Alright. This would be my first Bleach fanfic. I have no idea where it's heading or even how it really came to me. It started out with an impulsive decision to describe a moment when Hitsugaya might have felt detached and ended up as some crazy plot to torture the poor guy beyond his physical and mental limits. So please be patient with me, for even I do not know what the heck I'm thinking while writing this.

I'm fairly suspicious the inspiration for this came exclusively from writers like Kellen, BakaBokken, and Jedi Boadicea, all of whom probably have no idea who I am, but all of whom I am in awe of. Despite the fact that they have had no direct influence, something about the way this prologue turned out just seems to scream that they have manipulated it in some fashion. Well, if that really is the case then I hope, at the very least, I did you guys some justice.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its places, characters, or other intricacies. Kubo Tite rules all. And he gets paid for it. That's definitely a plus.

"This only is denied to God: the power to undo the past."

-Agathon

Prelude

Shattered

It was cold. An unnatural, enveloping cold that numbed the senses, plunging him into a world of hazy truths and etherealities, none of which made much sense and yet somehow felt as if they should have. It was too cold.

This wasn't necessarily a bad thing for the young, white crowned captain. The cold was his life's blood. It was his energy, his motivation, his love, his very being. It fueled him, drove him, to its ends, which were his own ends. He was the cold.

But somehow this wasn't the cold as he knew it. That full-to-bursting feeling crawling tantalizingly across his nose and cheeks as if it were caressing him, leaping from his lips as if to iterate what he himself could not. That powerful force, stopping its enemies and allies alike as it surged onward toward its goal, leaving its signs behind long after it has gone. The cold had always been so fulfilling. It had held within it a completeness, a wholeness. It had kept him sane, that cold. That icy dome of protection he had wrapped around himself and others throughout his life. That spirit.

It wasn't here now. That completeness. This cold that attached itself to him like a bloodthirsty leech was empty, lacking. Dare he say it, hollow. And just like a leech, it also pulled from him everything he knew himself to be. This cold-but-not-cold, it drained him of himself, his essence. His emotions, his passions, his life.

It drained him of his blood.

In an attempt to keep himself from brooding further, he tried to open up his quickly fading senses. It took surprising effort. But finally, though vaguely, he could hear voices through the entangled mists.

Matsumoto's concerned fretting, urging something. She wanted something done, needed it. Immediately. There was no time to spare. "Get him over here, now!"

What was the matter?

Byakuya's solemn apathy. He was pushing something aside; the blame was not his to bear. "He brought it on himself."

Brought what?

Unohana's soft but stern commands. She wasn't sure there was anything she could do. She wanted to know a reason. "Why was it allowed to progress so far?"

What were they whispering about? Or were they yelling?

Abarai's gruff interruptions. He didn't understand what was happening, but he was in the middle of it anyway. Typical Abarai. "What the hell's wrong with him anyway?!"

Why was everyone so upset? Was something wrong?

Ukitake's inquisitive entrance. He was concerned about something, though he was silent about it. Somehow, that silence was so clear it punctuated as if it were a scream.

Something was definitely wrong. What were they talking about? Who were they so concerned about?

Rukia's hesitance matched by Kurosaki's boldness. Why were their voices mixed with those of Seireitei's? They were just as demanding as the others. "I don't know what happened." "Of course, we don't know! He was fine a second ago! Then he just…!"

Who…?

Suddenly, another voice. From another time, another place. Is that…? "Hitsugaya Toushirou. I believe they are speaking of you."

It was.

Hyourinmaru.

"What are you-"

Then it hit him. Everything. Like a bulldozer forcing itself upon his unsuspecting consciousness.

Aizen. Gin. Betrayal. Blood. Hinamori. Hollows. Arrancar. Kurosaki. Matsumoto. Abarai. Rukia. Karakura. Inoue. Blood. Seireitei. Byakuya. Ukitake. Hollows. Yamamoto. Urahara. Shadows. Strangers. Lights. Music. Gin. Poison. Kurosaki. Blood. Arguing. Pain. Hyourinmaru. The Living World. Matsumoto. Secrets. Arisawa. Quincy. Yoruichi. Desperation. Karin. Running. Confusion. Silence. Aizen. Blood. Aizen. Gin. Betrayal. Blood. Hinamori. Hollows. Arrancar. Kurosaki. Matsumoto. Abarai. Rukia. Karakura. Inoue. Blood. Seireitei. Byakuya. Ukitake. Hollows. Yamamoto. Urahara. Shadows. Strangers. Lights. Music. Gin. Poison. Kurosaki. Blood. Arguing. Pain. Hyourinmaru. The Living World. Matsumoto. Secrets. Arisawa. Quincy. Yoruichi. Desperation. Karin. Running. Confusion. Silence. Aizen. Blood. Aizen. Gin. Betrayal. Blood. Hinamori. Hollows. Arrancar. Kurosaki. Matsumoto. Abarai. Rukia. Karakura. Inoue. Blood. Seireitei. Byakuya. Ukitake. Hollows. Yamamoto. Urahara. Shadows. Strangers. Lights. Music. Gin. Poison. Kurosaki. Blood. Arguing. Pain. Hyourinmaru. The Living World. Matsumoto. Secrets. Arisawa. Quincy. Yoruichi. Desperation. Karin. Running. Confusion. Silence. Aizen. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Bloo-

The game is almost over, little taicho.

Hitsugaya bolted upright into a sitting position, pupils constricting into near nothingness within his alarmed but alert icy blue irises. The real world, composed of three dimensions, colors and shapes, instead of hazy mists and fragments of disembodied conversations, peered overwhelmingly back at him through the clear but painful vision his migraine was oh-so-charitably offering him.

The others were a ways away, whispering intensely amongst themselves, no doubt trying to find complete answers by combining the bits and pieces the light haired shinigami had offered each one in turn throughout the past few weeks. Kurosaki though, was a little farther to the left of the group, trying his hardest to look uninterested in the quarrels that were excluding him. And so as luck would have it, as it seemed it always did in Hitsugaya's case, the redheaded delinquent happened to be the first to notice he was awake.

"Oi! Toushirou! Great! I thought you might've died!"

"It's Hitsugaya-taicho!" the boy angrily shouted, ignoring the pounding in his head and the pains in his abdomen as he forced himself to his feet.

This was a very bad idea. The moment his bloodstained, bare feet had the slightest ounce of pressure exerted upon them, all hell broke loose within the young prodigy's body. White hot flashes of pain seared through his every nerve simultaneously. His mind reeled in the agony. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. He could no longer focus, no longer try to understand. His infamous genius had abandoned him days ago. All he knew now was the never ending torture that was currently wreaking havoc upon every inch of his dilapidating flesh, inside and out.

"Toushirou! Oi! Oi! Toushirou!"

"What is he doing on his feet?! He could kill himself!!"

"What the hell is going on?!"

"For goodness sake! Somebody please get him off his feet!!"

The Tenth Division Taicho grasped his head instinctively, even though his entire body was in pain. It felt as if his very bones were melting. His eyes were being gauged with knives. His eardrums were exploding. His throat was lodged by a million tiny needles. His muscles were bursting. His skin was rotting away. Every internal organ within his body was being eaten alive.

And yet somehow they weren't.

Wow. This is more fun than I thought it would be.

"EEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"