AN: I have had a couple of reviews asking me about or correcting me on the timeline of my story with the canon in mind. THIS IS VERY TRUE! I agree with them, but I am also writing a piece of fan-based fiction that's already an AU (Alternate Universe). I ask my readers to humor me and suspend their disbelief.

I actually care more for exploring the perceived boundaries/limitations of Ichigo's spiritual/corporeal composition than I do faithfully following the timeline. Ichigo is 'Other'; hence, he will always be portrayed in 3rd person, and through the observation of others.

Chapter 3: Black Pieces Advance

Hueco Mundo was the stuff of nightmares. It spoke of endless sand stretching far past the horizon, with distant rock arrangements and impossible structures defying any human sense of gravity, jutting into the sky. It resembled one of those dreams of an endless fall down impossible heights, or perhaps the cautionary fable of a child in a foreign landscape, filled with dangers unseen, fortunes untold. Such unrelenting openness decidedly put Rukia at unease.

Rukia was a child of furtive corners, isolated walls, and impenetrable chambers. Although she had initially been left out in the open, Inazuri had been a menagerie of chaos, of cluttered street curiosities, and the tangling of spiritual limbs. Afterwards, Seireitei had been a serene, yet orderly imposition of function and militant operation. The Kuchiki grounds acted as a cornerstone for obligations, formal dignity, and frigid distance. The more contained the space, the more at home Rukia felt—she had after all claimed Ichigo's closet-space without permission, kicking, cajoling and wedging her way into his human life. Those moments, those slivers of time, were the warmest moments Rukia had experienced in the past fifty years. The culmination of the guilt, responsibility, and isolation she felt towards Kaien-dono's death and Ichigo's endangerment knotted at the base of the white execution tower. In her mind, these events were not isolated, but of the same thread, serving as both penance for the life lost, and imprisonment for letting her power loose into the body of a human.

Perhaps, she pondered, perhaps this had been why she had felt such an easy intimacy with the human man-child. Ichigo, in a way, had been marked as her receptacle, a human manifestation of her powers. Or so she had believed at the moment. Urahara and Isshin-san had done a neat job of disproving the Gotei's belief in this matter, and the rest was history.

Now, however, in the unwanted proximity of her erstwhile companion, Rukia felt an undeniable foreignness in him, and could not deny the current of repulsion that threaded through her resentment and misgivings. Before, she refused to enter Ichigo's heart out of respect, to keep these matters sacred until they were both ready to share in the burden together. Now, with Ichigo was as alien to her as the landscape that unraveled before her, she was closing in on herself, erecting barriers, chambers, and traps in the hopes of successfully keeping him out. She was only partially successful.

Even now, as she rode on Ichigo's back, she could not feel removed from him. His heart beat strongly through her. Whether or not its mechanism at this point was human, shinigami or hollow was a hopeless puzzle. She could feel him take every breath, as he raced across the desert terrain. With such a bleak, repetitive landscape, it was easy to drift off to memories, recollections and the deep pools of thought that were often best left unvisited. In Rukia's case, her mind raced back to what had transpired a few days ago. After General Yamamoto had 'arranged' a war contract with Ichigo, the following acts occurred in immediate succession: Ichigo dropped Rukia unceremoniously on the ground, and appeared instantaneously over Inoue, his splintered shadow dancing against the dunes. The human girl had begun to stir from the backlash brought by Byakuya Nii-sama's kido and Rukia's reiatsu. Inoue had opened her eyes—only to shriek in surprise, fear or some combination of both—when Ichigo did a very curious thing. He spread his hands palms-up, the imprint of the Hell Butterfly still marring them, and then placed them on Inoue's shoulders. He appeared to concentrate for a minute, and then Inoue was gone in an instant. Rukia had opened her mouth to address Ichigo, when he appeared before her again, scooped her up, and then suddenly, they were moving. Rukia warily kept her silence when she observed the reemergence of Inoue's reiatsu alongside Renji's, and that was the last time words were exchanged between the shinigami and the boy. Then, they traveled long distances in superhuman flight.

This was the fifth day in Hueco Mundo, according to the time-keeping devices the Research Department had lent to Rukia, Renji, and Byakuya, meaning that she had been traveling with not-Ichigo for two full days across the wilderness. She looked over at the boy, and considered her situation. She knew that the Gotei were undoubtedly locked in battle with the remaining Arrancars, and she also knew that Renji was still with Ishida, his reiatsu floating nearby. She could feel Chad and Inoue's reiatsu not far off, and shivered, knowing that Inoue by now had told the others of what had transpired with Ichigo.

"We'll stop here," slurred not-Ichigo, "Poor thing, your body's all cramped up."

Rukia glared. He had come to a heart-stopping halt and dumped her on the sand again. He was currently looking down at her with a leer, looking like the very image of menacing ease. He knelt before her, one arm reaching for her. Rukia froze, her eyes locked onto his outstretched hand—the palm still bearing the ashes of Yamamoto's butterfly—unfurling to reach one of Rukia's stray locks of hair. She looked up at the boy to see a look of curiosity cross his face.

"Why would spirit particles ever care to put such detail into a spirit's body?"

The hand, that was twirling the strand of hair, traversed over to her collarbone.

"Why bother with a pulse?"

Rukia looked up into Ichigo's face, because that was who he was at the moment, the line of his jaw severe yet unlocked as he stroked the skin of her neck. Rukia swallowed compulsively, refusing to break her gaze from Ichigo's as she watched the black and burnished metal bleed away from the boy's eyes.

"Ichigo," she croaked, "What is going on?"

The fingers stroking her neck curled around it, tightening into a grip, "Never mind that. Just follow through like a good shinigami, and Byakuya will be none the wiser."

Rukia choked, placing her slender hands over his, attempting to pry it off her throat, as she hissed, "Have you lost track? Lost sight… of what… needs to be done in Hueco Mundo?"

Not-Ichigo released the grip on her throat with one hand, and caught her easily with the other, the arm slouching loosely around her waist. He seemed to consider her words for a second as she caught her breath before tossing his head back in laughter, "Inoue? Did you ever think it was really about Inoue?"

Rukia felt her heart ache for the girl. This jeering, unhesitating dismissal—she was suddenly glad that Ichigo had sent her to Renji. Her anger followed in quick succession: "How could you be so cruel?"
A red smile split his features, lit up with eyes full of black and copper. She was not afraid. Rukia pressed on, almost shouting, "You must know what you mean to her! Why string her along, allow her to make such a sacrifice, and why play with her emotions, if she could be safer and none the wiser back in Karakura?"

The arm that bound her to him tucked her in closer. Ichigo looked down at her with something akin to triumph, but the expression was too raw and hungry to imply the satisfaction that often accompanies such victories.

"And why should you care, little shinigami… little woman?"

Rukia simmered at his words of condescension. She could hear her pulse beat in her head. She blinked angry tears away and spoke soft, bitter words, "Because this is not the man I know in my heart."

Not-Ichigo placed a hand just above her left breast, "This organ betrays you. It recognizes me."

Rukia closed her eyes, resigned to let this round pass.

In another dimension, General Yamamoto considered the turn of events. As a seasoned warrior, he considered the long-term tactical motions even as he engaged in battle. Why else would centuries' worth of experience prove an advantage? He considered every player within his realm of understanding, and often made tactical allowances for those that emerged beyond. Hollows, rogue Shinigami, Vizards—when such potential threats introduced unpredictable occurrences, Yamamoto had observed and strategically made his moves. This Kurosaki lad; however, was proving to be a bit of a wild card. How would a human boy know to make war negotiations? He somehow doubted the child was tutored on the subject, considering that Isshin had labored to keep his children in the dark. If Kurosaki weren't so young in both human and spiritual standards, he would have offered him captaincy within the blink of an eye, inner Hollow not withstanding. The battles engaged in Karakura were oddly reflecting those made in Hueco Mundo in an eerie parallel that his shinigami reported upon once they had infiltrated the alternate dimension. Kuchiki had noted once that Kurosaki had somehow made the elements dance to his sheer will. Yet, this sense of poetic justice would bode ill for the fate of both Seireitei and the human world if victory hinged upon a mortal hybrid's personal sense of justice.

A flutter suddenly caught his attention. Another death butterfly, this time from Urahara. If Urahara was not in Karakura anymore, that meant he had returned to his reserve laboratories. This in turn meant that Seireitei desperately needed reinforcements. Yamamoto scanned the battlegrounds in fake Karakura, noting the progress of his captains and lieutenants. So far, the matches were even, with the scale tipped slightly towards the Arrancar. This wouldn't do. It was time to reclaim Karakura.

The aforementioned ex-captain had just leapt across dimensions through his custom-made portal when he received a Hell Butterfly from Kurosaki Isshin. Urahara Kisuke scratched his forehead in consternation when the ghostly message emerged, "Matte, matte—the Kurosakis always spell trouble."

As if the family name triggered the message, the Hell Butterfly unfolded, its powdery contents manifesting Isshin's voice. A trace of humor lacing his words by habit, but the urgency fueling them was unmistakable: "Kisuke, be sure to stop by my humble abode, as you've neglected your monthly visit! Kon in particular can use your help…"

Kisuke sighed, tipping his hat back, "What a drag! A defective mod-soul is all that stands between me and a reunion with Yoruichi." Swinging his cane, he popped open a capsule he usually kept in his pocket and a large carpet spilled out of the vapor. Hopping onto it, he smiled obliquely, "Ah well, the people of Karakura are so needy—they beckon and I obey!"

Halfway across town, Dr. Kurosaki stared down at the inert Mod-soul with heavy features not unlike his son's. He mused over the possible hypotheses for Kon's sudden unconsciousness, wondering what external circumstance could have 'shut him down' so to speak. He had some niggling clues from past events that led to direct conclusions about the ever-changing state of his son's soul, but how could the process Ichigo was undergoing affect his mod-soul from across dimensions? Beyond the multiplicity of Ichigo's identity as a being from all three dimensions, the mobility of his soul would have to be strong enough to withstand the various laws and forces that govern each dimension. This ultimately meant that his son was a conduit. The chances were slim, since the last time a conduit walked the earth, she had effectively set the barrier between Hueco Mundo and Earth, closing one chapter of human existence from primordial chaos into that of ordered civilization. If that was the case, then Ichigo presented a change that was much larger than the Winter War, or even the survival of Seireitei itself. At first, Isshin had considered his son's classmate Inoue Orihime as the possible conduit. The nature of these recent upsurges, the great discrepancy between Aizen's power in Hueco Mundo and the spare economy of Seireitei had both ex-captains up at night, considering the options. When Orihime had been kidnapped, he was certain that she, with her healing ability to reject time, was the conduit. Now, he was not so sure. Isshin kept such thoughts to himself. After all, much of the basis of his thoughts came from stories and myths swapped amongst the Royal Guard. He'd wait until he could get an expert's advice.

Meanwhile, back in Hueco Mundo, Aizen's prize was currently scouring the arid sands for signs of activity. Lieutenant Abarai, Sado-kun, and Ishida-kun flanked her on both sides, their masculine protectiveness a familiar comfort.

"Ishida-san!" Orihime exclaimed, "I feel a shift in energy a few kilometers ahead…"

Ishida Uryuu nodded, and Renji shrugged, "Even if it is a portal set up by Seiretei, we can't leave Rukia and Ichigo behind…"

Ishida shifted his glasses uncomfortably, his jawline implacable. Inoue looked down at her sand-dusted shoes and murmured, "Even if Kurosaki-kun is somewhat different, I trust him to take the very best care of Kuchiki-san!"

Renji looked at his companions helplessly, his eyebrows slanted in consternation, "As much as I would like to trust that Ichigo has full control, the reality is that Rukia is stuck with an unstable being, and her livelihood depends on a person whose very existence is subject to the elements here in Hueco Mundo."

A moment of distillation swept over the ragtag team. If Chad had his own hunches on the whole ordeal, he wasn't voicing them. He peered down at his team, his eyes calm and lucid.

Ishida shook his head violently, "As much as Kurosaki is an utter idiot, the readings I pick up on his reiatsu cannot lie. We perceive the energy fields in Hueco Mundo as aggressive influencers, but with Kurosaki, this is not the case."

His other companions turned to him, their eyes imploring the telling of another tale. Ishida continued, "Kurosaki is shifting at such an accelerated rate that he appears to be volatile to us, yet it could very well be that he is still deciding on the nature of his spiritual ore. It may be the case that Kurosaki is deciding for himself how much of his individual makeup is Shinigami, human or…"

The foursome then completed in thought what Ishida could not bear to utter in words aloud.

A few moments passed in morbid contemplation before Renji stretched, yawning violently, "Yare yare, if anyone were to have a say in Ichigo's character, it would be Rukia. Let's not waste energy on bothersome worrying; we need to get Inoue back to Karakura."

Orihime glanced at him, her face torn between concern and jealousy, "What if Kurosaki-kun were to require my healing skills?"

Renji cut her off with an almost brutal gesture, "No need for that."

Ishida scowled, "What he means is that Kurosaki will know when the mission is accomplished, and Kuchiki-san would be sure to make him follow suit." He picked up speed, noting, "The sooner we leave Hueco Mundo, the sooner we can deal with Kurosaki personally, on our own terms."

Orihime nodded fervently, jogging to catch up with her companions. Still, she looked over her shoulder, sending up a wish: Please keep Kurosaki-kun safe…

"It's about time—I was nearly ready to call it quits!"

Urahara shrugged apologetically, his mouth stretched into a grin, "Mou, Isshin-san it's not like I've kept you waiting for long. This carpet moves faster than the average human automobile!"

Isshin snorted loudly, "You lazy ass, it's not like you couldn't have flash-stepped over here in half the time!"

Isshin smirked slyly, "Its not so much about the speed as it is about the presentation. Surely years in the Royal Guard taught you at least this much."

Suddenly, the two old friends stood preternaturally still. "Alright, you can show yourselves… we've been aware of your presence from the start!"

Hirako Shinji stepped out of the shadows, his Cheshire cat grin all the more sinister by lamplight, "I hear that Soul Society is midway through war with Aizen's forces. With Kurosaki out of commission, so to speak, I come to offer my services out of a… lingering sense of twisted loyalty."

Isshin stilled, but Urahara smiled warmly, "Such an unexpected about-face! What prompted this initiative?"

Shinji smiled mysteriously, "Let's just say that the Vizoreds find it favorable that the entire outcome of the Winter War rests on the shoulders of a renegade human-Hollow hybrid…"

Isshin sighed, and then flourished an arm in an outward gesture, a Death Butterfly imprint collecting at the palm of his upturned hand, "Well, it can't be helped then. It's time to contact my wayward son."

The mark glowed for mere fractions of a second before sounds of static filled the air.

"What?" Ichigo positively growled, "Don't you see I have my hands full with her Kuchiki-ness?"

The three men in Karakura hid their smiles. "Ichigo," Isshin boomed, "Is that any way to greet a father? What about the honorifics, the obeisance, the formal etiquette?"

"Fuck that," snarled Ichigo.

"Mind your tongue," cooed Urahara, "Do you really kiss Rukia with that same mouth?"

Whatever speculations they had about who—or what—would be at the receiving end of the butterfly messenger soon dispersed as they saw Kurosaki Ichigo's face turn a customary shade of strawberry. The sound of a frigid silence filled the transmission before Urahara crowed, "Ah! And you are carrying Kuchiki-san with you! What a coincidence!"

Ichigo scoffed, "Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Geta-Boshi."

Shinji shifted, his eyes shining underneath his dirty blonde bangs, "Ichigo, I know our training was cut short, but it is imperative that you listen to me when I say—"

"I know, I know," Ichigo cut in brutally, "The thing is, I don't give a flying fuck."

The adults stood in silence as the sound of Ichigo's laughter filled the transmission, "From now on, I'm telling you what I'll do, and you can sit back and enjoy the show."

Isshin merely shook his head, "Son, I wouldn't get so cocky if I were you…"

Ichigo snarled, "What are you talking about?"

Urahara cocked his head to the side, his words coy and unctuous, "There's just the simple matter of your mod-soul falling out of commission."

Ichigo stared down at them in consternation, his brows slamming down on his forehead, "What the hell—"

Urahara interrupted smoothly, "It means that your situation is no longer something we consider simple, if it ever was to begin with. The very nature of your threefold existence is forcing your soul to undergo dimensional permutations. In other words, your soul is solidifying, making a decision based on how long you prolong your exposure to Hueco Mundo. The longer you stay there, the less likely your soul will find compatibility with a Shinigami-manufactured mod-soul."

Orihime felt like she had been on the run forever, even when it had been a matter of days. Not only that, but she kept looking over her shoulder, a sinking sensation settling in her stomach to fuel her paranoia.

"What is it, Inoue?"

Chad had been the one to speak up, his eyes gleaming beneath russet curls, "Do you sense it, too…?"

Chad and Orihime, whose talents had always been Other, found that they could pick up on signals faster than a Quincy and a Shinigami, their gifts of natural observation dovetailing with their unique talents. Renji and Ishida paused, their bodies stiffening suddenly, "I think it's someone who—"

A blur of white and cerulean flashed in the periphery of Orihime's vision. Suddenly, a growl filled the air as a command for Cero blasted through the dunes. The sound of wind whistling merged for a split second with the hoarse shouting of the men around her, and then all turned to blissful darkness.

Grimmjow descended upon the unconscious rescue team, his face frozen into a plaster of boredom. "Che," he growled, "At least that hybrid brat would've put up more of a fight. The least I could do to avenge Ulquiorra is to whoop his ass." Looking down at the unconscious human girl for a second, he studied her features with dispassionate eyes. He lifted her none too gently and slung her over his shoulders. Then, he flickered out of sight.