Warning: This chapter contains some graphic references to torture and a few oblique references abuse/rape. Not for those faint of heart or weak of stomach.

. . .

∙ the ∙ color ∙ of ∙ psychosis∙

part ( iv )

. . .

Six Months Earlier

The screams stopped over an hour ago. It didn't take long for fifth seat Akita Shuji to start wishing they would start again, because the silence that followed was worse. He sagged against his chains and started counting his own slow, shaky breaths to keep his mind from wandering. One. Two. Three. Four.

He kept counting even when the cell door scraped open.

"Well, I have good news for you and I have even better news for you," his captor said, gingerly picking bits of flesh and bone out of his orange hair. "The good news is that the procedure was a success, so congratulations, no lab work for you. The even better news is that the only bits of your wife I could find after the explosion are these bits in my hair, see? I have no idea where the rest of her went, but she's gone, so you can consider yourself a free man again!"

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

"Oh, don't give me that look. You could have done better than her and you know it," the man chuckled, stooping down to eye level. "I'm sure you'll thank me in the long run."

Nine. Ten. Akita lifted his head and spat in the man's face. He forced the words through broken lips.

"I'll thank you when you die."

Instead of getting angry, however, the man looked positively delighted. His tongue darted out to lap at the trail of blood and phlegm dripping down his cheek as a thoughtful expression crept over his face. Then he smiled lopsidedly, a smile that would have been charming on his youthful, handsome features if not for the bloodstains on his teeth and the lack of focus in his pupils. Slowly, the man said, "You know, I think I actually like you. Almost enough to let you go. Of course, I can't have you tattling on me to your captain right now, so it's really a shame. I don't suppose I could convince you to join us?"

Akita let out a despairing laugh that sent pain lancing through his chest. It was ironic how his stern, impersonal captain was the one thing that still gave him hope right now. Not hope of a rescue – that would only led to despair when the rescue never showed up. And even if a rescue did come, Yukiko was dead, his zanpakuto was gone, and he wasn't sure his own sanity was intact anymore. Akita was a trained soldier; he knew how much damage an individual's psyche could endure before it was past the point of recovery. He had passed that point days ago.

He was no longer hoping for a rescue. All he wanted now was retribution.

"He'll know," Akita threatened. He looked his captor in the eye and said levelly, "Taicho will know...he'll hunt you down like the traitor you are."

The man's smile stretched wider.

"Such conviction. It touches my heart – makes me wonder what kind of man inspires such faith. Tell you what, why don't we make a bet?"

Pressing the tip of a rusty scalpel against the back of Akita's hand, the man leaned in close and said in a lover's whisper, "I'll tell you everything. What I'm planning, what I'm trying to accomplish, and even how to stop me. In exchange, I'll take an ounce of meat from you every day. I'll even let you choose which ounce. If your captain finds us before you die, you win and get to spill all my secrets."

The man drove the entire scalpel straight through the flesh of Akita's hand and twisted viciously.

"But if he doesn't, well, I suppose someone has to pay the price of our bet."

. . .

Coffee, Hitsugaya decided, existed solely to make his life more miserable. The beverage was simultaneously too disgusting to keep drinking and too downright useful to stop drinking. To make matters worse, widespread opinion dictated that only adults drank coffee, and that real men drank their coffee black. It took every ounce of self-control he had to keep choking down the bitter brew while keeping his expression neutral.

No cream, no sugar – just black sludge that tasted like it could peel the paint off his desk.

He would kill for a full eight hours of sleep right now. In hindsight, he had underestimated just how much paperwork he had been signing up for when he offered to temporarily handle the paperwork for all divisions without a captain. Back then, Hinamori had been rejecting to any attempts he made to help her, but she had also been wearing herself out trying to run the Fifth all by herself. This way, by taking temporary responsibility for all divisions that lacked a commanding officer with the authority to approve or oversee certain tasks, he could at least claim that he was acting out of duty instead of friendship no matter what Hinamori thought.

'Temporary' dragged on for years and years as no replacements were found. Now, it seemed like every piece of wayward paperwork in the entire Gotei 13 found its way to his desk. Even a prodigy could only focus for so many hours before the words started blurring together and his concentration started slipping. The feeling that he had overlooked something important or unknowingly made a mistake nagged constantly at the back of his mind.

Well, it was too late to back out now. The paperwork had to get done somehow, and Hitsugaya highly doubted his fellow captains were going to jump in and help. He swallowed another mouthful of coffee and refocused on the reports in front of him.

"Taicho! Did you hear, Renji's decided to take the captain's exam!" a blur of pink scarf and blonde hair burst in through his office door.

Splotch. The overworked Tenth Division captain took a calming breath and consciously loosened his grip on the writing brush before he snapped it.

"Of course I know. He had my recommendation," Hitsugaya replied dryly.

"And you didn't tell me?" Matsumoto pouted.

"Appeals for captainship are supposed to be confidential," he muttered as he read over the splotched report to see what could be salvaged.

"Oh, no one cares about – what are you drinking?" Matsumoto switched subjects so quickly that Hitsugaya felt the whiplash as she snatched his mug off his desk. She sounded scandalized as she asked, "Is this coffee?"

"Is there something wrong with drinking coffee?" Hitsugaya growled, bristling.

"You can't, Taicho! You won't grow any taller if you drink too much caffeine before you hit puberty," Matsumoto declared, already dumping the acidic sludge into the potted plant. For a ridiculous moment, he half-expected the plant to shrivel up and die. It didn't.

The vein in his forehead throbbed dangerously.

Not for the first time, Hitsugaya reminded himself that it was beneath a captain's dignity to throttle his lieutenant, no matter how frustrating said lieutenant was.

"I wouldn't have to if someone would do their job," he deadpanned, "but that's obviously not why you're here."

Matsumoto's face immediately brightened at the unspoken permission to voice her request.

"Right, I have a huge favor to ask. You know I haven't asked for a day off in ages –"

"No."

"– and I was wondering if I could have all of tomorrow off –"

"No."

"– to make a trip to my hometown. You know. Homesickness and all that."

Hitsugaya sighed.

"I'm not giving you a day off just so you can take Abarai out drinking," he said, already returning his attention to his paperwork. The report he had accidentally blotted ink on turned out to be this week's patrol reporting schedule. He'd have to go back and reread all the reports before he could rewrite the document from scratch. "If you really wanted to visit your hometown, you can go in your own spare time."

"But Taicho, it's all the way in outer Rukongai. It'll take a whole week just to get there! The next break isn't until fall, and I wanted to go see the persimmon trees in bloom," Matsumoto wheedled.

At this, Hitsugaya frowned. There were persimmon trees in Seireitei – the ones Ichimaru Gin had planted around the Third Division. Matsumoto avoided them for the same reason Hitsugaya knew his lieutenant would never really go back to visit her hometown.

Wait.

Something mentally clicked into place like a puzzle piece.

Outer Rukongai. Patrol reporting schedule.

A feeling of alarm spread through him as he finally pinned down the source of his nagging worry. Something had been missing from the hundreds of reports he read every day. Not a single one had come in from the squads patrolling the outermost districts of Rukongai. If it had been just the Tenth, he would have dismissed it since reports over long distances were often late, but he didn't remember seeing any reports from the other divisions he was currently overseeing either.

It could be a coincidence.

His gut told him it wasn't.

"Matsumoto, when was Akita's squad supposed to report in?" the Tenth Division captain asked.

Matsumoto blinked at the sudden change of topic. She pressed a finger against her lips before replying, "Four days ago. They're a little later than usual, but it's nothing to worry about yet."

Hitsugaya was already on his feet, fastening Hyorinmaru across his back and making his way to the door as he summoned a hell butterfly to convey orders to his officers to dismiss the squads without him today. Matsumoto fell in step behind him, the transformation between cheerful slacker to serious lieutenant happening in the span of a heartbeat.

"Taicho?"

"Something's wrong," Hitsugaya murmured, brow furrowing in concentration. "Akita's squad was stationed in northern Rukongai, district seventy. The last report I got from any of the outer squads around that area came in three months ago. That's too long to be just a communication delay. I might be overthinking it...but better to make a trip for nothing than run the risk of letting anything that dangerous go unchecked for however long it takes us to know for sure."

"District seventy," Matsumoto echoed. She bit her lip. "That's pretty far, Taicho."

Hitsugaya fell silent as he considered his options. 'Pretty far' was a gross understatement. It would take the thousands of continuous shunpo to cover that distance. A captain could make it. A lieutenant, however, might not. If they had to stop and travel on foot, they would be wasting days' worth of travelling time when it might already be too late.

In the end, it came down to a choice between how much he needed his lieutenant and how much the missing squads needed him.

Which was really no choice at all.

"Matsumoto, stay," he said quietly. "Alert the other captains and be ready to organize a rescue and retrieval team."

Though she hid it well, Hitsugaya still caught a flicker of hurt flash across his lieutenant's face. He knew how much she hated being left behind, just like she knew how much he hated sacrificing lives under his command.

But duty won out in the end. Matsumoto visibly swallowed her protests and gave him a grimly determined, "Yes sir." He didn't apologize. She didn't need him to. Despite all of their differences, their priorities remained the same – saving lives would always come first. So he only ever said what he needed to say, and she somehow understood everything he didn't.

And people still wondered why he refused to replace her.

"If I'm not back in a few weeks –"

"Ten days."

"Matsumoto..."

"Ten days," she repeated with steely eyes.

He sighed. "– ten days," he relented, "then do whatever you have to."

Like always, a brisk nod was the only parting Hitsugaya offered before he pushed off into a shunpo, but this time, he had the oddest feeling that he should have said goodbye.

. . .

'I want to live,' Riko thought.

Something popped with a burst of pain as a particularly vicious kick connected with his shoulder. The world circled drunkenly before he rolled to a stop, and all he could taste was dirt, blood, and the loose tooth rattling inside his mouth. Every time he tried to rise, someone would stomp on his spine and send him sprawling face down on the street again. To his mortification, frustrated tears were sliding out against his will and smearing across his face.

"You. Fucking. Snitch," the biggest and meanest teenager in the group snarled, punctuating each word with a kick. Domoji was vicious, strong, and exactly the kind of youth Takuya-aniki's gang liked recruiting. "You told boss Takuya about the booze, didn't you? You're jealous that he picked me to join, so you tattled, you little whore!"

Riko hadn't breathed a word about the stolen sake, but he knew Domoji was just looking for a convenient outlet. No one would care whether a kid like him lived or died out here in district seventy.

"You know what we do to snitches around here?" Domoji threatened, placing a foot against the younger boy's throat and slowly grinding downwards with his sandal. Riko choked as he clawed at the teenager's ankle, but to no avail. He started blacking out from lack of air. Before he could, though, he heard the grind of steel on steel and knew Domoji had drawn his newly acquired katana.

'I want to live,' Riko thought again, this time in panic. He knew Domoji had been dying to try out his new toy ever since he got it. The young boy flailed and writhed feebly, but the older teen just pressed down harder on his throat to pin him in place.

"Want us to hold him down for you, Domo?" one of the other boys laughed.

"Hah, look at him squirm!"

"He's trying to get away. Hey, grab his legs, will ya? Juugo, get his arms!"

Several boys, all bigger and heavier than he was, pinned Riko down to the ground before Domoji moved his foot away. Smiling horribly, the older boy said, "I'm gonna carve out your tongue and make you eat it."

The sword glinted as it rose in the air. Riko screwed his eyes shut.

'I want to live,' he thought one last time the sound of falling steel whistled through the air.

The blow never landed. Amidst the cacophony of encouragement, Riko heard a different voice say "that's enough" as its owner deftly caught Domoji's wrist and stopped the sword mid-swing.

"Who the hell are you?" Riko heard Domoji yell.

"I should be the one asking you that," the newcomer spoke calmly, but there was a keen edge of steel in his voice. "Where is this sword's rightful owner?"

"You have a fucking death wish, don't you? Let go!"

"Its wielder," the stranger growled, "would never have allowed a coward and a bully to wield his zanpakuto. Where did you get this?"

"You must wanna die pretty bad," Domoji warned, "because you're really pissing me off!" The last few words came out in a roar as Domoji lunged forward, but instead of the sickening sound of steel meeting flesh, all Riko heard was a whoosh of air. He felt rather than saw the impact that sent Domoji smashing into the ground hard enough to raise a cloud of dust.

The sword thumped point-down into the earth ten meters away.

There was a moment of shocked silence.

Then someone shouted, "Get him!", and all hell broke loose.

Cries of pain and outrage sounded all around Riko through a storm of confused feet. He refused to look. He curled up into himself, covering his head with one arm. Above him, he could hear the other boys throwing punches, kicks, strangleholds - all of them countered with a whisper of movement and a blur of speed that far, far outclassed anything Domoji and his cronies were capable of.

Like all bullies, they were cowards at heart. They beat a hasty retreat the moment it became clear that they were outmatched, hurling empty threats and swearwords over their shoulders to preserve some measure of pride.

Soon enough, the street was peaceful again. There was a rustle of clothing as someone kneeled beside him.

"Can you stand?"

The voice was blunt and brisk like winter wind, but it wasn't a voice he recognized. Riko didn't dare to answer. No one strong enough to fight off Domoji would have saved him out of the goodness of their heart. So when gentle fingers landed on his left shoulder, he whimpered and flinched away, only for a firm hand to push down on his shoulder and keep him from moving.

"It's not broken," the voice murmured. "Just dislocated. Hold still, this will hurt."

That was the only warning Riko got before his shoulder joint was wrenched back into place with a sickening pop.

Riko cried in pain as he bolted upright, clutching at his offended arm. Rough as the treatment was though, it worked; Riko blinked away the tears of pain and got a good look at his rescuer for the first time.

And the first thing he did was to stare.

He had been expecting a grown-up. The voice had spoken in a firm and disapproving manner, like how adults talked to children. Like someone with authority. Like Takuya-aniki. Riko couldn't think of anyone else who had the strength to fight off Domoji's entire group at once.

He couldn't have been further from the truth.

At first, all he saw were impossibly green eyes, cold and bright like twin chips of ice. Then the hair, with a whiteness he had only ever seen in snow, purer and cleaner than all the muddy colors of impoverished Rukongai. It took Riko more than a few seconds to register the boyish curve of that face, the similar height, and the hands that weren't any bigger than his own. A boy. He had been saved by someone who looked as young as he did.

But not just any boy – Riko's breath caught in his throat as he saw the sword sheathed diagonally across the boy's back, displayed proudly for the world to see. And not just any sword either – the most finely-crafted katana Riko had ever seen, even nicer than the one Takuya-aniki carried. People would kill for a sword like that.

People had killed for a sword like that.

What kind of person walked around with a death sentence like that strapped to his back?

"You...you're my age," he stuttered.

"I doubt it," the boy said matter-of-factly, but he showed no other visible response besides offering a hand to help Riko up. The boy's hand was rough and callused, not at all like a child's, and its grip was firmer than iron as the boy effortlessly pulled Riko back to his feet.

"You're my age," Riko repeated, before he tensed up with a horrible realization. Domoji wouldn't accept losing to a kid. "Why'd you let them run? You barely hurt them!"

"If I had, then I would be no better than they are," the boy said, giving him a carefully measuring look. It was disconcerting, how certain the boy sounded when the words coming from his mouth made no sense.

"But now they'll be back," Riko said shakily. He tried not to panic as he thought of how furious Domoji would be the next time they ran into each other. "If they're not scared of you, they'll be back. And next time, they'll bring more guys, more and more, and they won't stop until they get us."

"I see," the boy said without a hint of concern.

"You don't understand," Riko tried again. "It won't just be Domoji's friends next time. It'll be a real fight! If he can't win on his own, then he's gonna ask his gang for help, and then, then...T-Takuya-aniki will find out." His voice had unconsciously dropped to a whisper.

The name finally sparked a response. Solemn lips thinned into a deep frown.

"Takuya. The one who gave Domoji that katana?" the boy asked.

"He's the leader. Every new member gets one from him," Riko answered.

"How did Takuya get a hold of them?"

There was an edge of ice, sharp and unyielding, in those words. Riko didn't dare to refuse him an answer. "Everyone knows. Takuya-aniki…he disappears. Sometimes for a day, sometimes for a week, but he always he comes back with a sword. And then he tells stories. About the person who used to own it, about how weak they were, about how he k-killed them. He's really, really strong. No one's dares to fight him anymore. If you make him mad..."

The boy listened silently, but something dark and dangerous was beginning to form behind that tranquil teal gaze. It scared Riko, a little, because he hadn't seen anyone get angry so quietly before.

When he finished talking, the boy turned his back and walked over to where Domoji's sword was still standing point-first in the ground, tugging the blade out of the dirt.

"Where can I find Takuya?" he asked softly. His voice didn't give anything away.

But Riko recognized the look on the boy's face, the whitening of his knuckles as they tightened around the sword hilt. Riko pleaded, "You shouldn't. You should stay as far as away as you can!"

The boy's gaze lingered on the sword Domoji had left behind. "There's something I have to settle."

"He'll kill you," Riko stated, not as a threat, but as a fact. "He'll kill you, he'll take your sword, and he'll give it to someone else like Domoji...and then he'll leave you outside town to rot. You'll die." Riko lowered his face. "I don't wanna see that."

The boy only said, "I won't die." He slid Domoji's sword through his obi and started walking towards the town square. There was a straightness in his back and a sureness to his step that brought a lump to Riko's throat. His age. The boy was his age. He couldn't...he couldn't just watch this happen.

"If you don't die...you'll want to. He might, he might make you just like me instead," Riko said in his smallest voice. "I don't wanna see that either."

The boy stopped dead in his tracks.

Riko grabbed a hold of the boy's sleeve and held it tight. "Promise me you won't fight him. If Domoji tells him you helped me, and then you fight him, what's Takuya-aniki going to think?" His mouth felt dry. "Please, I don't wanna get into trouble. Promise me you won't. If not, I'll...I'll stop you!" He didn't know how he was going to beat someone who had trashed Domoji's entire gang, but if he didn't, Takuya-aniki would...would...

Surprisingly, the harsh frown on the boy's face softened and melted away. His hand closed over Riko's and gently, but firmly pried his sleeve loose.

"If you lead me to him," the boy said, "I promise I'll at least give him a chance to talk."

Riko tensed. He didn't want to visit Takuya-aniki. But if not, it would only be a matter of time before the boy ran into Takuya, or Domoji told his leader everything. This way, at least, if Riko went to Takuya first, maybe he'd at least get a chance to explain what really happened. And maybe, maybe everything would be okay. The moment the boy saw Takuya-aniki, he would understand how terrifyingly strong the man was. Everyone did. Riko felt his head bob in a stiff nod.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Riko offered, "Takuya-aniki is usually at the izakaya along with the rest of the gang during the day. If we're lucky, sometimes they let us have their leftover food."

The boy didn't say anything else until Riko stopped outside the said building. Riko took a moment to muster his courage before sliding the door open.

The chatter inside paused for a moment as a few people turned to see who had entered. Riko fought the urge to bolt as he got on shaky knees and bowed, before scurrying inside. Before he could duck into an unnoticeable corner, however, he heard an all too familiar voice call out to him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Riko didn't dare to breathe as he turned to meet the gaze of the dark, wiry man seated at the head of the table. "T-Takuya-aniki."

A crooked smile. "Come here, Riko. You must be hungry if you came on your own. "

"So you're Takuya," Riko heard the boy's cool, dispassionate voice from behind him.

Takuya's tunnel-like black irises flicked from Riko to the boy behind him, and the crooked smile stretched by several yellow teeth as the man made a pleased expression. "And you brought a friend. This is rare." To Riko's horror, the black-haired man stood and stalked toward them like a predator closing in on its prey. He unconsciously stumbled back a step.

The boy stood his ground.

"Truly rare," Takuya murmured as he circled between them, looking at the boy and licking his lips. "How...exquisite. You're not from these parts, are you? "

"You recognize my shihakusho," the boy said levelly.

Takuya blinked. "Shihakusho? No. Black is hardly rare. Your eyes, though, they're different. Spirited. Like there's something you still believe in. It's rather...aggravating."

The boy's mouth tightened as he drew some kind of realization from those words.

"I see. In that case, you should at least recognize this sword." The boy drew Domoji's sword from his side and, to the shock of most people watching, struck it into the ground between Takuya's feet, leaving it quivering there like a challenge.

"This sword," the boy's voice was still calm and controlled, but straining to stay that way now, "belonged to a man named Akita Shuji. I want to know why you had it."

Takuya had taken a step back from the sword and was now sizing up the boy once more, a little more wary than before. A similar flash of understanding crossed his face as his smile reappeared and turned positively nasty. "I understand now. You're one of those," he laughed, closing in on the boy. "You're here for revenge."

"I'm here because it's my responsibility to be," the boy snapped.

"Call it what you want," Takuya chuckled as he leaned in close, his face inches away from the boy. One finger trailed along the boy's cheek. "I'm afraid the name means nothing to me though. I don't bother remembering all the weaklings I've killed."

Riko rubbed his bruised throat discreetly. The room felt stuffy, hard to breathe in, and it made him feel sluggish and slow. But when he looked at the boy's face, his blood ran cold, because there was no mistaking the white fury boiling underneath the calm façade. Something really, really bad was about to happen.

"So you're saying he's dead," the boy concluded flatly. "I assume the same goes for the owners of all the other swords in this room."

"Be careful," Takuya taunted, "You don't want to include your own sword in that, do you? Not that I would mind collecting it, but you've lost so much already. He was important to you, wasn't he? Are you his son? His student? Or just a sad, abandoned toy?"

Too quickly for anyone to react, the boy drew his katana with an expert's ease and leveled it with Takuya's throat.

"His captain," the boy answered coolly.

The entire tavern was on their feet in an instant.

And on their knees the next.

Riko choked as the temperature plummeted and blinding frost crackled across the floor. It felt like the sky had collapsed. There was an unfathomably vast, monstrous presence that filled the entire room, smothering him, crushing him, making it impossible to breathe. His legs threatened to buckle as he clutched at the wall to keep himself upright and forced himself to gasp a mouthful of freezing air.

Everyone else looked even worse off, even the most battle-scarred of Takuya's men. All of them were on the floor, desperately fighting to breathe. Only Takuya-aniki was still standing, though he had gone visibly pale.

"W-what the hell are you?" Takuya hissed. Even the effort of drawing his katana and swinging it visibly strained him, as a bead of sweat rolled down his neck despite the frigid temperature.

The boy blocked effortlessly. Eyes burning, voice steady, he said, "Hitsugaya Toushiro. Captain of the Tenth Division."

Hitsugaya's sword flashed and Takuya's blade was knocked out of his grasp, skittering along the floor.

"Akita's been a fifth seat for two decades," the boy, not at all boy-like now, continued as he stepped towards Takuya with murder in his eyes. "When we sparred, he was good enough to make me release my shikai. He wouldn't have been killed by someone like you."

Takuya drew his wakizashi. Hitsugaya batted it away before it even completely left the sheath.

"For lying in an official investigation and illegal possession of numerous zanpakuto, you are under arrest," the boy continued, unaffected.

Takuya's katana had skittered to a rest at Riko's feet. The man glanced desperately towards it now, and with a calculating look, suddenly dove towards both of them.

He never made it.

Before Riko could even process what was going on, Hitsugaya moved with inhuman speed. One moment, Takuya was lunging towards the terrified Rukongai boy. The next moment, something in the air cracked as a bone-jarring impact sent Takuya smashing straight through the wall in an explosion of splinters and debris.

"Bakudo, fourth spell, Hainawa," Riko heard, and when his mind caught up with him, he realized he was sitting on the tavern floor with the hem of a white cloak obscuring his vision. He could see a jagged hole in the wooden wall and Takuya on the other side, groaning in pain as he strained against a glowing rope.

Hitsugaya stepped deftly over the bits of debris and glanced down at his defeated opponent with an unreadable expression. In a dangerously low tone, he said, "A captain is permitted to use any means necessary to extract information from criminals if their subordinates' lives are at stake. I'm going to ask one more time. Why do you have these zanpakuto?"

The words 'any means necessary' broke Takuya's resolve.

"I didn't kill them! I didn't kill any of them, I swear," Takuya confessed. "I don't know anything – I just found them lying there, and no one ever came for them, so I took them! That's all! I never saw anyone else near them; I didn't know they belonged to your men! I didn't mean to hurt anyone, I swear on my life, please believe me!"

Riko stared as the words toppled out of Takuya-aniki's mouth. So everything, everything had been a lie. All of the stories, all of the fear, everything was nothing but a cheap illusion built up on three months of bluffs and lies.

"Where did you find them?" Hitsugaya demanded.

"There – there's a ravine north of here, and a cave at the bottom. I heard, there were noises, horrible noises, but I never saw anyone go in or out. All I know is that every few days, some new swords would turn up at the entrance. I didn't...I never went inside."

There was a tense period of silence as Hitsugaya visibly tried to keep himself from cutting Takuya down then and there. Then, with a soft curse, he sheathed his sword.

The suffocating pressure lifted and the room temperature returned to normal. The shinigami captain's voice, however, sent chills running down Riko's spine. "The zanpakuto you've taken," he growled. "You will return them. Every last one." The implicit 'or else' was clear enough without being spoken aloud.

He turned to Riko and his voice was still cold, but maybe just a little kinder.

"You have spirit energy. There's a school that teaches you how to use it. In a few days, someone will come to pick you up; it's your choice to go with them or not." No parting, no goodbye. Just like that, he was gone, leaving nothing more than a whisper of winter in the air and a trail of shattered lies in his wake.

. . .

Hitsugaya knew, from the moment he saw Akita's zanpakuto, that he was probably too late. There had been almost no spirit presence left in the blade – it was barely more than a soulless asauchi. If not for the distinctive hilt-guard, Hitsugaya wouldn't have recognized the sword at all.

Every sword that Takuya found could have been a zanpakuto. There had been at least two dozen swords in that room, many of which were impossible to distinguish between. Hitsugaya felt sick at heart. How many squads had they lost in the last three months? How had he not noticed sooner?

Three entire months.

He reached the bottom of the ravine and hurled himself straight into the cave without pausing. He could pick up faint traces of a sickening stench, not quite like a hollow's, but similar enough to set off alarm bells in his head. If the cave was really a trap, then it wouldn't do him any good to inch along cautiously. The other squads would have already done so, wary of a hollow, and it had probably gotten them killed. His best bet was to rely on speed and surprise, without giving the enemy enough time to prepare, and simply count on his own reflexes and durability to save him if the worst came to pass.

The cave was damp and drops of water echoed eerily in the darkness. He didn't let it bother him. Water was his ally.

Soon enough, there was no light at all. Hitsugaya resisted the urge to summon a light - it would only let the enemy see him before he saw them. He hurtled through pitch blackness, stretching his senses to the limit and weaving through sharp rocks and winding turns with millimeters to spare.

And all the while, the stench was only getting stronger. He recognized it now as the smell of advanced decay, when rotting corpses were kept in a warm and damp environment for far, far too long.

He was probably too late. There was probably nothing left to save.

The thought only made him push himself faster.

He was moving so quickly he almost slammed straight into the sudden dead end that loomed up ahead. Reaching out, his fingers brushed against what was unmistakably a steel door. One, no, two of them, side by side. The stench of rot was coming from both, but most strongly from the one on the right.

Rot meant bodies. Bodies meant possible survivors.

Hyorinmaru cut through steel like butter and the pieces of the door fell away.

"Tsukero." Light spilled from the glowing orb floating above his palm into the room ahead.

Hitsugaya choked on his next breath.

He had been expecting bodies. He had not been expecting what was left of them. Dangling from chains on the ceiling, heaped in piles against the walls, folded into grotesque positions into tiny cages. He didn't even have to check to see if any of them were alive. Some were bloated and plump with moisture while others were already shreds of flesh hanging off broken skeletons. Others were so mangled he couldn't tell what had been done to them.

The youngest captain fought the urge to retch. The urge to hide. The urge to flee.

He clamped down on his emotions with icy resolve, swallowed a breath of rotting air, and forced himself to walk into the room with his eyes open. He had to count. He had to know how many men they had lost. Had to see which ones were wearing the black uniforms of the shinigami, and if so, whether or not he could identify the body to confirm the casualties when he got back.

'My fault,' he thought. 'For not realizing sooner.'

Twenty-two bodies. Maybe more. He didn't recognize any of them – most barely even looked like bodies anymore, and he had been forced to resort to numbering off severed limbs for the more dismembered ones to figure out how many corpses were in the same pile.

Nothing left to save.

Then a flicker of spirit pressure flared from the room next door. Weak. Too weak for him to recognize. It could be a trap.

It could be a call for help.

Hitsugaya didn't even bother going back outside and hacking open the other door. Instead, he simply placed his hand against the adjoining wall and poured his spirit energy into the damp stone. Ice bloomed under his palm and the entire rock face froze, cracked, and crumbled away under his fingertips.

"Tsukero."

"...T-taicho."

The light in his hand nearly flickered out.

"Akita," he breathed.

He didn't know how his fifth seat was still alive. Strapped to an operating table, surrounded by dried blood, the man's body was missing chunks of flesh everywhere. Most of his legs had been scraped down to almost nothing more than grisly bones below the thighs. His left arm was completely gone, amputated at the shoulder. His eyes were empty sockets. Strips of skin had been flayed away in neat, rectangular cuts. Hitsugaya knew that a shinigami could survive injuries that would kill a normal human if their will to live was strong enough, but this went far, far beyond the limits of what a seated officer's spirit should be able to endure.

"...I figured it had to be you, Taicho," the man said, his voice strained under what had to be excruciating pain. "If anyone could find us, it'd be you."

"Don't talk," Hitsugaya ordered sharply, already sheathing Hyorinmaru and removing his captain's cloak to make a stretcher to carry the man. He couldn't even begin to heal this. "You've lost too –"

Akita winced. "Please, don't...don't tell me. I asked him to take my eyes first so I wouldn't have to see."

Hitsugaya stopped. While Unohana might be able to save his fifth seat's life, the chances of someone so seriously injured surviving the journey back to Seireitei were next to nil. And even then, the damage was too extensive. He would be a cripple for the rest of his life. And his words – 'I asked him to take my eyes first' – suddenly painted a horrifying picture of what had happened.

"Who did this?" Hitsugaya asked harshly.

His fifth seat didn't answer. Instead, he rasped, "I was so...so close to just...asking for something fatal. But Yuki, she wouldn't...have forgiven me...if I didn't try. I had to make sure you knew, Hitsugaya-taicho. Promise me...no matter what I say, you'll hear me out."

"I promise."

"The shinigami substitute."

"Kurosaki?"

"He made...another bet with me," Akita choked, "t-that even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

Hitsugaya felt his heart miss a beat.

"Believe what?"

"That he's going to...wipe out the shinigami. Raise a whole army. No one's gonna see it c-coming, not unless you warn –" Akita's words were cut off by a bout of bloody coughs. The man's only remaining hand reached out feebly, blindly groping for Hitsugaya's sleeve as Akita forced the coughs to stop. The man gasped, "Please, Taicho...you have to...believe me...!"

He couldn't.

"T-taicho...please..."

Only Hyorinmaru's icy grip on his soul kept Hitsugaya's voice level as he said at last, "I believe you."

In that instant, something inside the man finally gave out.

"Thank you," Akita whispered. His entire frame trembled, and somehow, Hitsugaya knew his stubborn, dauntless fifth seat officer would be crying if he still had eyes to cry with.

His own eyes stayed dry.

"I was...afraid all of this would be for nothing. That you would never find us, that if you did, you wouldn't believe...thank god. I...it wasn't for nothing."

"You did well," Hitsugaya said softly.

He wished he could say more. But even as he searched for the right words to comfort, to soothe, to thank, the words didn't come. He had spent too many years perfecting the curt, impassive mask he wore in front of his men to earn their respect. In the end, 'you did well' was all he could muster.

Akita smiled anyway, despite his obvious agony.

"Then...may I...one last favor, Taicho?"

"Ask."

"I heard that...freezing to death is like falling asleep. Not…painful. Could you...?"

The grip on Hitsugaya's sleeve loosened and fell away. The man was fading.

There was nothing left to save.

Hitsugaya drew Hyorinmaru once more.

. . .

He stayed outside the cave for six days. Hidden out of sight, the Tenth Division captain barely slept more three or four hours a day, and never left to find food or water. He simply watched and waited for someone, anyone to come. By nightfall on the sixth day, he was forced to conclude that no one was coming, or even if someone did, he would be too exhausted to subdue them. He spent the seventh day carrying the bodies out of the cave, one by one, and burying them in the bottom of the ravine. For all his spiritual strength, he was too small to carry more than one at a time.

If Hitsugaya ever had to thank Aizen for anything, it would be for forcing him to realize that letting his heart rule his mind only ever ended in tears. His sharp mind was his greatest weapon; he couldn't afford to charge in without thinking.

Six days was a long time to think. Long enough for Hyorinmaru to soothe away both the roiling confusion and the blind fury. When he could think clearly again, he forced himself to swallow several painful truths.

First, that besides Akita's words, he had no proof Kurosaki was involved.

He couldn't report what his fifth seat had died to tell him. The Central 46 was too wary of Ichigo, both of his sheer power and his influence within the Gotei 13. All they needed was a good excuse to label the orange-haired substitute as a dangerous hazard, and then they would shut him away in a cell for god knows how long.

'Please, Taicho...you have to...believe me...'

Guilt throbbed like a barb lodged in his heart. He had to ignore it. Had to think calmly, rationally. In the end, he trusted Kurosaki. He still trusted Kurosaki. Without solid proof otherwise, Hitsugaya owed him at least the benefit of doubt.

That led to the second realization.

Whoever was behind this wanted him to find out. The steel door, the chains, the bodies, the tools – even the dumbest shinigami could take one look at the place and know it wasn't a typical hollow's work. There were a thousand different ways to hide things if they had really wanted to stay hidden: spacing out the disappearances, moving around different areas in Rukongai, or even faking hollow attacks. It only made him more certain of Kurosaki's innocence. If someone was trying to frame Ichigo, or to get him out of the way, then Hitsugaya refused to be their unwitting pawn.

The last realization was the most chilling.

The patrol schedules had been altered. There shouldn't have been so many patrols passing through the same district in such a short span of time. Even more troubling – the residents in the area had never even seen a shinigami before.

How long had someone been screwing with the patrols through this area? And more importantly, who? He knew he had personally drafted and approved some of those patrol routes. There weren't a whole lot of people who had the authority to countermand a captain's orders. Even fewer could alter them without notifying the captain in question. If someone that high up was behind this, the consequences could be very, very messy.

Hitsugaya's jaw tightened. They thought they could manipulate him. Like Aizen had. As if he was a foolish child, waiting to stumble into their traps.

Then let them underestimate him.

He wouldn't be making the same mistake twice.

. . .

At first, people didn't recognize the blood covered child passing through the immaculate streets of Seireitei. Their confusion was understandable; the Tenth Division captain rarely appeared in public without his distinctive white hair and white haori. This time, however, the white hair was so matted with blood and grime that its original color was unrecognizable and the iconic white coat had been turned into a makeshift harness for over a dozen zanpakuto. His identity only became clear when they got close enough to see his face.

The look on his face could have frozen stone.

Once word got out, the gossip mills wasted no time to start speculating. Hitsugaya stubbornly ignored the askance looks and the hushed whispers. He had bigger things to worry about. The moment he set foot in Seireitei, he could feel hidden eyes tracking his every move. Somehow, they knew he suspected something. They just didn't know how much he suspected.

He was treading dangerous ground. Someone with the power to countermand a captain's orders also had the power to make one disappear. Not without a fuss, but Hitsugaya had no illusions that his rank granted him any sort of immunity.

Matsumoto and Ukitake both greeted him at the gates of the Tenth Division.

"Taicho, what happened?" the Tenth Division lieutenant asked. Her gaze flicked from him to the swords in his arms, and recognition flashed over her face. "These are..."

"The bodies weren't in any shape to be identified," Hitsugaya deadpanned. Not that he could have carried them back if they were. He didn't even know if the swords he was carrying were former zanpakuto or plain old katana, but it was better than nothing.

"Then the patrols?" Ukitake asked, his face falling. The Thirteenth Division captain cared too much, too deeply for even the lowest ranked members of his division.

"We lost six squads," Hitsugaya answered bluntly. "Possibly more. We'll have to call in the remaining patrols and cross-check casualties before we know for sure."

The older captain concealed his grief with well-practiced composure. "Six squads," he echoed gravely, "it must have been a truly dangerous hollow."

There it was – the inevitable question implicit in Ukitake's words. For a brief moment, Hitsugaya was tempted to spill everything to the older captain, to leave the matter in more experienced and more influential hands. The man had been juggling Seireitei politics for a thousand years while he had still been a powerless kid in Rukongai.

Pride stalled him long enough for his common sense to catch up.

'No,' his better judgment told him, 'You're probably being watched. You don't know enough. Wait. Watch. Plan.'

"I never saw it," Hitsugaya said, frowning. "Whatever it was, I didn't get there soon enough to stop it."

"It's not your fault. You've already done more than anyone else could be expected to," Ukitake chided gently.

Hitsugaya ignored the comforting words. "All outer district squads need to be on high alert, to flee instead of engage. Ask the other divisions to send someone who can identify any zanpakuto belonging to their members."

Ukitake nodded solemnly, saying, "I'll send Kiyone and Sentaro along with Kuchiki. Between the three of them, they should recognize every awakened zanpakuto in our division."

Hitsugaya gave Ukitake a nod of acknowledgement before the man took his leave.

Only now did he realize how dead tired he was. Seven days of little sleep and no food, followed by thousands of shunpo while carrying a cumbersome load, was enough to eat away even a captain's stamina. Right now, all he wanted to do was go back to his quarters, wash off the blood, and sleep.

"Taicho," a female voice spoke up behind him, and only then did Hitsugaya realize he had forgotten completely about his second-in-command.

Matsumoto could read him like no one else. She was giving him a scrutinizing look now, and he knew he was too tired to fool her.

"Did something happen?" she asked.

The question was, did he want to drag her into it? If a captain was vulnerable, a lieutenant was even more so. Losing just a fifth seat had been bad enough. He didn't know what he would do if they targeted Matsumoto. Yet he had never doubted her ability to protect herself either; there was no one else he trusted to watch his back the way she did.

He had to answer. She would know if he hesitated too long.

A brief flash of a bloody hand, feebly clutching his sleeve, crossed his mind.

"No." The word was heavy, dropping from his lips like lead. "Get back to work, Matsumoto. I know you've been slacking off."

No laughter or denial. Shit. She knew he wasn't telling her something.

"Hai, Taicho," came the forcibly cheery reply, and Hitsugaya restrained himself from looking back as her footsteps faded behind him. She hadn't called him out on it. Somehow, that only made him feel worse. Numbly, he stepped into his private rooms and slid the door shut behind him with an ominous click.

Hyorinmaru was silent.

He had never felt more alone.

. . .

A thousand shunpo away, a dark, wiry, tunnel-eyed man smiled crookedly as he leaned against a freshly bloodstained shovel next to a small patch of upturned dirt.

"Ah, well, it was fun while it lasted," he chuckled, stabbing the shovel into the earth and stretching languidly. "Even if I lost that stupid bet."

Then his skin melted and his bones creaked, distorting, twisting, and shrinking until a brown-eyed, nervous-looking boy was standing where the man once was.

"Riko," he tried, rolling the name on his tongue. "Riiiiko. Eh, not as nice as Takuya, but I guess it'll do."

. . .

Author's Note:

First off, my apologies for the huge delay in updates. I thought I would have internet where I went. It turned out we didn't even have power outlets.

Moving on. Remember the fridge horror and angst I promised back in chapter one? Well here's where it begins. Though, for those of you feeling queasy, rest assured; most chapters won't be this anywhere near this grisly.

Of course, you could always review and tell me if I should tone it down or amp it up.

I can also hear screams of frustration at the sudden time-jump backwards. Heeee. I am unrepentant. To ease your fury though, I swear on my writer's soul that I tried writing all the relevant background information into the conversation between Hitsugaya to Ichigo. It turned into a giant, five-thousand word expositionary wall of text. Between this and that, I believe this is more preferable. Besides, a lot of very important plot points will be revealed, and by the time we jump back to the main timeline, you will have a much better idea about what's really going on than poor Ichigo.

All OCs are present for purely plot-related reasons. Their mortality rate should tell you everything you need to know.

Thanks to Kasimir for beta-ing my increasingly messy and verbose chapters!