Revised 8.25.07
Disclaimer: If you bleach your hair, does it turn orange? I wonder if that's what Kubo is implying? Don't go blaming me for ruining your hair, bleach isn't mine!
The archangel
I The humbled
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To you I make the solemn vow,
Let us return to the second dawn of our fight,
Endowed with the strength we hold this night,
This life in payment, soul entrusted to the younger self.
Zangetsu, you and I
Our wings will take dominance of the sky, heaven and earth…
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Sado had fallen at the solitary hand of an arrancar. A salmon shaded aura lay upon his destroyed arm, rejecting its gruesome state. Tsubaki had been wiped out with even less effort that had taken down Yastora. Orihime Inoue was about to join the fate of her friends as a guillotine of a fist came down upon her. For once she had at least tried to stand up and save everyone, tried not to depend of Kurosaki-kun or anyone else, she wanted to show him and him alone that she was just as strong. As the white and tan brick wall of a fist came down, she thought of little else, aside from the fact she had failed again.
The end never came, it were as though time itself slowed and an Ichigo appeared as a swirl of black only to be joined by a second one, that inexplicably merged into the first, assuming a larger more dominating presence which arrived incalculable seconds before he actually appeared.
A flash of black intercepted the falling meteor of a knuckled extension, and the shade of orange stole her attention, a brick wall had appeared to stop the evil.
He had saved her.
Inoue stuttered and stumbled for a moment, in a mixture of relief and shame, he had come as he always did, he was predictable in that sense, but she was sick of always being saved. What was the point of her having abilities if all she was fated to do was heal?
"Kurosaki-kun? I'm sorry Kurosaki-kun, sorry I couldn't save everyone."
He didn't turn to face her unlike the time before; he remained focused not on the weakest of the espada but the fourth that accompanied him.
"It's alright Inoue…" He had spoken far less than he would have normally.
Thrusting his blade forward, the orange haired shinigami spoke no platitude or promise of vanquishing the hollows, this Ichigo was all business.
Pure ivory reiatsu bristled from the pores of his skin, spreading out to the tips of his hair, outlining it in alabaster. It was as though he was wearing glowing contacts as his eyes had furthermore taken on the reflective appearance of the aura. It spread to all corners and quarters of him, and when there was no more of him to cover, the aura exploded outward, knocking back the earth around him as it slowly backed away kneeling before him.
With a solitary word, the entire city grew inexplicably dark, as if all light had also been given, like the retreating earth, in appeasement of a higher form of supreme existence.
With a roar befitting the greatest of the tyrant lizards, the emerald-eyed arrancar took a step back; the presence, which had just crashed over him, brought an ironic thought to his mind. It was a power far beyond captain level, which the kid was reported to have just reached.
A solitary word had brought forth from will the power of a volcanic eruption.
'This must be the one we were searching for, no wonder Aizen-sama was impressed.'
It had taken him two days to learn the sequential word for the final release, and four years to master completely. It was not the upright shinigami, which appeared at the end of the explosion, which had encompassed at least a block of Karakura. Out of the remnant of lingering debris, knelt a shinigami in battle stance, his legs bent back as he stood with his solid black Nodaichi forward, blade curving down as both hands firmly held the hilt inches from the right side of his face. Respectively, his legs were stretched and bent in the most appropriate form to support the shape his arms had taken.
It wasn't the best stance a warrior could apply; rather it was a foolish one. Directly, and from the right quadrant of defense it was perfect, but when fighting from the opposing angle, it wasn't always the best choice. Nevertheless, it left everything below the arms unprotected.
Regardless of efficiency, Kurosaki Ichigo held the reiatsu-supercharged extension of himself like a samurai, poised to kill, with an emphasis on willing and able more so than ready.
Announcing to the world the name of his sword, Ichigo raised himself upward but still maintained the positioning of the hands and blade.
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Inoue regarded this Ichigo carefully, noting his presence was fierce and unrestricting, rather violent compared to his normal bored and carefree appearance.
It wasn't the same as when she had been at the execution grounds, there was a shade, no a dump truck worth of black which appeared to have fallen upon it. The reiatsu didn't sing of despair, only that it had seen an unforeseen amount of it, for the moment, despite its darkness and sad texture through smell, it was joyous, as if he had been gone a long time.
The most relevant of questions hovered in between her lips, ones, which she had considered from the very moment, he appeared out of the storm.
'Why is his Bankai uniform different, and why does his backside have my hairpin symbol on it?' She thought noticing the vast irregularity of seeing a six-pointed flower inscribed in teal upon his back; each spiked petal was a falchion or double sided stretched kite. The lower ends of each respective extension were strained to maintain a slimmer but vastly longer appearance, as it coursed into an almost invisible point. Etched in pure white above the flower was the kanji for the strongest of lordly enforcers: the Archangel.
Relatively irregular, any inscription upon its rear side was irrelevant compared to the fact he wasn't wearing the standard shinigami attire. His stance had illustrated that he had not donned a kimono, nor was he wearing a hakuma or even the signature of his weapon, a tattered black haori.
Kurosaki Ichigo was covered in what most would generally consider business formal wear. Regardless of appearance, for his usage, it appeared more casual more than respectful attire. Starched pants draped over his legs encasing them from the belted waist. From the pointed cliffs of a raised collar, material flowed down his arms and down his chest, forming a sport coat that wasn't buttoned in the center; his well-built front torso was exposed. Every muscle was carefully scripted, outlined as if he had been training for many extreme years.
His hands were also adorned in something unusual, midnight gauntlets, the sort, which start from the base of the fingers and spread just past the wrist, even though the sport coat respectively covered them. The pants draped all the way to the very top of his sandals, which bore no reflective changes. Darker than the darkest night, his suit flashed softly in the pale sunlight, reflecting the fact it was not made of cloth, cotton didn't shine in the aura of a star.
It was armor-weave. Threaded strands of stainless steel, which incorporated the defensive properties of chainmalle, yet it was lighter than cotton.
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Inoue always protected Ichigo; it was from her that he received the suit, a trend that appeared within the opening year of the conflict.
The usually unmovable shinigami had learned from the mistake of Ichigo's war against them, when a handful of ryoka had nearly dismantled an entire division, which they did in regards to the eleventh. It didn't make sense for the shinigami to have such vast numbers who could be so easily expendable. Regardless of strength levels, a means of offering them a strong defense had to be implemented.
It had been the crowning achievement of Unohana-Taicho, who believed the shinigami held no respect for the lives of those who were needlessly sacrificed on a daily basis without proper care. Teaming with the twelfth division captain, Retsu developed a kimono and Hakuma made out of woven metal, ultra light and ultra strong.
One day, Ichigo was reporting to the upper echelons of heaven, as he did from time to time, when he noticed a pair of death gods swinging their swords at each other, only to have them yield no damage. Mortified, he was about to walk over and see if they were using rubber swords when something ceased his movement.
A soft breeze of a voice crept up from behind; Unohana was swift and silent able to sneak up on the best of them.
"Kurosaki-Taicho?"
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Kurosaki Ichigo had been awarded provisional field command of all living warriors, or substitute shinigami, as they were commonly known. This also extended to any of the Vizards, shinigami exiles and those currently stationed therein. His reign of human world was tentative to the completion of the war with Aizen.
Kurosaki was a shinigami captain, but was still just a living high school student. Just a being a shinigami initiate while still alive made him legendary among the initiate ranks, the academy and even most of the major divisions. Ichigo having taking down Byakuya helped along that reputation considerably.
Inscribed as captain of the fourteenth division…relative to all forces not directly attached to Sereitei…Ichigo ascended beyond the rankings of legendary, for legend was hearsay, it could be doubted and disputed.
Much to his own dismay, many of Sereitei saw him as a descendant of the king. Initially he thought their assumptive nickname for him was a little too over the top, he didn't care for flashy titles; he had just grudgingly accepted the mantle of captain.
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"Or should I say Archangel-Taicho?" Retsu chuckled intently.
He turned when he was called, grimacing slightly and Retsu placed a large white box in front of him. Like a kid on his birthday, Ichigo tore through the box to find the dark suit, and marveled at its tenderness but relative indestructibility.
It could stop a blade; reduce the damage of cero or kidou greatly.
The bottom of the box contained a soft paper card with words scribbled on it.
'You know I love you, now I can shield you always…'-Inoue.
From then on, Ichigo was the archangel, since she had so conveniently placed the label on his rear flank.
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Even in spite of what he had just shown of himself, Kurosaki Ichigo was overjoyed, the welded smile upon his focal appearance glistened in the afternoon light.
"Which one of you wants to die first?" Ichigo taunted them jokingly.
"Bankai you say? Hey Ulquiorra, is this the guy?"
"Who would've thought your useless flailing around would've flushed him out so easily?"
"My my, here it sounds like I'm being underestimated, I'll make you regret such a failure to grasp a situation."
"Oh, a smart talker, I love killing them, it's my lucky day!" Yammy exclaimed as number ten once again drove down his mallet of a fist only to meet a great deal of pain. Ichigo danced around Yammy, shifting to the left, only to swerve to the opposite direction and tap him slightly on the chin.
A reiatsu charged fist connected with jaw, cratering the skin and nearly destroying that sector of his mouth. Concordantly, this action sent Yammy on a little flight, knocking Yammy back into some trees. He lay spread-eagled, like a passed out drunk.
With the trash disposed of, Ichigo walked calmly up to number four, his blade resting against his shoulder.
Ulquiorra stood with his hands in his pocket, reflecting the view of a common sullen teenager. Ichigo walked right up to him, towering a full head over the young arrancar.
Their eyes exchanged glances and liberal doses of killing intent.
"I wonder how you can stand there so calmly, Ulquiorra Schiffer?"
Viridian eyes rolled back, as he had not even declared his name and yet this boy knew of him inexplicably.
"How do you know of me, Kurosaki Ichigo?"
Glancing over at the temporarily phased Yammy, Ichigo stared off into space scratching his nose, totally disrespecting the arrancar.
"I'm surprised at Aizen-chan, I thought he'd send someone tough after me, but that espada wasn't fit to shine my shoes, let alone pick up trash. I wonder if number four would be enough to make me break a sweat, or should I just give Grimmjow a call?"
Ulquiorra stepped back slightly, eyes rippling outward in astonishment.
Without even the measure or the desire of wanting a reply, Ichigo swiped the tip of his blade along the pale neck of Ulquiorra, inches above his signature hole, slitting his throat. The transaction occurred so swiftly that Ulquiorra didn't even notice it at first, he saw some sort of distortion, but the boy had never moved, he kept looking out into nowhere.
Within the passing of a second, Schiffer clenched his throat, wondering how he had just been damaged. A solitary eye was staring back at him from Ichigo. He had illustrated the distances between them in a single imperceptive strike.
Aizen had poorly estimated the tactical strength of Kurosaki, an irregularity he wished to be able to relay, as he lowered an arm silently reaching out behind him to activate the gargantuan portal. With his eyes on Ichigo, he watched reality switch for a moment as the boy vanished, only to completely separate the Arrancar's starboard extension, right at the wrist.
Instinctively, Ulquiorra knew he was beyond screwed; if he could just release the zanpakuto and assume his full form, his wounds would've been repaired. Reaching for the blade with his left hand, Schiffer's face illuminated with fear and dread as he realized his inability to say the call phrase.
Ichigo stood over him taunting, "You're going to have to speak a whole lot louder than that if you want to release your sword, hah haha".
Ulquiorra Schiffer unsheathed his weapon and dropped it much in the form of Byakuya, but it wasn't Bankai he was employing, it was only the motion of bringing it out, it seemed he had other plans in mind. He didn't have much time left as crimson was draining from him, making his skin turn blue.
'Survive, I must survive to warn him!' Ulquiorra roared from the depths of his heart. His left hand spread outward from the region of the hilt, pointing upright with a solitary lit digit.
The orange haired shinigami was surprised at Schiffer's ability to form a cero in that condition, even though it was an ultimate gasp of futility.
The sphere of blood red energy surged into the stretched tear form of a pure burning flame. It was a technique form Ichi had never seen before, was it a means of charging, or something more shrewd?
Smiling with his usual irritating 'I'm so much better than you' style of arrogance, he turned the flame on himself. Ulquiorra ran the flame down the line of his initial wound. The tattered skin melted in the presence of such an intense flame, bubbled and cured, fusing together the roughly broken gap. He was cauterizing his wound, using cero like a welding torch!
Ichigo was stunned speechless, he could only marvel at the gall of number four. Knowing such a feat must've been among the most excruciating forms of self-torture, Ulquiorra's smile never wavered or faltered, it was almost like he was enjoying it. His will to serve Aizen even on such a precipice of certain demise was utterly unbreakable.
Moving onto his other wound, Ulquiorra's handiwork left behind a red/auburn smile, a scar of his underestimation. Horizontally shifting in and out, he painted the stub of his arm in crimson flame, silently. He worked with the careful precision of an artist, for he was Aizen's fourth masterpiece.
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Ichigo felt like he had just attended a seminar for the updated usages of hollow flash. To use it so practically was something he had never even thought possible, it was a cannon nothing more, nothing less until that moment.
"It really is true, you learn something new every day, I think I'll try it too…" Ichigo roared vehemently catching Ulquiorra off guard even further by the sinister tone and radical implication.
Darkness once again shrouded Karakura from the light of the star, a feat that caught a pair of exiles frozen in fear. They had leapt from an unassuming candy store and were concealed within the blurs of their own flashing abilities. A man and a woman could only stare in supreme terror as the earth, the stars the sky began to quake even more violently than before. A pulsing constant eruption or reiatsu severed the silence like a bat through a window. Just like the espada, the expulsion of earth called upon the signature trademark of having ascended beyond the limit of what a sound wave could travel.
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All the bells and whistles of soul society had been ringing constantly since the arrival of complete arrancar. Orders and messengers were scrambling about, all manners of respectful bowings and name suffixes were still being applied, even in the dire condition.
But when Kurosaki Ichigo showed a higher power level than he was known to have, it stopped all the nonsense.
Shinigami watched and heard through spoken report in marvelous awe, as Ichigo stood before the advanced hollows even stronger than they were.
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Ulquiorra should've been using this eruption, as a distracting agent to escape, unfortunately there was the matter of such a titanic spiritual pressure, which was holding him so politely, knelt. He felt embarrassed, like he was fettered in a stockade, and villagers were pelting him with rotten produce.
To think that this Kurosaki Ichigo had been capable of humbling him so. He had already ascended beyond the latent abilities he was thought to have. If he was so extraordinarily strong, why was he chosen when his released form matched the pressure, which was holding him in place?
He should not have been that strong, his latent abilities should've been the sort that sought dominance of him. It was said to be capable of invading his life and world, from what Aizen-sama had referred to as 'interesting'.
He had hoped to use Cero once again practically, channeling it through the blade to furtively activate his final form. Unlike the shinigami zanpakuto, an Espada's zanpakuto was not sentient, only a stored away portion of one's true self and true form, as to not be so cumbersome all the time. Ulquiorra had removed the sword on the off chance his other arm was removed from him. At the moment he could no sooner speak, nor reach out, he was even struggling to breathe as the covered wounds were allowing him to regain some of his color. His face and arms shifted from blue to their usual albino shade.
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What appeared out of the darkness, the hurricane of lingering debris was something out of a horror movie. A masked villain had just appeared wielding an onyx long-sword and a twinkling replicate of his blade, comprised of cero…
The Vizard had channeled all of his hollow power into the creation of a second weapon. Using the sky-piercing fang, he cast a shell around his zanpakuto, forming an exact silhouette a mere millimeter above the original. Filling it with the crimson of a hollow burst, he pulled forth from the forge of the primary: a secondary.
With his hands forward, Kurosaki Ichigo stood above Ulquiorra with both blades poised in the style of a scissor, swords crossed just above the hilt, lying directly on the newly cauterized wound.
Fearsome sunlit eyes set upon Ulquiorra who knew at that moment he was about to die with a regret still lingering in his heart.
When he spoke, it was as though he lingered at the depth of ten thousand leagues. The distortion and disruption in his voice could only be defined as one speaking underwater. Oddly enough, such a voice was considered to be the voice of a hollow, when in fact the espada spoke normally like a human.
"As a measure of mercy, Ulquiorra Schiffer, you are about to die, the first of many to die at my hands this time around. Know that I have returned from a time scorned by your master not to commit murder, but to prevent it. Bloodshed to prevent future murder is contradictory, but it is not unjust. I've killed you before, this time will not be the result of you heckling me over the lifeless body of the one I love."
The last words Ulquiorra Schiffer would ever hear was that his master would be joining him shortly in hell.
With a fierce and unrelenting battle cry similar to a charging horde of Indian warriors, Ichigo screamed vehemently as he relieved the emerald-eyed boy of his head. The blade hilts slowly and deliberately separated until both existed apart from the other.
Snip.
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'Who am I watching' Inoue questioned herself, pinching her arm thinking this was a dream, 'Ichigo didn't just kill that guy, he'd never, he'd try to reform him, to make him turn, he'd never go that far!' When a torn head fell apart from a downed corpse, Inoue dropped to her knees.
It was him! Ichigo had really just murdered that guy, when that one really hadn't harmed anyone; it was the big lug that was taking a nap in the woods, which had caused so much trouble.
The relevance of him murdering someone had not been overshadowed by the all-encompassing darkness, which radiated from him. In such a state to her he appeared like a hellhound, and what was a little murder here and there, nothing out of the ordinary.
Seconds later, the body of the fallen molecularly vaporized itself.
Inoue wanted to run, wanted to reject the dark side of the moon and bring back the Ichigo she loved. When he turned, she saw those eyes.
Coal for retinas, citrine pupils, and a hollow/hockey mask for a face.
She wanted to vehemently scream in terror, but the pressure still lingered around him, she was restrained from even the slightest movements. He had lifted the curtain to allow them to breathe, but not much else.
Ichigo ambled over to Yammy, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck like a cat, and slapped him awake.
"Rise and shine, this is your wake up call, dumbass!"
"You…" Yammy exclaimed as he couldn't see Ulquiorra, but noticed a smear of red upon the other edge of the clearing.
Ichigo didn't sugarcoat his words; they were precise and not subject to contestation.
"Tell Aizen-chan that the verdict is out and he has been found most wanted. I'll give him one day to get his affairs in order, one day to run and hide with his tail between his legs. Tell him I want him to run, I want him to watch his back in fear, I have dispatched his forth with not so much as a breath…"
Without reply or even the desire to hear one, Ichigo opened up the mouth of darkness and threw the bear sized Espada into it, like a trash bag into a dumpster.
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Dusting himself off, Ichigo strolled forward aimlessly amused with himself, he had just dispatched number four and hopefully his display will have molded number ten enough for him to be used in the only manner to which Yammy was worth.
Having revealed himself as the archangel, Ichigo would have to fight off a storm of looks, doubts and fears. He hated the possibility of losing any of his companions out of avoidance. The Inoue he knew didn't care about the darkness that he wore as a mask, for she knew what was underneath, what would never be changed by the shadow of a hollow persona.
This Inoue wasn't privy to the natures of his true self, all she saw was the fearsome form of a monster.
His status of archangel was most likely to be reduced to demon, most of all by soul society.
Even if he lost Rukia, Ichigo would force himself to be content.
If that was the requisite of doing what must be done, then so be it.
Either way, Aizen would be dead in a short time; all was well.
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Thank you to: Juniper-Prime, Krymsom, Shandul-kun, Icefoxer, CB, Kyubbi-Sama, Jumarien and Catho for reviewing the prototype of Archangel.
A/N: I revised this story both for myself and for the reviewers, I noticed how incomplete the first chapter felt, and took it upon myself to improve it. I didn't want to set precedence as I did in Moonfang with my initial chapters being weak and improperly built. Archangel for me is a less tactically driven story, where Aizen has been clearly established as the jerk, and Ichigo is free to act without having to micro-manage the universe. His actions without the support of his friends will undoubtedly cause him grief and possibly even leave him an outcast.
At the moment, Moonfang is on hiatus. My super ideas regarding it may appear in this one, or not, it all depends on how far I take this. I've enjoyed writing this considerably, and I hope you enjoyed it just as much.
Thanks for playing along- CH
-Description of hollow voice being similar to spoken underwater I have to give credit to James D. Fawkes: the master of the Naruto time reversal story.