"The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become."

-Charles Dubois

Cut off from time and space, existing in a dimension purely its own and only loosely connected to the other worlds, the King's Realm was meant to be untouchable by the cares of earth and the various Soul Societies. It ruled from a higher plane, and although there always had existed ways to reach it from the worlds below, somehow it maintained a certain distance through the ages.

Until that time, this time.

Now – if there could be a now in a place that was everywhere and everywhen at once – explosions rocked the white palace walls and clouds of dust filled its long corridors, masking the violent motions of battle within. Screams rose high in the air, some of them horribly, painfully human, others somehow less than the meanest, harshest of animals. Bulky creatures that had wandered out of a nightmare – out of the gates of Hell themselves – snarled and writhed and leapt from the shadows at the defenders of the King's Realm – shinigami, the zero guard, the rare arrancar. Enemies clashed, struggled for a moment, perhaps a bit longer if they were evenly matched, and then suddenly one fell to the ground and the other stood straight, shook off or flicked away the blood, and hurried off to the next foe. It was brutal, it was fast, it was chaotic.

It was war, and it had reached the King's Realm.

The white walls and floor suddenly quaked and rumbled with the sound of a far-off explosion, dislodging loose chunks of stone and mortar and throwing the fighters off-balance for just a moment. Then, following the quaking like one wave behind the last, a viciously oppressive reiatsu crashed down upon the senses of those doing battle, paralyzing them for just a moment before its weight lightened just enough to move, just enough to breathe.

Those who recovered first made sure that they would live just a moment longer than the enemies that did not.

The battle went on, but even in its midst, several of the scattered warriors took a moment to lift their heads and murmur a name, softly, like a prayer they could not or dare not finish.

"Ichigo…"

Like so many other places in the palace, dust filled the air in the large, rectangular antechamber just before the throne room. Huge cracks marred the once-perfect white stone walls and polished floor, and more than one of the pillars which had lined the hall like trees had been shattered and now lay across the ground in rough, uneven pieces.

The dust was settling slowly to the ground, and soon a figure came into view, standing on thin air in a loose, cautious stance. His death-white skin blended into the background – the only features which made him visible were the sweeping red markings across his chest and face, his black hakama, and his orange hair. A long black katana was clenched in his right fist, and as he turned his head, searching the cloud of dust across the floor, a pair of forwards-curving horns jutting from the fragments of bone mask on his face caught the room's omnipresent light.

"Kurosaki Ichigo."

He snapped his head around and downwards, training his gold-and-black eyes on the figure that was just becoming visible through the haze.

"I must say, I'm rather disappointed," the voice continued. "Was that truly the strongest attack you are capable of? Was that the extent of your pseudo-resurreccion's powers? Look at me. You hardly did more than singe my coat."

The dust had cleared by then, and the man standing on the ground was fully visible. His face smiled softly, but his eyes held a hard, mocking quality in their depths that belied any kindness one might find in his appearance. His right hand held a green-hilted katana loosely, while his left gestured toward a splotch of black on his white overcoat – the singed area he had just referred to.

Meeting the eyes of the young man standing above him, Aizen lowered his hand slowly.

"You have grown stronger, Kurosaki, do not misunderstand me. The fact that you could mark even this much is testament of that. However, if that truly was the best you could do, and when I have yet to release my sword's shikai, then even you must understand that this battle is hopeless. Stand down, Kurosaki. There is no reason for a human to die in Soul Society's battle."

"Shut up," Ichigo snarled. His voice echoed slightly around the edges, distorted by his hollowfication. "This isn't about Soul Society."

Aizen regarded Ichigo calmly.

"I see," he said. "So you want revenge, then? You want to kill me for Karakura? How very…hollow-like, to follow your base instincts that way."

"That won't work, Aizen," Ichigo insisted, and he shifted suddenly into a wider stance, readying his blade for an attack. "I've accepted it already. You can't break my resolve like that anymore."

Without warning, Ichigo's pale form flickered and vanished with a buzzing snap of energy. Aizen's gaze shot to one side, and in an instant he had casually blocked Ichigo's blow with the sword in his hand.

"You don't deny it is revenge, then?"

Ichigo gritted his teeth and pressed harder. Zangetsu trembled against Kyoka Suigetsu, but with little other effect.

"Hmph. Weak."

Aizen suddenly pressed back, sweeping his blade to the side. The force was incredible; Ichigo barely managed to right himself so that his feet met the wall rather than the back of his head. A spiderweb of cracks spread out around him.

With a hollow scream, he launched himself at his enemy once again.

The stone shattered and rained down upon the floor.

As the battle continued, Ichigo felt his frustration mounting. Aizen blocked every strike one-handed – at one point he had even gone so far as to casually side-step a black getsuga tenshou, leaving the attack to carve a new canyon in the white floor and opposite wall. If it hadn't been obvious before, the truth of the situation was glaring into Ichigo's face now; Aizen was toying with him. Nothing was really stopping the man from striding over to the tall golden doors at the far end of the chamber, breaking the energy seal that quivered over them, and passing through – nothing except for a faint curiosity in Ichigo's natural abilities and, perhaps, a desire for some form of entertainment.

If Ichigo couldn't surprise him, land a killing blow before Aizen's interest waned…

He felt his hollow stir within his mind, adding its own powerful rage to his. Nobody messed with them. Nobody toyed with them. They were stronger than this.

Snarling and ignoring the pain of a newly-earned gash in his side, Ichigo flash stepped to a point just above and behind Aizen, anticipating and even welcoming the jarring sensation of Zangetsu clashing with Kyoka Suigetsu once again. Aizen turned his head just a little, tilting it back and opening his smiling mouth to say something.

Ichigo gathered all his power, all his rage, mixing it with his hollow's and with Zangetsu's and snarling two words between the fragments of his mask.

"Getsuga Tenshou!"

A black dome, edged in red, burst out of the point where their swords crossed. It swallowed both figures completely, and the explosion shook the room.

When the reiatsu cleared, the chamber resembled little more than a vaguely rectangular wasteland. Every pillar in the room had shattered completely. Most of the walls were little more than jagged, gaping holes which opened to other rooms, other halls, many of these also damaged by the explosive attack. Only the wall which held the golden doors, the wall that separated them from the throne room, remained conspicuously intact.

It was in front of these doors that Ichigo stood, his feet planted wide, his shoulders sloped, panting raggedly. A crack spread across his mask's left lower jaw, and tiny shards of bone fell from it, only to vanish before they could strike the floor. Sparing just a moment, he searched inside his mind for the hollow.

It was there, and it was stubborn, but it was tired as well. It would keep pressing its power through him, but much longer, much more, and it would collapse, utterly spent.

Then, they would all die.

The hollow snarled at the thought and pushed more power out. The crack in the mask sealed itself shut, as did the deep wound in his side.

Not that easy, they wouldn't. No way. Not that easy, King.

Ichigo turned his attention outward again, focusing on the figure standing hardly more than twenty feet away from him.

Aizen was examining something on his left hand, and with a jolt of something like triumph, Ichigo realized that the man's entire sleeve was streaked with wet, glistening red.

"Keep your focus, Ichigo," a deep voice resounded from his soul. "It is still a hard battle ahead."

"What're ya waiting for, King?" This voice was higher, wilder, full of the insanity of war. "Get 'im, now!"

But Ichigo held back for just another moment.

Aizen looked up at last, extending his hand toward his hollowfied opponent. Blood dripped from his fingers slowly.

"Better, Kurosaki," the man said. "That attack was far more powerful than the last few. In fact, I am rather curious now as to why the same attack name released such a different form. Unfortunately, it seems I might not be able to sate my curiosity right away. Time grows short, after all, and I have a throne to take."

"Like hell you do," Ichigo replied, straightening. "You're staying right here, Aizen!"

The brown-haired man lowered his hand, staring Ichigo directly in the eyes. The hollowfied shinigami's glare tightened, and some of his resolve flashed through his gaze, turning the burning gold irises brilliant blue for just a moment. Aizen sighed in disappointment, shaking his head slightly.

"What a shame," he murmured. "You are far too stubborn a boy, Kurosaki. If not for that one trait…"

Suddenly he was gone. Ichigo's eyes widened, the gold in them appearing as surprised specks in a sea of black, and he turned Zangetsu to block, consciously drawing the toughened hollow-skin, the hierro, around his body.

A moment too late.

Blood sprayed through the air, and Ichigo stumbled back, a new wound stretched across his chest and left side. The hollow in his soul jumped up suddenly, pressing his power to the outside, and the gaping slash was sealed shut by instant regeneration. The energy it took was too great, however. If Ichigo took many more hits that vital, his hollowfied form would shatter, and he would be left without its power, a mere shinigami.

Aizen smiled slightly from where he stood, casually sweeping back some loosened strands of hair with his bloodied hand.

"I would have been more than happy to let you live."

"We'll show him 'let live,'" the hollow in Ichigo's soul muttered. At that moment, however, Ichigo wasn't exactly inclined to agree.

Aizen was powerful; he had known that ever since their first meeting on Sougyoku hill, when the man had blocked Tensa Zangetsu with a single finger before vanishing into Hueco Mundo. The fact had been further reinforced during the ill-fated Winter Battle, when he had neatly decimated most of Soul Society's elite fighters and left Ichigo half-dead along with them, moving on to destroy Karakura town and create the King's Key. A burning desire, a need, to reach that power was the one thing that had spurred Ichigo on afterwards, through extensive training with the Vaizard to fully control his hollow abilities, through learning at least some rudimentary kido and reiatsu control, and through Hell itself when it was discovered that the last remaining path to the King's Realm was beyond its gates. He had mastered his hollow, gaining a level of power none of the other Vaizard had expected – a resurreccion – and he had finally achieved such close rapport with Zangetsu that one could safely say that neither one wielded the other – they simply were in battle.

To pass through all of that, to temper himself in Hell's own fire, and to come out only to find that Aizen still walked all over him, opened a black pit somewhere in the region of Ichigo's heart.

"Dammitall, King, pull yourself together!" the hollow snarled in his mind.

"It is not hopeless yet, Ichigo," Zangetsu added, his deep voice reassuring as it echoed through his soul. "Do not lose your resolve. Fight, and win."

But how? This was the height of his powers, the absolute most he could draw from Zangetsu and from his hollow, and that still barely enough to cut his enemy, never mind kill him.

Zangetsu and the hollow were silent.

"Interesting conversation, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo blinked and looked up quickly, berating himself. Communication in his soul never took more than a bare moment of time on the outside, but in battle – especially in this battle – a moment could mean his death.

Fortunately, Aizen seemed content to observe him at a distance.

"None of your business," Ichigo retorted, filling his voice with as much insolence as he could manage. "And we're not done here."

"I suppose not," Aizen replied, finally raising his sword, though his stance remained casual. "But I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me, before you die, just what makes your powers so…unusual?"

"Dunno what you're talking about."

Ichigo suddenly leapt forward, swinging Zangetsu at Aizen's neck. The man raised his own katana to block, and at the last moment, Ichigo flash-stepped around his enemy to strike from the other side. Like lightning, Kyoka Suigetsu was there, stopping the black blade short.

"I mean your ressureccion," Aizen replied, his tone of voice still appropriate for two acquaintances discussing something over tea. "I was not aware that a Vaizard was capable of such a thing. After all," and he swept his sword to the side, knocking Zangetsu wide and counterattacking with a quick movement of his wrist, "the resurreccion is the full release of the abilities of one who is primarily hollow. A vaizard, which is mostly shinigami, should no more be able to use resurreccion than an arrancar should be able to shape his sword into a shinigami's bankai."

"Sorry. I don't know why I can do this," Ichigo said, though it was only half the truth. He might have had a vague idea as to the reason – his hollow and Zangetsu had tried to explain something about balances, but they lost him right about the time they started to use metaphors. It was as bad as that king-and-horse thing the hollow liked to go on about.

He dodged another lightning-fast strike and flash-stepped back to give himself some room. With a deep breath, he gathered energy in his mask, compressing it just the way his hollow had taught him.

"It's just what I am."

In a quick movement, Ichigo swiped some half-dried blood from his side and touched it to the tips of his mask's curved horns. The energy in them mixed with it, suddenly appearing as a violet orb directly between the horn tips.

For the first time, something like surprise passed through Aizen's eyes.

Dropping his head slightly so that the horns were perfectly aligned with his target, Ichigo ground out the three words that would release the rapidly spinning ball of light.

"Gran Rey Cero."

With a sound like space itself being torn apart, the destructive energy burst forward, widening into a cone as it blasted toward Aizen. The traitorous shinigami's expression turned purely serious, and he planted himself in a firmer stance, raising his sword.

Kyoka Suigetsu met Ichigo's espada-level cero, and the groaning of space became louder. The sword shook in Aizen's hands; his eyes widened perceptibly. Shards and rays of violet light, crackling with destructive intent, flew out around him, the pressure of their power making the room shake and bearing down on Aizen's entire body like a vice. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty rose in his mind – perhaps he should have finished the boy immediately, even given him a fatal glimpse of his shikai rather than letting the fight drag on…

The pressure increased, and the stone under Aizen's feet cracked. Determined, the man dug in, leaning his weight into his sword, which he now held in both hands rather than just one. Dimly, even over the sound of the cero and his own reiatsu's crackling, he could hear the boy roaring, a long, hoarse, drawn-out yell as he funneled all his power into the attack.

Then, just as Aizen felt he was at his breaking point, that he would either have to find a way to retreat or he would be overcome, the pressure of the cero wavered.

Aizen immediately pushed the advantage he found, discovered the weak spot in the ray, and broke it.

Shards of violet light exploded outward, fizzling harmlessly out of existence around him.

Aizen shifted his grip on Kyoku Suigetsu, preparing to release it. Then he caught sight of his opponent, and he paused.

Ichigo stood across the room like a puppet with cut strings. He was leaning heavily on Zangetsu, and he trembled visibly. Every breath he drew was strained, hoarse, and, perhaps most importantly, free of the hollow's metallic echo.

As Aizen watched, the fragments of mask that half-covered Ichigo's face crumbled, falling into nothingness. The mane of orange hair appeared to suddenly cut itself from the back of the boy's head, drifting away. The pale, red-striped skin faded and warmed to a more normal hue. And his eyes – his eyes were no longer the burning gold-on-black, but glared at him in a far more human brown-on-white.

Aizen shifted Kyoka Suigetsu back and relaxed. Shikai would be completely unnecessary, after all.

His confidence restored, Aizen turned away from the panting shinigami substitute and proceeded to examine the golden doors that separated him from the king, from victory.

They were tall, no, massive, more fit for giants than ordinary men. No handles were visible, nor were there hinges. In fact, the only things which suggested that this was anything more than a simple panel of gold cut into a wall were the hairline crack that ran directly down the center, the narrow gap between the door's bottom and the polished white floor, and the sealing magic that blanketed the entire thing like a shimmering curtain of reiatsu. Markings were carved into the doors, thin lines of runes and script and pictographs from cultures around the world and throughout time – a quick search let Aizen's experienced eyes pick out fragments of kanji now obsolete, of the hiragana script he rarely used, of signs which bore certain resemblance to the writing he was accustomed to but were either from a time long before or long after his own studies of his language.

He smiled to himself, smug and certain now. This power – the power to see and move through time and space, to rule all the worlds absolutely – would be his.

A scraping sound caught his ear, and he turned without concern to see the boy standing unsupported once again, his black katana held in front of him. His eyes were brown, but they still burned, and their message was clear.

Kurosaki would die before he stopped fighting.

A pity. Aizen still had a few more hypotheses concerning the union of hollow and shinigami, and from what he had seen, Kurosaki Ichigo, while not perfect, was the best model of them he had ever come across – far superior to both of his own projects, the vaizard and the arrancar. The side of Aizen that was a scientist would have loved to keep the boy as a test subject of sorts.

If he ever chose to continue his experiments, if he wanted to replicate this fusion of beings, he would have to start completely from scratch.

Such a pity.

"I don't know what you hope to achieve," Aizen said casually, not bothering to fully face Ichigo or to even raise his sword in response to the clear threat being directed at him. "You could not defeat me while at your strongest, and that form is broken now. Why keep trying?"

Ichigo was breathing hard, but he still managed to force strength into his voice.

"Idiot. You're just like all the other enemies I faced, all the others who were too strong for me, who I couldn't hope to defeat. But I did it anyway, each and every time. You…you're no different than the rest of them. It's not that I won't stop trying. I was never trying. I just…I WILL beat you!"

Aizen closed his eyes slowly, a calm smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Finally, he turned to face Ichigo and he raised his sword. Then, he opened his eyes again.

"I must say that I find your tenacity strangely admirable, for all that it lacks wisdom. Very well, Kurosaki Ichigo. If you are so determined, I will fight you further. But this time –" Aizen shifted his grip on his katana, holding it point-down and raising it so that the blade was directly before his face – "I won't be holding back."

Ichigo's eyes widened and his legs locked up as though paralyzed. Aizen dropped the sword. He followed its descent helplessly, hearing Aizen say something dim and muffled – dim and muffled because it was hard to hear much of anything over the frantic shouts of Zangetsu and the hollow.

"Ichigo, watch ou—"

"—elease, King, it's his damned relea—"

"—eyes, your—"

"—ose 'em, cl—"

"CLOSE YOUR EYES!"

Kyoka Suigetsu began to glow with a bright white light, just as Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut and ducked behind one arm. The light flared out, glaring dark red through his eyelids and leaving neon-colored afterimages behind, random spots and lines which slowly faded away.

Cautiously, Ichigo lowered his arm and looked up at Aizen. The man was retrieving the released Kyoka Suigetsu from where it had stuck, point-deep, in the white stone floor, his countenance completely undisturbed.

"So, Kurosaki, what did you think of Kyoka Suigetsu's release? I find it rather too…flashy, myself. Ironic, almost, that such subtle power must be set free with such a vibrant show of energy."

"I didn't see it," Ichigo refuted, more to ease the doubt in his own mind than to argue with Aizen. "I shut my eyes. Sorry."

"Is that so?"

Aizen's smile widened, and he flickered. Ichigo immediately swung Zangetsu behind him, and felt the shudder of steel impacting steel.

"That was shunpo," Ichigo accused, glaring over his shoulder. "It was no illusion. Stop trying to mess with my head – I didn't see your damn release, and that's that!"

"You're right. It was shunpo. But…"

Aizen's form suddenly wavered, becoming transparent, and Zangetsu bit partway through Kyoka Suigetsu. Ichigo blinked, momentarily confused.

"Is this?"

The transparent Aizen abruptly vanished. Ichigo whirled, facing front again and bringing Zangetsu over his shoulder the moment he heard the voice – the voice that was coming from in front of him, not behind.

Aizen moved, bending back slightly so that Zangetsu's tip whistled through thin air in front of him, and then snapped forward, Kyoka Suigetsu slicing through Ichigo's shoulder. Biting back a grunt of pain, Ichigo leapt back, blood falling from the new wound. The cut was deep and it burned; Ichigo swore to himself, but he didn't drop his stance. He'd had worse.

"You were wrong, Kurosaki; you did see Kyoka Suigetsu shatter. This is the end. So come, let us finish this battle."

Ichigo glared at Aizen, cursing inside as he felt the helplessness well up again.

"Ichigo…it is raining again, Ichigo."

Sorry, Zangetsu. There wasn't much to be done about it.

Ichigo's face settled into its most familiar expression – a deep scowl – and he tightened his grip on Zangetsu's black hilt. Aizen was clearly waiting for his move, waiting to see what he would do first. Well, then, he would just have to oblige him – Ichigo wasn't going to just stand there forever, after all…even if it meant playing right into the traitor's hands.

"Are you so without hope, Ichigo? Is your resolve drowning?"

His resolve…

He would win. He had to win.

"You cannot even convince yourself of that, Ichigo."

Ichigo tensed, and launched into flash-step, trusting his instincts to guide him in battle as half of his mind was turned inward, conversing quickly with his zanpakuto.

"What must you have to believe in yourself?"

Ichigo wasn't quite sure how to answer that. Most of his instinct, and even part of his intellect, called out for strength, power, enough to finally defeat this enemy. However, this response was one tied most closely to his hollow side, and though he had mastered and accepted that side of him, certain aspects still made him uneasy.

So instead of devoting more thought there, Ichigo turned his attention outwards again.

Aizen was becoming sloppy with his blocks and attacks; this was probably an illusion, and the real Aizen was elsewhere in the room. Unfortunately, Ichigo couldn't simply abandon his current opponent and search out the source of the trickery – the illusionary sword was still sharp – and he suspected that the traitor knew it.

"Your own power, perhaps?"

He had his hollow, but that form had broken, and he couldn't draw the mask out again while it was so exhausted. If that wasn't his own power, if Zangetsu wasn't his own power, what was?

The illusory Aizen finally wavered and broke under his sword, only to be replaced by another Aizen, who might also have been an illusion, but who might not have been, as Ichigo was being pressed backwards this time, forced to defend himself from a rapid barrage of blows.

"You are not yet as strong as you could be, Ichigo."

No time, no time for training. This battle was here, it was now, and it was the last stand he could make against Aizen – there was no time to retreat and learn.

He swept Zangetsu through Aizen's midsection, but the illusion shattered even as he did so. A sudden pain spread along his back; he lurched forward and cried out, stumbling as he turned around to instinctively block another strike from behind from another smiling Aizen who, again, may or may not have been a mere image.

"Fight, Ichigo. Win now, and you need not reach for this power."

Zangetsu made it sound like he actually had a chance. Ichigo tried to draw strength from that, and felt the helplessness ease a little. The rain was slowing, being replaced by burning sunlight, though it still shone through a thin layer of grey clouds.

The Aizen in front of him seemed hazy around the edges, a little fuzzy, a little out-of-focus. Ichigo swept his sword through what he now knew was an illusion and immediately flash-stepped a distance away to avoid the expected attack from the new false opponent.

It followed, and Ichigo attacked the illusion with a frustrated yell.

How long would Aizen keep this up? Where was he?

"Falter, and you will have little choice. Look out, Ichigo!"

Two more hazy-edged Aizens leapt at the young shinigami, both striking at the same time from different directions. Ichigo hastily blocked one blow with his sword and caught the other on the back of his hierro-toughened wrist, wincing as even the illusory blade managed to cut a thin line through his actual skin.

"Quit playing with me!" Ichigo yelled, directing his voice to the room at large as he thrust the illusions away, blasting one through the rubble with a burst of black reiatsu before attacking the other furiously.

There was no satisfaction in destroying the images of Aizen. What he wanted was to find the real one and tear. Him. Apart.

For destroying his home, his world.

Never mind that Inoue was, to the best of his knowledge, currently back in the real world, combining her powers with Hachigen's, her strength with the rest of their friends', trying to reject what happened to Karakura. Even if she succeeded, restoring the town and the lives of those within, Aizen had done too much to those Ichigo held dear, and he threatened to do so much more.

He needed to die.

And this time –

Ichigo viciously beheaded another illusion, scanning the room every chance he got for the telltale haze he had discovered –

This time, Aizen would fall.

The whistle of a blade cutting through the air sounded to his side, and he was too slow in summoning the hierro once again; it sliced open the outside of his right shoulder, scattering blood across the broken floor. Ichigo snarled in a combination of pain and anger, whirling about and blocking a return blow.

Just then, a flicker caught his eye in the direction of the wall with the throne room's doors. Ichigo finished the illusory clone as quickly as he could, flash-stepped randomly to the side to give himself a moment of time, and looked.

Another flicker, and it wasn't the curtain-like seal over the doors. It was more like a hazy outline in thin air.

Ichigo felt a predatory grin spread across his face.

"Got ya," he whispered, and then he drew on his power and flash-stepped over, swinging Zangetsu about.

Steel met steel with a ringing crash, and Aizen – the true Aizen – appeared at last. There was a brief hint of surprise on his face which melted quickly and smoothly into calculated cunning.

"Ah, yes…you closed your eyes. I see," he said softly. "Of course. My hypnosis is absolute, but if you do not fully see the release…"

"You had me going for a while," Ichigo confessed, some of his old cockiness beginning to seep back into his bearing, "but I figured it out quick enough. I can still see through your illusions."

"Yet they were able to wound you," Aizen countered with a faintly smug tilt to his smile.

Almost as one, the warriors disengaged their blades, leaping back a short distance. This time, though, Ichigo didn't make Aizen wait for a new attack; yelling, he forced his reiatsu into his blade, and a crescent of dark energy, edged in red, flew across the room, followed closely by the shinigami himself.

Aizen split the energy attack in half and blocked Zangetsu effortlessly. Ichigo pressed down on the blade, locking Kyoka Suigetsu in place as he searched Aizen for an opening, a weak spot…

He was hazy around the edges.

Ichigo swore, spotted an opening – the left side, if he twisted Zangetsu and pressed like this – and sliced through the image as he spun about to block the blow that was sure to be coming in from behind.

Nothing.

And then there was something heavy in his chest, and he looked down to see the silvery tip of a blade, laced with red, protruding from the front of his tattered bankai coat.

The pain followed a bare instant later. Choking suddenly on his own blood, Ichigo twisted his head around to see Aizen behind him – not a hazy image, but the real, solid man – wearing a knowing smirk.

How?

He wasn't aware he had spoken aloud until Aizen answered.

"Every one of your senses is in my control. Knowing this, why are you surprised that I could create the illusion of an illusion for you?"

Then, with a cruel turn of his lips, Aizen twisted the katana in Ichigo's chest – despite himself, he cried out in pain – and thrust it sideways through lung and muscle and ribs.

Ichigo collapsed instantly.

The hollow was frantic, holding together shreds of tissue, droplets of blood, shards of bone. It tried to regenerate Ichigo's torn body, it tried so hard, it didn't want to die, but there just wasn't enough left. It barely managed to knit the lung together before its presence vanished from Ichigo's mind – sunk into unconsciousness itself, perhaps.

Something cold touched Ichigo's throat, and Aizen's voice fell down from far, far above.

"You fought as well as you could, Kurosaki. I'm not without mercy; I'll make it quick. Besides which," the cold something pressed a little before suddenly retreating and Ichigo realized suddenly that it was a sword, "you seem to have an annoying habit of refusing to simply die."

He could hardly breathe through the blood and there were black spots in his vision and he couldn't even turn his head to face his enemy but he couldn't give up...

He just –

Couldn't –

"There is no other choice, Ichigo. Now, come."

The sword above him had begun moving, falling rapidly toward his neck, but then it froze, and Ichigo fell into darkness.

Slowly, Ichigo opened his eyes, though he didn't remember closing them. A familiar scene stretched around him: tall blue skyscrapers, reflective windows, a grey sky with a speck of sunlight struggling to reach through, all of it turned on its side so that what was supposed to be up was in front of him and what was supposed to be a sheer vertical surface was solidly under his feet.

"Ichigo."

He turned to face the voice and paused in shock.

Usually, Zangetsu stood upon a metal pole set in the side of the building. Now, however, he slumped against that pole, leaning on it with the air of someone who hated appearing so dependant on something else, but too tired to continue fighting it. Stretched out at his feet, face-down and oddly feeble in appearance, was the pure white form of Ichigo's inner hollow.

"What happened? Are we…?"

"No, Ichigo. Not yet. Remember, time is slowed to a near stop while we converse in here."

"So why?"

"Because as events stand now, there is no escape. Kyoka Suigetsu is a bare moment from slicing your throat open. You can do nothing against it without unlocking your true strength."

"I thought I did, already. Are you saying there's more than bankai, or resurreccion?"

"No, Ichigo. There is no more."

Groaning, Ichigo ran a hand across the back of his head, gripping the orange spikes there so that he didn't give in to the temptation to slam a fist into the skyscraper at his feet.

"You're just confusing me, old man. I'm literally dying up there – if you know something, tell me!"

"Ichigo," Zangetsu intoned in his most solemn voice yet. Hearing the deeply grave notes ringing through an already impressively stoic tone made Ichigo immediately quiet. "What I am about to tell you is difficult. I once promised myself that I would never speak of it, but the pain in your heart now won't let me keep that vow in good conscience. Ichigo, I'm going to tell you a short tale, and then I will give you a choice. I ask that you think on it very carefully before giving your answer."

Ichigo nodded silently; Zangetsu's serious mood was catching.

"In the past," the sword spirit began, "I was not a zanpakuto, nor was my name Zangetsu. I was a shinigami."

"Wait—what?"

"Remember, Ichigo, time cannot be stopped completely. I will explain."

"Ah…sorry, old man."

"I was shinigami, though not in this country. Almost twenty-five years ago, a powerful hollow of Japanese origin appeared near my patrol. It killed several good fighters, including someone…precious to me. Then it ran, heading to your homeland.

"I should have left it for your Sereitei to deal with, but my emotions blinded me. I followed the creature along with a man who was like a brother to me, and we fought it together. It was strong, and I had little faith in my abilities, or my brother's, or even our spirit blades. I knew something then, which I am about to tell you now, and I thought that the power in that knowledge would serve the fight better than mere trust or belief. I thought of it as a crutch, a tool, though I had never used it before.

"The knowledge is this: any shinigami carries within him the potential to become a zanpakuto, and the strongest being is he who can wield himself."

Ichigo waited, but Zangetsu remained silent.

"So…so wait, what happened? I mean, I don't really get it. You were a shinigami, and in a fight with a hollow you became a zanpakuto? What about that guy, or your own zanpakuto?"

"They died."

The bluntness of the statement took Ichigo aback.

"I delved into the core of my being without consulting either, without thinking of anything but my own strength and my own pain. When I transformed, my spirit blade…my zanpakuto…was disoriented, and my brother distracted, both for just a moment too long. I killed the hollow, but by then it was too late for them. That is why I allowed myself to immediately die there, why I swore to never speak of my past or the transformation, even to my eventual wielder."

Ichigo wasn't sure what to say. Thankfully, Zangetsu understood, as usual.

"This is the power I have never told you of, Ichigo, and it comes with its price. Listen carefully; we haven't time for me to repeat myself.

"First, a zanpakuto and a shinigami are of one soul, but only because when the shinigami is first born, the zanpakuto which matches his soul best melds with it, creating one being. Ever after, the shinigami fights with the power of his zanpakuto – this power may be great, and the two create a strong whole once bound together, but it is still borrowed.

"Any shinigami may become zanpakuto, but to do so takes a conscious decision, and it is for eternity. If you pursue this and defeat your enemy here, you will live as a zanpakuto spirit, free of a wielder, until you finally die either by age or battle. Then, you will be reincarnated as a being bound to a shinigami master, unable to wield yourself unless he allows it, and you will never forget your past as a normal soul would.

"Do you understand the cost of this decision, Ichigo?"

"Yeah, I think so. I can draw out my own power instead of relying on you, but then I'm taken out of the regular cycle? And I spend the rest of…of time lending power to someone else?"

"Correct."

"…What about you?"

Zangetsu regarded him silently. He still leaned on the post heavily.

"I mean," Ichigo continued, scratching the back of his head, "if I – if I go through with this, where'll you go? A zanpakuto can't have a zanpakuto, can it?"

"I will exist as you do – a spirit independent, masterless, until the day you die. Then I will eventually be reincarnated as another shinigami's zanpakuto. That is all."

"Forever, huh? For the both of us."

"…Unless one thing is done."

"Wha--?"

"Zanpakuto may be set free, allowed to return to the cycle, with the use of their last life's name."

"So, Zangetsu, what was—"

"You do not need to know. Turn your mind back to what is important, Ichigo: what will you do?"

Ichigo craned his neck back and stared up at the faint reflection in the windows above. It was odd, seeing himself as a face over a pair of shoulders and little else. He scowled reflexively, and the mirror-him scowled right back.

"What can I do, old man? You said it earlier – I'm about to die out there. It's either this last chance, or I just give up and let Aizen win. No way. I'll do whatever I have to, even if it means I get stuck in someone else's head for the rest of eternity."

"I thought you might say that, Ichigo. It is why I had to offer the choice in the end."

Ichigo swung his head back down and planted his hands on his hips.

"Right. Tell me what to do."

"Wait…just a min…minute, King."

The echoing voice rang with defiance, even though it was clearly exhausted. At Zangetsu's feet, the hollow was struggling to prop his upper body up on his elbows.

"This don't just…concern you…ya know."

This time, Ichigo understood immediately.

"Because we're the same?"

"The same…HAH! Don' compare me to you. We ain't…the same…'member? I'm a hollow, you're…shinigami."

"I meant that we're both part of the same soul. Zangetsu…he said that zanpakuto start out separate, their own beings, but they become part of the shinigami. You, though – you aren't like that. You were born from my own fears and my own spirit. So yeah, in a way, we really are the same, huh?"

The hollow had gotten himself up on his elbows, and now contrived to make it appear as though he was lounging contentedly on his side rather than sprawled exhaustedly across the blue glass beneath him. He glared at Ichigo for just a moment with burning yellow eyes. Then a crazy grin split his face in half and he laughed, a high-pitched sound that still set the hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck on end.

"Damn, King, you've gotten a brain! Took ya long enough. Che. Yeah, that's pretty much it. You go transformin' your entire being, you gotta take me as well. Then we'll either meld into one, which means ya gotta accept all of me as part of you, or I stay in your head, and ya gotta deal with me without some zanpakuto gettin' in the way all the time. Got it?"

"So you're okay with this?"

The look the hollow gave him was surprise melting into contempt.

"Ya kidding me? I'm not interested in dyin, King. 'Sides, I'm the horse, so s'not like I have a choice, do I?"

"Maybe, maybe not." Ichigo started toward his hollow, and he saw his white copy stiffen slightly in response, the black-and-gold eyes narrowing. "But I thought I'd check anyhow. So…let's do this."

Then he did something he never would have imagined himself doing; Ichigo bent down and offered a hand up to the hollow side of himself.

The hollow appeared shocked and conflicted, his eyes flicking from Ichigo's hand to his face and back again. At last, he settled on something. Locking his gaze with the orange-haired teen's, the hollow pushed the proffered hand away.

"I c'n get up fine on my own, King; I'm no weakling!"

Ichigo shrugged and straightened.

"Suit yourself."

The boy turned to face Zangetsu, ignoring the hollow as he dragged himself to his feet. Watching his copy struggle would only enrage it, and the last thing any of them needed now was another fight.

"Are you ready?"

Zangetsu was clearly addressing both of them; Ichigo and his hollow nodded together.

"Go to the doors and open them. Enter the building, no matter what is inside. Quickly."

"The doors, huh? I always wondered what was in these things," the hollow mused, a cocky grin trying to hide the strain that just standing caused him. "Guess I finally get t' find out."

The hollow turned and headed across – down – the building, making for the solid wall of earth and concrete that would have been the ground under any normal circumstances. Ichigo held back for just another moment.

"Zangetsu? Your name. What was it?"

Zangetsu stared at him, silent.

"Look, if you want to stay a zanpakuto, you don't have to tell me. But…if you want to forget…I mean, forever's awful long, and if you never, ever tell anyone else about this, this might be your last chance…or something…"

Ichigo trailed off and his shoulders slumped. Zangetsu made no attempt to respond to him.

"Ah, forget I said anything."

He turned away to follow his white other self.

"Ichigo."

The boy looked over his shoulder, waiting.

"I will tell you…after we defeat him."

Ichigo paused, then cracked a small grin.

"It's a promise," he said. Spinning around, he dashed across the blue side of the skyscraper to catch up with his hollow.

"A promise," Zangetsu echoed softly, frowning. He knew something of promises. He only hoped that this one could be kept.

Like almost everything else in the sideways city that was Ichigo's inner mind, the doors at the skyscraper's base were deep blue, and the glass set in them was so perfectly reflective that nothing could be seen on the inside, as his hollow himself testified.

"Nothin'," said the pure-white shadow of the shinigami, clambering to his feet on the door's surface and brushing off his hakama. "Not a thing. Wouldn' surprise me if they were empty…it is your mind, after all."

"Shut up," Ichigo responded, bending down to grip the handle on the other door in the set. "Let's just get this open – I don't want to know how close Aizen must be to taking my head off by now."

The hollow snickered as he took hold of the opposite handle. Awkwardly, the two of them hauled the doors upward and open, and a ripple of heat suddenly blasted out into the air, sending hollow and shinigami reeling backwards with their arms across their faces in an effort to protect their streaming eyes.

"Whoa, King!" Despite himself, the hollow sounded impressed. He lowered his fist to reveal an even bigger grin than was normal for him. "You've had this power in here all this time, an' we didn' even know?"

Ichigo himself felt fairly awed. Cautiously, he edged back toward the doors, feeling the heat and the pressure in the air increase as he approached. The young man stopped at the top edge of the doorway and peered inside.

At first, he saw nothing but darkness. Then he noticed that the dark was flickering at the doorframe, leaping and dancing in tongues of flame, and the steady roaring sound which rose from the open doorway made a lot more sense.

"Black fire," the hollow said from the opposite edge of the doorway. "Nice. So, we gotta jump in the middle of that?"

"Not scared, are you?"

"Quit projectin' your feelings onto me, King."

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

"…Together on three?"

The faintly hesitant tone in the hollow's voice made Ichigo look up and meet his eyes. They were searching for something in Ichigo…not weakness, as usual, but something the hollow couldn't voice or express or possibly even define.

Ichigo knew that look. He'd given it, or something like it, to his closest friends when he explained his hollow abilities, to Tatsuki and Mizuiro and Keigo and Karin when he'd told them the truth about his double-life (or was it death?) as a shinigami. He had seen it in his father's eyes when the old (older than he had ever expected) goat finally revealed the truth of his heritage. He knew what his hollow was looking for, and he knew that it was something he could never have given him before now.

"On three, partner."

Acceptance. Equality.

The hollow's eyes widened marginally, and his grin lost some of its maniacal edge.

"Yeah…partner."

No more king, no more horse. Keeping their eyes locked together as they stood on opposite edges of the doorway, shinigami and hollow counted out together.

"One…two…three!"

And together, they jumped into the dark inferno below.

In truth, Aizen half-expected something to happen before he could slice the boy's head off. From all of the battle reports he had heard and from what he himself had witnessed, it seemed that luck favored Kurosaki Ichigo to ridiculous extents – every time he met death, it appeared to shy from him.

The instant before Kyoka Suigetsu's sharpened edge met Kurosaki's flesh, however, the thought flashed through Aizen's mind that perhaps fortune had failed the boy this once.

That was the very instant that Kurosaki's barely-there reiatsu vanished and suddenly roared to new and frightening life almost simultaneously, the force of it striking Aizen like a god's hammer and throwing him backwards through one of the last remaining fragments of wall left in the room.

Drawing himself upright and brushing fragments of white stone from his frayed and charred overcoat, Aizen casually regarded the whirling ball of pure black fire before him and shook his head.

"Ever the wild card, Kurosaki."

The black flames were dying down, calming just enough for the traitorous shinigami to make out two tall figures standing in their center. One was unfamiliar to him – the form of a wild-haired man in a ragged black coat. Aizen knew that this had to be Zangetsu materialized even before he saw the cleaver held firmly in the man's hand.

The other was Kurosaki, though transformed. The unsightly orange hair remained exactly the same as it had been before, and the boy's overall form and the shape of his face also seemed unchanged, but his dress and the feel of his reiatsu were noticeably different. The black hakama remained, though without any hint of the white sash that once belted it – instead, it was bound by a long, slender black chain which fell along his right side, ending in a red-dyed tuft of animal hair. Kurosaki's chest and right arm seemed to be bandaged with strips of black cloth, while a longer, equally black panel of cloth edged in red was draped across his left. This piece of garment was shaped vaguely like half of the top portion of a shihakushou, though it was long enough to fall to a tattered end halfway between where it was tied in by the chain at his waist and the floor. The left side of the boy's face bore two curved red stripes drawn from the inner edge of his nose out to his ear, while the right was marked by a wide vertical line that ran from his hairline to his chin. Bound by a red chain to the outside of his left shoulder was the white, horned skull mask which was the form of Kurosaki's resurreccion.

The boy opened his eyes, and though the scleras were white, the irises burned golden.

His reiatsu was vaguely familiar and nearly as dark as it had been while in resurreccion, but it felt as though something had warped it, as though a veil had been dropped over it…

Or as though a veil had finally been thrown aside.

"Zanpakuto," Aizen said, a curious light gleaming in his eyes. "Amazing. I had wondered if you knew of this transformation or not, and I had wondered, if you did, whether you would be willing to undergo it. These days, it's not often that a shinigami would willingly sell his soul to an eternity of servitude for a mere boost of power. You certainly are desperate."

The only response that Kurosaki – though that was no longer his true name, Aizen mused – gave was to hold his right arm out to the side as though preparing to grasp something. The black fire burst out of thin air under his palm as he murmured words too quiet for the shinigami to hear. The flames lengthened rapidly, solidifying in the form of a dark daito.

The already-high spiritual pressure of the newly born zanpakuto spirit rose.

Aizen felt that this was becoming serious, and for a brief moment he played with the thought of releasing his bankai and ending the fight before it could properly resume. After all, this had gone on quite long enough.

When Zangetsu and the other spirit both pointed their blades at him and their reiatsu ignited around them – Zangetsu's deep blue, once-Kurosaki's pure black – Aizen stopped toying with the idea of bankai and immediately reached for the bond between himself and Kyoka Suigetsu to make it reality.

In a single instant, three voices called out their full releases, and three different reiatsu crashed together in that one antechamber before the throne room.

Rukia was worried, and it was going to get her killed.

She drove her sword through another hideous beast with too many legs and only one eye, but her movements were distracted. The shinigami was moving through battle almost purely on instinct, and the wounds she had attained in the last hour were testament to that.

She was trying to keep track of Ichigo.

Rukia normally trusted in his abilities, yes, but not too long after he had vanished ahead after Aizen, strange things had started to happen to his reiatsu.

She had felt the dark, suffocating power of his resurreccion earlier – it had actually affected most of the combatants in the halls of the King's palace – but the only aspect of that which she found worrisome was how soon he had been driven to use that power. It meant that Aizen was still very strong in comparison, and that Ichigo would have a hard fight ahead of him.

Then, not half an hour later, Rukia suddenly realized that the dark shell over Ichigo's reiatsu had broken, and that the spiritual pressure itself was beginning to waver dangerously.

Black claws had torn deep furrows in her left arm then, and she had been forced to turn her attention away from her friend to deal with a far more immediate threat, a threat which kept her busy for such a long, long time that it nearly drove her to distraction.

The moment Rukia found breathing room, however, she searched out Ichigo's reiatsu again.

And she couldn't find it.

The small shinigami froze, eyes wide as she frantically began to search with every sense she possibly could, so focused on finding just one reiatsu among hundreds that she didn't see the snake-like demon rearing up behind her, jaws gaping wide, swaying back –

"RUKIA!"

She jumped, spinning around just in time to see a familiar bankai smash into the demon, driving it through the ceiling and tearing it apart with bony jaws.

"Renji!"

The red-haired shinigami yanked hard on the handle of his bankai, drawing the white snake's head around to surround them in a protective circle of spiky bone. Once assured of their relative safety, Renji turned on Rukia furiously.

"What are you doing? Spacing out like that in the middle of –!"

"Renji, Ichigo, can you sense Ichigo?"

"Eh? 'Course not; I can't sense anything in this mess. Why?"

"I lost him just now, and his reiatsu's been fluctuating recently. I was about to search again in case…in case I just missed him earlier."

"…Well hurry up, then," Renji said gruffly, scowling and crossing his arms. "Don't have time to waste here. Besides, I need to take out more enemies – can't have Ikkaku beat me."

A quick smile crossed Rukia's face, both at Renji's understanding (even if he hid it) and at his turning the battle into a competition. She closed her eyes and quickly reached out with her senses, sorting through reiatsu as quickly as she possibly could.

Shinigami – too light. Shinigami – too old. Demon. Demon. Shinigami – too weak. Demon, demon, demon, demon, shini – nope Ikkaku, demon, shinigami too pure shinigami not right shinigami too…healing…demondemon shinigaminoYumichika shinigamino demon bankaishinigamibrother demondemondemon notshinigami notshini---WAIT!

Rukia grasped the familiar reiatsu in her mind, her brow furrowing in confusion. It was like Ichigo, very like Ichigo, but it seemed…warped. It wasn't a shinigami's reiatsu, nor was it a hollow's, but something else entirely. It was as though someone had taken a picture she was familiar with and suddenly changed it, reforming it to show the same subject from a different angle so that the wrongness of it struck her before the familiarity could.

She felt Sode no Shirayuki stir in her mind, looking with some interest beyond her usual icy apathy.

"Ah, so he is one of us now."

What did she mean, one of us?

"Zanpakuto."

What?

"Any shinigami may become zanpakuto. It is a final transformation, and it is forever. Kurosaki Ichigo the human, the shinigami, the vizard, is dead."

No.

Rukia clutched the sense of Ichigo's strange reiatsu close in her mind, feeling the familiarity of it, the Ichigo of it. It was different, but it was still him. Her heart knew this.

"You will only hurt yourself, persisting in this belief."

Her heart knew this!

"Suit yourself…"

"Rukia?"

The shinigami began to open her eyes, to open her mouth to respond to Renji – though she wasn't sure what she would say just yet – when the reiatsu in her grip shuddered, spiked, and plummeted.

Rukia's eyes snapped open wide.

"Ichigo!"

Tightening her grip on Sode no Shirayuki, Rukia rushed in the direction of Ichigo's fading reiatsu. Renji barely managed to get his Zabimaru out of her way; she would surely have cut straight through the bone if necessary.

The redhead knew his childhood friend, and while he felt vaguely sorry for any demons which might step in her path at the moment, he also knew that she would need someone to watch her back while she focused entirely on what was ahead of her. With a faintly disappointed sigh, Renji left the thick of battle and his competition with Ikkaku to make sure Rukia was safe.

And besides, Ichigo was his friend, too.

The antechamber had no ceiling anymore. Whatever used to be up there, cutting off the room from the sky, had been pulverized into mere pebbles which lay scattered across the floor. Now the otherworldly light of the King's Realm – light that was neither moon nor sun but something that fluctuated between the two without the effect of a heavenly body – spilled freely down across ruptured stone and rusty-red bloodstains and the torn forms of the combatants that had caused the destruction.

Ichigo was laying face-up across the layers of crushed rock, so he could see the blue-violet sky outside and the light that it emitted. He thought it was a bit more like moonlight now.

Pretty.

His breath rasped in his throat. He struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Zan-getsu?"

"I am here."

He turned his head, and sure enough, there was the familiar form of his former sword. The zanpakuto's sunglasses were cracked across one eye, and blood was dripping across the other, but Ichigo still found Zangetsu's gaze and held it.

His midsection hurt, and his lungs and heart were on fire. He needed to ignore it, just for a moment…a moment longer.

"You…promised."

The other zanpakuto was silent for a long moment before he bent his head in acknowledgement.

"I promised."

Aizen's body lay crumpled not far away, Kyoka Suigetsu scattered in pieces around it. The traitor was dead, and this time, it was no illusion.

Huh. The pain was fading – instead, he seemed to be experiencing the strangest numbness that buzzed about the edges of his mind and his eyes. Weird.

"Well?"

Zangetsu stretched out his bloody right hand, dragging himself forward. His left was a stump, so it couldn't help. Ichigo could do nothing but watch, and wait until the zanpakuto spirit was close enough to whisper a name in his ear.

It was a strange name. Foreign. Instead of family-personal, Ichigo got the distinct impression that it was personal-family. He also got the impression that he should say it just the way Zangetsu did, if possible.

The numb was spreading. Perhaps he was turning into a sword? That would explain why his hands and feet, his arms and legs, seemed to be missing from his senses.

"You ready?"

Zangetsu simply slumped to the side, letting his head rest on the ground. His eyes never left Ichigo's.

"'Kay. I guess I'll…see you again later…Timur Kaminski."

Ichigo's tongue tripped over the syllables. Zangetsu didn't seem to mind. In fact, the zanpakuto spirit simply closed his eyes and a ghostly smile pricked at the corners of his perpetually-stoic mouth…the first smile Ichigo had ever seen there. His entire form began to glow faintly with a deep blue light, and with a sound like a sigh, he went limp and slowly vanished.

Ichigo found the strength to turn his head back to the sky and like-the-moon light above him, watching the blue sparks drift and fade away.

"Hope you find…whatever you look for…old man," he murmured. Darkness was creeping up the edges of his eyes, and the numb feeling was encroaching upon his tongue and ears. "Peace…or fighting…or power…or fa-family…or…"

He fell silent, his voice failing him at last.

The moonlight was so…so calming. Like home.

Bit funny he should think that. With his new form, new name, he'd've expected to feel closer to the sun…

Didn't matter much. The numbness had just about covered him – he could've been nothing more than a pair of fading eyes floating above the ground for all he could sense – and he thought he might have a name for that numbing sensation at last.

Death.

Perhaps.

He knew it'd come eventually, but somehow…somehow he'd always escaped it, or come back from it, or…

They'd miss him.

Faces flashed through his mind too fast to see or name, but that was fine – he knew the essence of them. They didn't need words or images to be recognized. Not for him.

They'd miss him. Terribly.

Yuzu. She'd probably cry. Karin. Would be angry. Dad. Would…oh, hell, if he put up a stupid poster, he'd kill him.

The shinigami. Didn't know him that well, he thought, but hey, some of them might miss him. Just a little bit. Renji might. Maybe even Ikkaku and Yumichika, though not for long.

Prob'ly not Byakuya, though. Not at all.

He'd better keep treating Rukia like a proper little sister. No more of that…pride…honor…

So tired.

Rukia.

The world was getting darker, but he could swear that the moonlight shining in his eyes was brightening. He thought he could hear something, but it was indistinct. He was going to miss them.

A dim face came over his vision, pale with black hair around and across it and violet eyes. It was scared. It was yelling something – the sounds crashed against his ears like ocean waves. It was crying.

Don't.

Sorry.

Rukia.

Then the darkness covered the face, and the newly-formed blade shattered and burned into nothingness.

The King's Realm didn't exist in quite the same way that Soul Society, or Earth, or Hueco Mundo could be said to exist. Those three realms were bound together by time and space, so that even though they existed in separate dimensions, they ran through the cycles of life and death and rebirth in synch with each other. The Sereitei could only be reached from Japan, and the castle of Las Noches which Aizen ruled was in roughly the same segment of Hueco Mundo as the area inhabited by Karakura on Earth. A month in one realm was equal to a month in the others.

Not so in the King's Realm.

It was everywhere and everywhen at once. The King's throne room could be more-or-less connected to a small region of Mongolia in 300 B.C.E while a nearby hallway might simultaneously pass through France in 1980. Living souls in the Realm were, themselves, connected to their own time and place simply by virtue of birth.

The souls of the newly dead, however, were a different story. After all, one cannot reincarnate inside the King's Realm, and once one's original birth has been wiped clean by death, there is nothing left to tether that one to a particular time or space.

The eventual destinations of Aizen Sousuke and Timur Kaminski – or, rather, the energy of their souls – remain unknown. Reincarnation would have wiped their memories clean and given them new faces, new names.

The zanpakuto that was once Kurosaki Ichigo, however, is quite a different story. Possessing all of the memories of his former life and bound to a wielder quite as unusual as he ever was, fate simply couldn't let him vanish into the stream of life and rebirth without a clear trace.

For you see, on Halloween night in the year 1981, in a little town in England, there occurred something entirely unprecedented. A dangerous murderer, a wizard, by the name of Lord Voldemort turned his weapon upon a small family. When he came to his target, a baby boy, the mother sacrificed herself willingly, hoping to save her child's life. The power of that sacrifice could not stop the wizard's curse from burning away the baby's chain of fate in an instant, but it held the child's soul inside its body, prevented it from becoming a hollow, and threw what was left of the dark magic back at its caster.

Its job done, the protective magic subsided, and as it did, two fragments of spirit found their way to the boy's trapped soul and bound themselves to it.

One was a blight, a tattered shred that fell from the murderer's spirit as it fled the house and the magic that had nearly destroyed it.

The other was just as shadowed, but far less malevolent: the soul of a sword, far from home and pulled through time to the spirit that matched it most closely, that had the greatest need for it.

In a few hours, the little boy would be found. Soon after, he would go to his relatives, grow up at least a little, and discover his magical heritage. He would go to school and face danger and survive.

But he would also find a strength he never would have guessed he had, and he would find it in a friend that was both part of his soul and a distinct other's.

And that strength would be to protect.

To be continued.

-

AN: Turning Ichigo into a Zanpakuto was inspired by a story called Kuroi no Taiyo written by Black Sun Upon An Icy Sky. If you like this concept, I do recommend searching this story out. If you hate the search engine, you could always go to the Bleach archives and find it by setting characters to Muramasa and Ichigo.

This story is simply my attempt to play a bit with the Ichigo-zanpakuto concept while simultaneously creating a Bleach/HP crossover which might actually make some sense and combine the two worlds in a reasonable manner.

As a heads up: from here on out, things will focus far more on Harry's story, though you'll definitely get scenes from Ichigo's point of view. I will not be rewriting the HP series, however. Instead, expect something more like individual scenes linked together in a long chain of events.

Also, for those who are concerned about pairings: on the Bleach side, I favor Ichiruki. Heavy hints were made toward that in this chapter. However, due to certain circumstances, this is unlikely to come to any sort of conclusion in this story. On the HP side, I follow established canon: Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione. In either case, Romance is not my main focus. At most the characters or narration may make reference to it. No kissy scenes, I promise you that.

If you have any questions or concerns about this story, go ahead and mention them in a review or a PM. I will more than likely answer.

Thank you for reading, and in advance for any responses you might give me.