Characters: Aizen, Rangiku
Pairings: None
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoiler for Deicide arc, chapter 415. Rated T for strongly implied off-screen rape.
Timeline: The flashback in chapter 415.
Author's Note: Just testing out a theory I have. If chapter 392's treatment of poor Momo hadn't cemented my opinion of Aizen as a monster, than chapter 415 would have.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

The girl's ice blue eyes, a startling shade in the dullness of Rukongai, are open and glazed, barely conscious; she is not conscious enough to move, but she can still take in what is happening around her.

Clutching the small, smooth, round Hougyoku in the palm of his hand, Aizen makes a disapproving noise and mentally admonishes Urahara for his foolhardiness. You should have known better than to hide the Hougyoku within the soul of a child, Urahara-san. Why not harbor it yourself, or ask someone you trust, whom you know you can rely on, to hide the Hougyoku within?

It had taken a bit of doing, but Aizen and the three men he dispatched to assist him have found the child within whom Urahara chose to hide his creation. The small grove of trees in the Sixty-Fourth hid what Aizen did; the child was too shocked to even scream as Aizen ripped the Hougyoku from her terror-stricken body. His work is complete.

Aizen spares a glance for the girl at his feet. The bruise left by one of his men to stun her is black and shiny on her face, nearly swallowing up her small, baby-round and baby-smooth cheek. Beneath a coat of grime he can catch hints of wheat gold in her hair, like her eyes unusually vivid in the faded Rukongai. Her skin is fair and unmarked except for a small mole near her mouth.

She will most likely die from this. Such a lovely girl. Pity. Aizen looks at her and feels her reiatsu, the thought going through his mind that she would have made a good Shinigami with her level of spiritual pressure.

—And he will never connect the child at his feet with the tall, golden-haired Shinigami he meets later. Unfortunately for Aizen, not everyone has forgotten.—

His men are circling her like wolves, their eyes hungry and their mouths wet; she is prone on the ground like a helpless little lamb. Their eyes rove over her body, over her pale white legs and her small, budding breasts that have been left half-exposed by Aizen's retrieval of the Hougyoku; he can't have clothing in the way of flesh when reaching into the soul.

"Do what you want with her," Aizen calls absently, absorbed in his inspection of the Hougyoku as he walks deeper into the copse. Such a fascinating creation. "Just be quiet, and be quick."

He has more important things to focus his attention on, as Aizen almost greedily caresses the object that will catapult him into godhood in his hand.

His greed mirrors that of his men.