through the window next to his bed. He got off the bed, walked to the window and stared through it. The urban view was magnificent as always, seeing as Nnoitra lived on the 10th floor. Multi-storey buildings and skyscrapers projected towards the sky, there was a cone of smoke rising in the air not far away from here. Guess some building got on fire over there. Ah, what the hell. Those idiots should have been more careful.

Nnoitra went in the bathroom and took a shower. Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of the mirror, examining his face and hair. His skin looked cleaner now, but his hair still had a somewhat oily feeling when he ran his fingers through a lock falling on his face.

"Shit. What do I do with this hair?" He muttered to himself gloomily. Maybe he should have gotten a haircut, his hair length was probably the reason why his hair always seemed dirty. Besides, it's been over an year since he last altered his appearance noticeably.

He put on some underwear and a faded shirt and got some food out of the fridge. He made himself a sandwich with some cheese and ate it quickly before dressing up again, this time in green trousers and a shirt. He stood again in front of the mirror and started combing his hair. Nnoitra grinned contently.

Two months ago, he got kicked out of his last place of work (a nightclub where he worked as a bartender) because he got in a fight with a customer who happened to have had more alcohol than he should have. It wasn't out of the ordinary for fights to break out in that club, seeing as all sorts of people, some with questionable past and occupation, hung out there. Most of the time a brawl started because some drunk dude was flirting with some chick right under the nose of her boyfriend, who happened to be a 250-pound steroid freak. So when the big guy smacked the smaller guy so hard his front teeth flew out of his mouth and into someone's cocktail and the smaller guy kicked the big guy in the nutsack, the time came for the bouncers to do what they were paid for: break up the fight between those fuckers and throw them out. In those occasions Nnoitra would hide the glasses and bottles under the counter and then hide himself along with the glasswork. However, so it happened that this one particular person had spent four hours lounging on the counter, gulping down glass after glass of whiskey, and with every new glass he became louder, more talkative and with more drastic moodswings. After the guy finished his second bottle of whiskey, Nnoitra suggested that he ought to give it a rest. The customer, however, took the bartender's advice the wrong way and started showering him with curses. Nnoitra kept his mouth tightly shut till the moment that drunk fuck splashed his glass of whiskey all over Nnoitra's face. Then a lot of ugly things happened. To the customer. In the end, Nnoitra lost his job not only because the customer happened to be a friend of the manager, but also because Nnoitra had to pay ninty thousand yen for broken furniture. Hopefully, that bastard didn't sue him. Probably because he was too drunk to remember about that fight the other day.

And now Nnoitra was getting ready for an interview. He was applying for the post of a delivery man in a large computer company. He had to drive around town with a lorry and deliver hardware and spare computer parts to different shops. It wasn't what one would call prestigious profession, but hey; Nnoitra wasn't picky when it came to work. Plus, he's seen worse things in his days.

He put the comb away and took one last look in the mirror. He looked personable enough to be taken on. The most important thing right now was to answer the interviewer's questions satisfyingly and not to say anything stupid or inappropriate. The latter was the hardest part.

Nnoitra grinned confidently, and yet so maliciously, as if he was setting out on war against the world. His smile was as sharp and blinding as an unsheathed sword, prepared to slash down anyone who stood in his way.

He put on his shoes, took his keys and walked out the door.

From the Author: Well, this is how Chapter One ends! I'm not quite sure what came over me to write a story about that character. It was like a blinding spark of inspiration. Guess I gotta take out the pressure from all that studying on something. ;) I'll try to update as soon as possible. I'll be thankful if you could give me some feedback on the story. See ya soon!