HOME | DD

Description
Falling Sky

Chapter One-Aftermath

I've survived for centuries, and stubbornly fought for my pride for even longer.
Death is a strange thing to consider, but I of all people should not fear the prospect.

I work with death. I am death, the assassin, the dark angel who delivers retribution from the shadows.

I cannot die. Neither of us can.

I've battled against hollows and criminals, striven for recognition, mercilessly beaten my fellow trainees and officers to rise up through the ranks.

I've carried out countless deeds and missions of odd bravery, foolishness, constant duty, ruthlessness and hatred, but for almost all the stretched-out seconds of my eternal life, you were the only thing that ever mattered to me.

You were my idol, the person who I worshipped like a goddess, beyond all thoughts and reason.

My aspiration, the warrior whose skills were so elegant and honed, reiatsu so fierce, zanpakutou so magnificent. I once believed that the soutaicho himself couldn't possibly be more powerful than you were.

My commander, who I would have happily died for a thousand times over with a smile on my face and your face in my last thoughts. Now, I stare fixedly upwards, watch the sky ripple restlessly high above, flame-red, brilliant orange and burnished gold flowing and running together like graceful tongues of fire, like watery ink on a floating scroll of heaven.

My sister, the carefree woman who would have confidence and cheer pouring off her like divine light, moving with catlike grace, who would always wear a glimmering cloak of playfulness and amusement. Slanting eyes of sun-bright molten gold brimming over with laughter, who to I could spill all my innermost secrets and insecurities without fear of reprehension or ridicule, for she always somehow managed to find a way to make my stoic nature disappear like ash-filled smoke in the winter wind.

It's unbearably hot, just like that day. Biting warmth swirls languidly, horribly in my aching bones, and with each tortured breath, I gasp, feeling as if I am breathing in water that has lain beneath the afternoon sun.

The first time I met you, I was overwhelmed with awe. I couldn't take my eyes away from your face. High above the paved courtyard of the Fon clan's household; I bowed down to you with the rest of my family, wonderingly drew in the scent of your procession's musky flowers, and I was sure that I had finally met a goddess. You were so beautiful and breathtaking in every single way, from the shining satin curve of perfectly shaped cheekbones to your pointed chin. The deep, iridescent glimmer of your thick violet hair made me think of my own dull black tresses and wistfully sigh. Your huge amber eyes seemed otherworldly, glowing against the sun with hidden mystery. The exquisite, intricate embroidery of your heavy silk kimono made me gasp at the time. I had never seen anything so utterly pointless, but still so stunning.

But you earned my undying devotion when my uncle leant down next to me in the damp, humid air, and quietly informed me, in a reverent whisper, exactly who you were. The princess of the Shihouin noble clan, the future commander of the Secret Mobile Corps, strong, flawless and capable beyond compare. That did it. I adored you, from that moment on, from my fifth birthday, from the day I was truly brought into the clan as a trainee for the Onmitsukido after the rigorous testing, given my new, strong name. Ever since I can remember, I have been drawn towards strength like a moth is seduced into the flame. But that's fitting, isn't it? You did use to call me your little bee. After all, I still hold the memories of our seconds, days, years together in my heart as more precious than anything like the glittering jewels that my loutish, stupid fukutaicho used to wear. I may forget countless executions and bloody assassinations, my lonely and abandoned childhood when all I had was my arduous training and him to live for. I will let the memories of my captaincy fall away like shining pearls on a string. What did it ever mean to me, anyway?

Your recognition.

Your acknowledgement that I was strong, someone who could protect you, somebody who was really there as not only your ever-faithful shadow. But even now, I've only ever stepped into your shoes, only been a vague, impotent reflection of who you used to be. Stuck as a flower's twin in a mirror, the milky white moon drifting in water. Even my talents and fighting ability might as well be yours.

I did, and I suppose I still would, do anything for your praise. To see your grin, and hear you say; Good job, little bee. Above the clear, brilliant skies of Seireitei, I would face the Espada all over again, alone with only Suzumebachi and my wits. Take on the traitorous scum Tousen and Ichimaru together, joyfully sting them to particles of reishi with my beautiful shikai that I always thought looked like a glittering hornet. I'd happily relinquish my captaincy of the Second Division and desert my post of Onmitsukido Commander; give them up in a second if it meant you were still here, in Hueco Mundo or anywhere else in life.

Maybe if I stay here for long enough, you will come back to me.

I haven't really changed since I met you. The member of my division would say otherwise. I could have them all standing at attention like shiny toy soldiers on parade with a single reiatsu-laden basilisk glare, effortlessly terrify my lazy seats into tearful hysterics for hours on end, bring my useless Omaeda and that drunken Kyouraku to their knees with no more than a raised eyebrow. I only ever regretted that once, the time Unohana oh-so-sweetly asked me why she had so many gibbering idiots from the Second in her division lately. Over the years, I've hunted down countless traitors, put my life on the line too many times to count, and I can't tell myself anything other than that you can't be gone forever, despite the fact you are right next to me, dull amethyst strands of your hair stirring in the hot breeze that spitefully teases my still limbs. Your death is too much to accept, along with the fact that you cannot be the only one who I'll never see again for the rest of eternity, but thankfully I won't know the number of them.

I won't ever need to know again. When you deserted the Gotei all those years ago, duty took your place for me, became my best friend, sister, family, support and life.

You've left again. Duty seems strangely empty now.

What is duty? Obligation and devoted servitude to your lord, commander, family. It is to take care of your subordinates, no matter the personal sacrifice.
Duty is to spend all night out in the cold rain after battle, obstinately searching for the youngest member of your squad who has gone missing, to look for her until your hands are shivering and flesh so pale you seem to be carved from lifeless marble. It is to rush her failing body to Fourth, then flash back to your squad barracks and dread the task of counting how many of your officers are left, even as you carry it out, feeling a little bit of your soul be sharply torn away.
I believed with all my heart that you always knew what to do, how to feel. And without your presence here to guide me, I have no idea anymore.

Lying sprawled in the mud, shards of white stone and my own whispering memories like a human child's rag doll with so many other corpses, I emptily register the deep, approaching roar of a pack of hollows finally sensing the last speck of flickering reiatsu still stubbornly, and somewhat stupidly holding on. It once would have put me on the alert to leap into a fighting stance. To summon the blinding silver kido for a devastating shunko attack that swept from my back and arms like fountains of icy fireworks, but that's laughable now. The dark blood of you, me and Omaeda is spattered in crimson flowers across the soft peach and cream of my ripped satin haori that I was so proud of years ago, and my hair must be in an even worse state, matted with sweat and dirt. I am covered in mud and gore from head to toe, and I can hardly force my broken body to move an inch, as all the tendons in my legs are destroyed, and both arms snapped like twigs under the hierro-armored feet of that unforgivable betrayer who I refuse to even name. If the Gotei could see their assassination commander now. I laugh mirthlessly, a harsh bark breaking the perfect, glassy silence. Suzumebachi's gold and ebony layers of metal are almost shattered on my crushed right hand, brutally biting into my muscles and flesh, which hurts a little. I won't be able to sting my enemies anymore, will I? Never again. . . . .

I smirk bitterly, tendrils of pain flaring through my torn and bleeding neck as I turn my head, and look into your face lying next to me, burnt and bloodstained, but somehow defiant even now. Just like you always were. Even my resolve has only come from your determination, as hard to wear down as waves crashing against the granite cliff. Your blank stare isn't altogether strong, though. Despair, resigned and final, fleetingly ghosts over the tarnished bronze of your skin. I muse why, only now, I must discover that you weren't perfect after all, and that admission pains me more than all those miserable years stored like stones behind my mask.
The crimson clouds roil, coalescing and growing closer to me in the wounded night sky, amidst shrieking bird-formed adjuchas singing a choir of death and destruction against the bloody light, soaring one by one through the gargantua. A thought strikes, shattering me into shocked pieces, and I know, in the end, I am completely alone. The one live shinigami here, a guttering silver candle soon to be sucked into the void, a target for tens of thousands of hollows ready to swoop down any second now.

I have never been anything without you, Yoruichi-sama.

You have made me need you for too long now. There's no going back, no rewriting of history can be done, no matter how much I wish otherwise.

For more than two centuries, you've made me who I am.

Commander.

Taichou.

Soi Fon.

Shaolin. . . . .

The first hollows descend, screaming, bloodstained claws outstretched for my gasping, racing heart.

Description
Falling Sky

Chapter One-Aftermath

I've survived for centuries, and stubbornly fought for my pride for even longer.
Death is a strange thing to consider, but I of all people should not fear the prospect.

I work with death. I am death, the assassin, the dark angel who delivers retribution from the shadows.

I cannot die. Neither of us can.

I've battled against hollows and criminals, striven for recognition, mercilessly beaten my fellow trainees and officers to rise up through the ranks.

I've carried out countless deeds and missions of odd bravery, foolishness, constant duty, ruthlessness and hatred, but for almost all the stretched-out seconds of my eternal life, you were the only thing that ever mattered to me.

You were my idol, the person who I worshipped like a goddess, beyond all thoughts and reason.

My aspiration, the warrior whose skills were so elegant and honed, reiatsu so fierce, zanpakutou so magnificent. I once believed that the soutaicho himself couldn't possibly be more powerful than you were.

My commander, who I would have happily died for a thousand times over with a smile on my face and your face in my last thoughts. Now, I stare fixedly upwards, watch the sky ripple restlessly high above, flame-red, brilliant orange and burnished gold flowing and running together like graceful tongues of fire, like watery ink on a floating scroll of heaven.

My sister, the carefree woman who would have confidence and cheer pouring off her like divine light, moving with catlike grace, who would always wear a glimmering cloak of playfulness and amusement. Slanting eyes of sun-bright molten gold brimming over with laughter, who to I could spill all my innermost secrets and insecurities without fear of reprehension or ridicule, for she always somehow managed to find a way to make my stoic nature disappear like ash-filled smoke in the winter wind.

It's unbearably hot, just like that day. Biting warmth swirls languidly, horribly in my aching bones, and with each tortured breath, I gasp, feeling as if I am breathing in water that has lain beneath the afternoon sun.

The first time I met you, I was overwhelmed with awe. I couldn't take my eyes away from your face. High above the paved courtyard of the Fon clan's household; I bowed down to you with the rest of my family, wonderingly drew in the scent of your procession's musky flowers, and I was sure that I had finally met a goddess. You were so beautiful and breathtaking in every single way, from the shining satin curve of perfectly shaped cheekbones to your pointed chin. The deep, iridescent glimmer of your thick violet hair made me think of my own dull black tresses and wistfully sigh. Your huge amber eyes seemed otherworldly, glowing against the sun with hidden mystery. The exquisite, intricate embroidery of your heavy silk kimono made me gasp at the time. I had never seen anything so utterly pointless, but still so stunning.

But you earned my undying devotion when my uncle leant down next to me in the damp, humid air, and quietly informed me, in a reverent whisper, exactly who you were. The princess of the Shihouin noble clan, the future commander of the Secret Mobile Corps, strong, flawless and capable beyond compare. That did it. I adored you, from that moment on, from my fifth birthday, from the day I was truly brought into the clan as a trainee for the Onmitsukido after the rigorous testing, given my new, strong name. Ever since I can remember, I have been drawn towards strength like a moth is seduced into the flame. But that's fitting, isn't it? You did use to call me your little bee. After all, I still hold the memories of our seconds, days, years together in my heart as more precious than anything like the glittering jewels that my loutish, stupid fukutaicho used to wear. I may forget countless executions and bloody assassinations, my lonely and abandoned childhood when all I had was my arduous training and him to live for. I will let the memories of my captaincy fall away like shining pearls on a string. What did it ever mean to me, anyway?

Your recognition.

Your acknowledgement that I was strong, someone who could protect you, somebody who was really there as not only your ever-faithful shadow. But even now, I've only ever stepped into your shoes, only been a vague, impotent reflection of who you used to be. Stuck as a flower's twin in a mirror, the milky white moon drifting in water. Even my talents and fighting ability might as well be yours.

I did, and I suppose I still would, do anything for your praise. To see your grin, and hear you say; Good job, little bee. Above the clear, brilliant skies of Seireitei, I would face the Espada all over again, alone with only Suzumebachi and my wits. Take on the traitorous scum Tousen and Ichimaru together, joyfully sting them to particles of reishi with my beautiful shikai that I always thought looked like a glittering hornet. I'd happily relinquish my captaincy of the Second Division and desert my post of Onmitsukido Commander; give them up in a second if it meant you were still here, in Hueco Mundo or anywhere else in life.

Maybe if I stay here for long enough, you will come back to me.

I haven't really changed since I met you. The member of my division would say otherwise. I could have them all standing at attention like shiny toy soldiers on parade with a single reiatsu-laden basilisk glare, effortlessly terrify my lazy seats into tearful hysterics for hours on end, bring my useless Omaeda and that drunken Kyouraku to their knees with no more than a raised eyebrow. I only ever regretted that once, the time Unohana oh-so-sweetly asked me why she had so many gibbering idiots from the Second in her division lately. Over the years, I've hunted down countless traitors, put my life on the line too many times to count, and I can't tell myself anything other than that you can't be gone forever, despite the fact you are right next to me, dull amethyst strands of your hair stirring in the hot breeze that spitefully teases my still limbs. Your death is too much to accept, along with the fact that you cannot be the only one who I'll never see again for the rest of eternity, but thankfully I won't know the number of them.

I won't ever need to know again. When you deserted the Gotei all those years ago, duty took your place for me, became my best friend, sister, family, support and life.

You've left again. Duty seems strangely empty now.

What is duty? Obligation and devoted servitude to your lord, commander, family. It is to take care of your subordinates, no matter the personal sacrifice.
Duty is to spend all night out in the cold rain after battle, obstinately searching for the youngest member of your squad who has gone missing, to look for her until your hands are shivering and flesh so pale you seem to be carved from lifeless marble. It is to rush her failing body to Fourth, then flash back to your squad barracks and dread the task of counting how many of your officers are left, even as you carry it out, feeling a little bit of your soul be sharply torn away.
I believed with all my heart that you always knew what to do, how to feel. And without your presence here to guide me, I have no idea anymore.

Lying sprawled in the mud, shards of white stone and my own whispering memories like a human child's rag doll with so many other corpses, I emptily register the deep, approaching roar of a pack of hollows finally sensing the last speck of flickering reiatsu still stubbornly, and somewhat stupidly holding on. It once would have put me on the alert to leap into a fighting stance. To summon the blinding silver kido for a devastating shunko attack that swept from my back and arms like fountains of icy fireworks, but that's laughable now. The dark blood of you, me and Omaeda is spattered in crimson flowers across the soft peach and cream of my ripped satin haori that I was so proud of years ago, and my hair must be in an even worse state, matted with sweat and dirt. I am covered in mud and gore from head to toe, and I can hardly force my broken body to move an inch, as all the tendons in my legs are destroyed, and both arms snapped like twigs under the hierro-armored feet of that unforgivable betrayer who I refuse to even name. If the Gotei could see their assassination commander now. I laugh mirthlessly, a harsh bark breaking the perfect, glassy silence. Suzumebachi's gold and ebony layers of metal are almost shattered on my crushed right hand, brutally biting into my muscles and flesh, which hurts a little. I won't be able to sting my enemies anymore, will I? Never again. . . . .

I smirk bitterly, tendrils of pain flaring through my torn and bleeding neck as I turn my head, and look into your face lying next to me, burnt and bloodstained, but somehow defiant even now. Just like you always were. Even my resolve has only come from your determination, as hard to wear down as waves crashing against the granite cliff. Your blank stare isn't altogether strong, though. Despair, resigned and final, fleetingly ghosts over the tarnished bronze of your skin. I muse why, only now, I must discover that you weren't perfect after all, and that admission pains me more than all those miserable years stored like stones behind my mask.
The crimson clouds roil, coalescing and growing closer to me in the wounded night sky, amidst shrieking bird-formed adjuchas singing a choir of death and destruction against the bloody light, soaring one by one through the gargantua. A thought strikes, shattering me into shocked pieces, and I know, in the end, I am completely alone. The one live shinigami here, a guttering silver candle soon to be sucked into the void, a target for tens of thousands of hollows ready to swoop down any second now.

I have never been anything without you, Yoruichi-sama.

You have made me need you for too long now. There's no going back, no rewriting of history can be done, no matter how much I wish otherwise.

For more than two centuries, you've made me who I am.

Commander.

Taichou.

Soi Fon.

Shaolin. . . . .

The first hollows descend, screaming, bloodstained claws outstretched for my gasping, racing heart.