Unforeseen Consequences

KNOWLEDGE

Kyousuke lay there breathing raggedly, his face a bloody mess. He had rolled off the dead man when he had noticed the light go out of his eyes, and now he was trying best to calm down. His heart was beating like a jackhammer in his chest and the adrenaline in his veins, though receding, was still making him jumpy.

Finally, he sat up. The flow of blood from his nose and ears had trickled to a stop, and he reached over carefully to check his captor’s pulse. Despite the murderous intent that had filled Kyousuke just moments before, it felt strange to learn that the man was dead—it felt as if Kyousuke had killed part of himself. He could feel a slight headache coming on, and with it came a steady stream of memories he knew were not his own. Unlike when Tova had pierced his saketsu all those years ago, these memories were taking root, and it took a conscious effort on Kyousuke’s part to distinguish between his own memories and the memories of the man dead at his side.

He stood, dusting himself off, and then checked Arianna’s pulse, pleased to learn that despite the angry bruise that was growing on one side of her face, she was still very much alive. He still felt he owed her something for what she had done for him in the desert, and in this situation, mercy was all he could give her.

Something was nagging at Kyousuke through the headache, and his mind wandered back to what the dead man had said to him about the burns on his chest. They had reminded him, somehow, of Tova. He thought of the Las Noches dome, and now there were two memories he could readily identify along with a third that seemed hazy and obscure. In the first, it was the day Kyousuke had met Hazuki. In the second, it was the day Kyousuke had killed the Cuarto Espada. What was the third? Was it what he had been referring to? Was it the source of the burns?

Kyousuke knew of no Hollows capable of a Cero of that magnitude bar one, but it still made no sense for Tova to want to see him dead. The more he thought of it, the more his head hurt, but not knowing was a pain of its own kind. Allessandra had told him not to force it, and he could do little else but follow her advice. His priority right now was escaping, in any case. Luckily, he had access to the perfect disguise.

He turned back to the corpse and pulled the haori off him delicately, careful not to get any blood on the pure white fabric. He slipped it on, not surprised to find it a perfect fit. The foxfur lining the collar was soft and luxurious, a perfect match for the rest of the garment, and something about it seemed almost lighter than his own haori. It had never belonged to Satine, never belonged to Kasumi, never been given to him as a bribe or to serve as a leash. It was a blank slate—for him, at least. For the dead man, it no doubt meant a lot more.

Kyousuke knelt at his side, peering into the face of the man whose life he had so brutally ended, and he felt a twinge of something, as if someone was closing a fist over his heart. He studied him carefully, noting all of the minor differences he had tried to ignore until now. The man on the floor had never stopped aging as Kyousuke had, and the faintest signs of age were creeping onto him. It made him look distinguished, somehow, and the silver ring he wore on his finger filled Kyousuke with an envy that made him uncomfortable. He pulled it off with some difficulty and slipped it onto his own finger, then gripped Kannaduki firmly and pulled as he rose to his feet. The blade was, unsurprisingly, identical to his own, and he hefted her with a practiced ease—pleased to feel her familiar weight back in his hand.

Perhaps this one will work properly, he thought to himself, but deep down he knew that the fault lay with him, not the sword. He held her up in front of his face to look at his own reflection in the polished metal, and he decided that cleaning up was first on the agenda if he was determined to get out of here alive. For that, he needed a mirror.

He checked the room one last time before leaving and found nothing of importance. Tomorrow morning, someone would no doubt find Arianna, unconscious but alive, and the corpse of their captain. By then, Kyousuke would be long gone.

The retinal scanner on the wall was unable to distinguish between the late captain of the Eighth and the captain of the Second, and with a heavy clank, the door unlocked and swung wide. Kyousuke stepped out into the hallway, a free man once again.

He had expected to get lost almost immediately, but something seemed to guide him upwards and outwards, a blurry familiarity that he couldn’t quite seem to place. It felt almost as if he owned the place, and before he knew it, he had reached the lobby, brightly lit despite the time of night. The architecture was strange; it was as if someone had taken a traditional Seireitei building and gutted it, filling the empty shell with something that looked like it would feel right at home in a modern metropolis. The glass and steel of the facade made it feel deceptively airy, and the polished stone floor was inlaid with the massive insignia of the Eighth Division. Kyousuke found that he rather liked it; it was such a huge departure from the strict traditionalism of his own division and it felt clean, modern, beautiful. The plate-glass windows facing out toward the darkness acted almost like mirrors, and Kyousuke was able to—very carefully—shave off most of his beard using the razor-sharp edge of the Zanpakutō he was carrying. The results were awful, of course, but in the darkness and rain outside, nobody would be able to tell. He settled the haori on his shoulders one last time, then headed out into the drizzle.

His feet seemed almost to steer him toward some unknown destination, and for every step he took in the rain-soaked darkness, a growing feeling of apprehension seemed to bite at the edges of his mind. Where, exactly, was he going? Why did he find it so difficult to deviate from the path he was on? He felt drawn, inexorably, toward the Northern Seireitei residential district, as if there was something waiting for him there. He passed rows of houses that seemed far more familiar than they had ever before, and the sense of foreboding was steadily growing. Memories seemed to flit past his vision, ones that felt more real than they had any right to be, given that Kyousuke knew on some level they were impossible. Living with Satine in the Annex, the Espadas’ invasion of Seireitei, marrying the love of his life and watching Mitsutaka bleed out slowly in his arms on the dome of Las Noches. Things that he had never seen and yet he could see them now with a piercing clarity that rivaled even the most lucid of dreams. None of that was right! Kyousuke had fled the Second and the Shinigami had invaded Hueco Mundo, not the other way around. Satine had disappeared, and Kyousuke had saved Mitsutaka, not killed him—and yet somehow, visions of skewering the lanky man he called brother on the spear of his Bankai seemed to force their way into his head, bringing with them the sour stench of blood and anguish.

The apprehension and foreboding gave way to a sensation of mounting dread as he drew ever closer to his unknown destination, and finally he couldn’t bear to take another step. He didn’t want to. He knew what was waiting for him, and he feared it. The atmosphere was paralytic, unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and the same feeling of something within him being fundamentally different that he had felt when he had let his rage pour forth from him in the tiny holding cell gripped him now.

This was emotion.

It was fear. It was sorrow. It was anger. It was remorse and regret and guilt felt for a long life of cruelty and violence, rage and disappointment and jealousy at what could have been but never was. It was the result of always simply making the best of his situation rather than reaching out and taking what it was he really wanted. And now, most chillingly of all, he had murdered someone who had been everything Kyousuke had really ever wanted to be.

He tried desperately to rationalize his actions to himself—
He was going to kill me
He wasn’t strong enough to stay alive
He deserved it for what he did to Tova and Mitsutaka
—but he kept coming back to square one time and time again: Kyousuke had killed his counterpart because it was all he knew. His purpose, whatever it was, had long since been twisted and perverted by a life of poor choices and uncertainty.

His lip trembled, and he felt his gaze drawn to the townhouse he stood in front of. His eye caught the sign, and he collapsed to his knees in sheer grief as everything seemed to wash over him at once. The house Junko had given him as a wedding present for taking such good care of her son. The house he had shared with his beautiful wife for so long. The house he had raised his daughter in for the past ten years. Except... None of that had ever really happened, had it?

There was no nosebleed this time, only an overpowering desire to throw up. Kyousuke lurched forward and heaved, coughing up nothing but acid and misery, and there he lay, on his hands and knees, as tears began to flow for the first time since he had woken up in Rukongai almost a century ago. His clothes were sodden, his face a scraggly mess, and while the rain had washed away most of the blood on his face and hands, he still felt stained by it.

He wanted desperately to disappear, to be somewhere else, but the compulsion to stay there in front of the house—in a sick, twisted way, his house—while the rain drenched him to his very bones was overpowering. He couldn’t run, couldn’t escape it. There was no getting away from his past.

‘Daddy?’

It was a small, insecure voice, one that seemed shaken by something.
Kyousuke raised his head and saw that the front door had opened, and standing there was the little girl his counterpart had so proudly been able to call his daughter.
‘Are you alright?’
He rose shakily to his feet and inched toward her, as if he wasn’t sure we turn and bolt in fear.
His tone was strained, as if he was trying to fight back the desire to scream in agony. ‘Something sad happened, that’s all.’
‘Have you been crying?’
He smiled sadly at her. ‘It’s just the rain. Come here.’ He planted a hesitant kiss on her head, then knelt down and hugged her close. ‘I’ll come inside in just a bit. Go to bed, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Daddy loves you very much, Hazuki.’

She smiled at that, and then retreated back into the house, closing the door behind her. Kyousuke’s eyes were downcast, his breathing shallow, and then it seemed he could hold it in no longer. He raised his face to the falling rain and opened his mouth as if to scream.

There was a short burst of static, and then he was gone without a trace.


Kyousuke opened his eyes to a dreary grey field, faint wisps of mist still clinging to the trees in the distance. He was standing upright—a welcome change, all things considered—ankle-deep in mud. The landscape was dotted with puddles here and there, and he realized that it must have rained recently. He gingerly stepped out of the muddy patch, trying his best not to slip, trying to get his bearings. The air was cold, made worse by the sodden state of his uniform, and though he had no idea where, specifically, he was, he was certain that this was Soul Society. There was a small hill not far from where he stood, and he set off toward it, hoping to get a good look at his surroundings.

His mood matched his surroundings—dank and dismal—and his mind kept wandering to what had happened before he had lost control and shifted. His wish to be anywhere but there, it seemed, had been granted, and though he desperately wanted to get home, for now this would do. It took a conscious effort to bury the storm of emotion that was welling up inside him, and it was only by grace of his years of unfeeling experience that he managed to keep it contained; had he been any less in control, he would surely have been reduced to a quivering heap of wretchedness. He bit down hard and kept walking, trying instead to focus on the memory of the dome atop Las Noches. Why did it keep coming back to him? What was it that was so important? What was his mind trying to tell him?

It was frustrating, being so close and yet so far, but the more he thought about it, the further away the answer seemed to drift. Perhaps it would come to him later, after he had reached someplace civilized and cleaned up properly. He reached the top of the hill, and couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath as he saw what lay before him.

It was Seireitei, but not as he had ever seen it before. The white spires had been toppled, he could see the streets strewn with rubble even from this distance, and the charred frames of the divisional headquarters stood like black skeletons, half-buried in the debris. He was looking at a ruined city, a fallen city, and by the look of things, it had been this way for a very long time. There was no smoke, no sound, no movement—only a grim stillness that seemed to stand vigil over the remains of Kyousuke’s would-be home. Despite the threat of his emotions spilling out, he remained remarkably calm in the face of such desolation—it was only the third time and yet he was already growing apathetic toward what would no doubt turn out to be just another false reality.

A thought struck him and it made his pulse quicken. What if this was home? He had been gone a long time, and it wasn’t unreasonable to expect something like this to happen to Seireitei in his absence. If Mitsutaka had remained in the state Kyousuke had last seen him in, it was more than plausible—it was likely. Gilgamesh would never lift a finger to defend Seireitei, Junko wasn’t exactly what he would classify as a fighter, and with Mitsutaka out of the picture, it left Ine and the younger Amai. Would that have been enough?

It all depended on the aggressor, didn’t it? It—

Tova.

It could have been Tova. Why else ask for the tour of Seireitei? The plan had always been to get rid of Gilgamesh, but that had been long before the Shinigami had put Hueco Mundo to the torch. Had Tova changed his mind? Was this his revenge? The quiet conversation he and the King of Hollows had shared just hours after Kyousuke’s release from the Maggot’s nest had been focused on the greater good, not petty squabbling. Up until the moment Tova had fallen to Miyazaki’s blade, he had been the same man Kyousuke had always known.

After that, though, it had been like looking in a mirror. It was ruthlessness, a callous disregard for others and brutality that seemed to define postwar Tova Diabló, and Kyousuke had felt that his actions hit a little too close to home for comfort. He saw himself in Tova, and now he was beginning to question an entire lifetime of decisions. Why did he do what he did? What was it he really wanted? What was it his counterpart had said?

Our talents lie elsewhere, and to squander them like you do is a complete waste.

He didn’t understand. What talents?

Kyousuke’s train of thought was interrupted by something moving in his peripheral vision and he snapped to attention, clearing his mind. Whatever it was, it was in the brush off to his left, and he readied his stance, one hand falling to the hilt of his Zanpakutō. Out of the bushes it leapt, white mask shining almost like a beacon in the dull palette of its surroundings. The beast didn’t even stop to get its bearings, but charged straight at Kyousuke, its cavernous maw open and ready to snap shut on him.

Kyousuke, of course, was less than impressed. He let go of Kannaduki’s hilt and quite calmly caught it by the head in both hands as it lunged at him, then twisted sharply, breaking its neck. It whimpered, and as it fell to the ground, Kyousuke raised a muddy foot and brought it down hard, crushing the mask. The Hollow’s presence, weak as it was, only seemed to reaffirm his earlier suspicions as to what had happened here. The Hollows had come, no doubt led by Tova, and they had destroyed Seireitei and taken Soul Society for their own. It was ironic, considering what the Shinigami had done to Hueco Mundo not too long ago.

As the Hollow’s corpse dissipated, Kyousuke made his way down the hill toward Seireitei to pick through the rubble and see what he could find. It was perhaps a futile shred of hope that spurred him onwards, but he would need to educate himself before he visited Hueco Mundo to speak with the King of the Hollows.

Perhaps there would be survivors.

The great wall had fallen, as expected, and Kyousuke carefully climbed over the massive stones and into the fortress-city. He held no love for sekkiseki considering his prolonged stay in the Nest, but there was something tragic about the first line of Seireitei’s defense being torn asunder like so much paper. He made straight for the Second, secretly hoping to find signs of Kiriko being alive and well. The white facades were smeared with soot and dried blood, and impact craters of Cero and Kidō alike pockmarked almost every surface Kyousuke laid eyes on. There was only one word for it, and it was war-torn. He had never dreamt that this was even possible, and yet here he was, walking through the shattered remains of a shining bastion of power.

The stairs leading up to the Second Division highlands were crooked and missing huge chunks, and while Kyousuke hadn’t been expecting anything different, it still felt strange to see the empty shell of the Annex standing like a wilted flower. Nothing I could have done, he thought to himself wistfully, as he approached it. He wondered if any of his belongings—scarce as they were—had survived, and he stepped inside the murky building, the blackened timbers wet and ragged. None of Kiriko’s calligraphy had seemed to survive the incident, and his own chambers had been completely obliterated. He sighed, his mood heavy, and trudged past the kitchen, giving it a glum look as he walked by.

He halted.

That was most certainly not the kitchen he had installed after his promotion. Demolished as it was, there was no stainless steel in sight, and everything seemed to indicate that there had been no replacement kitchen for the new captain of the Second. It was identical to the one he had replaced.

Then it dawned on him.

He still wasn’t home. He didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, but surely this was a good thing? This wasn’t his Annex, it wasn’t his Seireitei. His relief was almost palpable, and he closed his eyes as if to savor the moment.

‘Who are you?’

His eyes opened. It wasn’t that the voice was familiar, but rather that the quality of it was familiar. It was a question spoken by two voices simultaneously, and it chilled Kyousuke even now to hear it. He spun on the spot, drawing Kannaduki, and leveled her at the diminutive figure who had crept up behind him. He was shocked to see who it was.

A little girl in Shinigami robes stood there, her face obscured by a chalky white mask, and what immediately caught Kyousuke’s attention was the long, blonde hair that flowed from her head. A familiar enough sight, but on some level he knew that this was not the sister he treasured. He narrowed his eyes at her.

‘Lessa?’

The girl looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. ‘Why aren’t you wearing your mask?’ she demanded.
‘What makes you so sure I have one?’
‘Everyone has one. He kills anyone who doesn’t.’
Kyousuke took a careful step closer to her, blade still outstretched. ‘Who does?’
‘Tova does, you idiot. Who else?’
Another step closer. ‘Then how come I’m not dead?’
He could see her swallow behind her mask, not quite sure how to answer.
Kyousuke repeated his question. ‘Then how come I’m not dead, Lessa?’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘I know a lot about you. I know what you are.’
‘That’s not very impressive, considering everyone’s like me now.’ She glanced at his blade. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘Get what?’ Yet another step. He was getting close.
‘That sword. Where did you get it?’
‘It’s mine. Always has been. Why, you recognize it?’
‘That sword belongs to someone else.’
Did she know? ‘Oh yeah? Who?’ One final step, and she was within range.
‘Kyouko Tsukimiya.’
He lunged at her, the name only half-registering with him as he reached for her arm and grabbed it tight, throwing her to the floor and tearing the mask off her face. He was met with a pair of brilliantly blue eyes staring up at him in shock as he pinned her there.
‘There’s no such person.’
‘Of course there is,’ she spat, trying to wriggle free of his grasp. ‘Well, there was. She’s dead now.’
‘Who was she? When did she die?’
‘Lieutenant of Fourth, more than a hundred years ago. She defected, went to Hueco Mundo. She was my friend.’

Kyousuke blinked. ‘Lieutenant of Fourth?’
Lessa was still struggling to break free, but Kyousuke’s grip was viselike. ‘She died in Hueco Mundo. Let go of me, you oaf.’
He ignored her demands. ‘Who killed her?’
‘It was an accident, a mistake. She— She couldn’t handle the Hollow.’
Kyousuke had been a woman here? It all seemed so alien, and yet it was far from the strangest thing he had heard in the past few weeks. He was reminded of the theory his Eighth Division counterpart had formulated. ‘She attempted Hollowification with Tova, didn’t she?’
‘Duh.’
Kyousuke fought back the urge to slap the little girl. ‘Where’s Tova now? Hueco Mundo?’
Lessa bit her lip.
He sheathed is sword and slapped her anyway. ‘Answer me.’
She made no attempt to mask the fury in her eyes, but she gave him his answer.

He let go of her and got to his feet slowly, his eyes wide in shock. It couldn’t be. It had to be a coincidence.

Nobody’s seen him for three months.

Three months.

‘Three months matches up perfectly, doesn’t it?’

I’m back in the dilapidated room with no ceiling, and the three chairs facing away from the television have been replaced by a single one facing toward it. No stars. Just an inky black sky.

You, I say. You told me I wouldn’t meet you again.

I can’t see him but I recognize his voice. It’s my voice. It was always my voice.

Soft laughter. ‘He’s the one who said that, not me.’ He’s pointing toward the television, and the freeze-frame of me is gone, replaced by a blurry picture of Kannaduki, Hazuki, and myself. ‘I’m not him. He’s not me.’

I walk up to the chair, my feet bare and dry, and I look down at the man sitting in it. He looks back up at me. Or at least, I think he does. The man is nothing more than a silhouette, filled with a vast ocean of stars, cloudy nebulas and galaxies scattered throughout. It's as if someone cut a man out of the world, and the resulting hole is a window into deep space. Just looking at it induces vertigo.

‘Told you.’

Who are you? I ask.

‘The sum of your parts, or something to that effect. But please, let me ask the questions. I think it’s better for you to answer for the time being. What’s so important about three months ago?’

I hesitate. That’s the last time I was here, in this room, I say.

‘This look familiar to you?’ He points toward the television, which flickers, then seems to settle on a wide-angle shot of the Las Noches dome.

Familiar enough, I answer.

‘How about now?’ It flickers again, and zooms in on two figures. It’s Tova and me.

Of course, I begin. That’s when he and I were going to—

And I stop short. That’s not from when we were attempting Hollowification at all. I’m wearing a haori. We’re speaking about something.
The volume, I say. Turn up the volume.

Tova’s voice comes out clearer than I’m expecting it to. ‘Thanks for the tour the other day. Very valuable.’
The me on the screen replies. ‘I would’ve preferred a tour of the throne room, but I suppose it can’t be helped. Did you get everything you wanted?’
‘Of course,’ says Tova, and I can see he’s smiling in a way that I’ve never seen him smile before. The me on the screen isn’t facing him—he’s gazing out over the desert, his haori flapping gently in the breeze. ‘I’ve got all that I need. There’s just... One minor thing left to do, that’s all.’
He raises his finger at my back, and I must have noticed something was amiss, because I half-turn toward him.
‘Goodbye, Swordbreaker,’ he says, and on the screen my eyes go wide.

I already know what happens next. The memory of it hits me like the Cero itself did. The world is drenched in green, and I see myself trying to desperately twist away from the deadly beam that erupts from Tova’s outstretched finger. The static of the Cero fills the room, and I hear the undercurrent of something else. A more familiar sound. Hazuki’s static. The only thing that remains is a burned and blood-spotted haori, which Tova cheerfully picks up and shakes out, before folding it and putting it in his pocket. The screen goes blank.

‘Doesn’t seem like the man I remember. What about you?’

I look down at him and shake my head.

‘So. Why don’t I ask you some questions? I think it’ll be fastest that way. Nothing difficult.’ He stands, emerging from the shadows of the armchair like a ghost. His height matches my own, and the light of the television set lends an unearthly glow to his edges.

I say nothing, but everything is beginning to fall into place.

He holds up a hand, and the cutout of a man produces a finger. ‘First up: who was the man on the television?’

It was Tova, I say. But not really him. It’s the Tova from out there, and I jab my head toward the door behind me. Out there, where Seireitei is ruined and everyone is dead.

‘That’s right.’ He nods. ‘And how did he meet you?’

I say I don’t know.

‘Alright, then let’s try with this, instead: why aren’t your sword and mask working properly?’ The screen behind him flickers into life again, this time with Kannaduki and Hazuki smiling out at him. Kannaduki’s smile is as warm as ever, and even Hazuki is managing to look friendly.

I think about it for a moment. I’m not using them properly, I answer, but it’s hesitant, as if I’m not really sure myself.

He claps his not-quite-hands together as if in mock applause, and the noise seems oddly hollow. ‘Very good. Now. Again. How did he meet you?’

I wrack my brain, trying to think back. I still don’t know.

‘Of course you do. The answer’s right in front of you. You just told me you weren’t using Kannaduki and Hazuki properly. How are you misusing them?’

I think back to all the times I’ve ever had to use my Zanpakutō or my Hollow mask. With the exception of Hazuki’s overzealous interventions, every time was a conscious command. Each time, I’ve treated them like a weapon to wield or a tool to use. But that stopped working. The sword at my hip has gradually become an empty stick of metal, and the mask covering the hole in my heart has become a brittle shell of what it once was.

And yet I find myself using their gifts.

Hazuki saved me from Tova. She put me out of harm’s way. After that, I got frustrated with Kannaduki’s inability to do what I said. Again, Hazuki sent me somewhere else, but I was too angry to clarify where I wanted to go. Then... Then I wanted to be anywhere but in front of that house, in front of that family that I destroyed. She brought me here, to the end. This dismal vision of a possible future.

I’m not exerting the proper control, I say. I’ve— I’ve lost control and I’m wielding it without any thought of the consequences.

‘And what were the consequences of you hearing of Tova’s execution?’

I frown, uncertain of myself. There’s no way, I tell him. It doesn’t work like that... Does it?

‘You tell me, Kyousuke. This is you we’re talking about, after all.’ The stars where his mouth would be almost seem to form a smile, and he takes a step toward me. ‘Last question: have you found out what it is you really want?’

‘Hey, are you alright?’ Lessa’s voice again, tinged with concern despite the rough treatment.

Kyousuke stood as if frozen, and then he seemed to snap back to reality. ‘Three months ago he just disappeared?’
There was suspicion written all over her face, but the girl gave him an answer all the same. ‘Yeah. Like he was swallowed by the earth. Here one day, gone the next.’
‘Was he the one that did this to Seireitei?’
‘Of course. He came here with an army, killed Mitsutaka, and then turned everyone into hybrids. Those who refused, he killed.’
‘I think I know where he went.’ And I have to get there before he takes what little of my family I have left from me.

‘It was nice meeting you, Lessa.’
She only gaped at him. ‘No, seriously, how do you know my name?’
He grinned at her as he held out his hand away from her, and though at first there was silence, a dull roar of static seemed to fill the space around them as a tear began to open in the air around Kyousuke’s hand. It widened, and through it Kyousuke could see the familiar spires of a Seireitei that still lived and breathed. Control. As with anything else, effortless if you knew how.
Behind him, Lessa gasped.

‘Be safe,’ he said, and then, in the blink of an eye, Kyousuke vanished.