By Any Other Name [Closed]

Cold.

Fighting through the enormous amount of Reiatsu the strange woman radiated felt like braving the icy winds of the tundra. Every step felt like a howling wind that pierced straight through her garments and left a tiny cut on her bare flesh. Still Nagisa pressed forwards though. Not for a moment did she falter because despite the constant stream of pain her heart was kept safe from the frost, basked in the glow of faith.

Faith in the righteousness of her action. She was the Gotei. This was the enemy. Protecting her family was duty.

Faith in Kiriko. She was her sister. This was the enemy. Any moment now the older Chinda would lunge from the shadows to take out the foe.

Faith in the Farseer. Her own Reiatsu strengthened by the presence of the mysterious woman Nagisa felt lighter than ever before. Surely victory was neigh. It had to be.

Crossing the distance itself had taken less than a heartbeat, but in the presence of such a being the younger Chinda still felt as if she had been painfully slow. Shake that thought, the right hand closed tightly around the hilt. Be present. The black blade surged forwards, catapulted from its sheath, and slashed across the invaders back. Immediately the Shinigami retracted the weapon and adjusted her stance, dropping into a partial crouch, both knees bent. The right arm was drawn back and left extended forward as Nagisa’s grip changed. Grasping the blade at the kashira of the sword with the left hand resting the tips of the fingers on the blade near the kisaki Chinda prepared another point blank attack. In a fluid motion that displayed tremendous upper body strength she thrust her sword through the torso of her enemy. With a sickening sound the weapon penetrated flesh, broke rips, and finally burst forth from the chest cavity.

A clean move. It all occurred with impeccable precision and blinding speed, there had been barely enough time to blink…and yet the mysterious figure hadn’t even moved at all.

Something is wrong.

”How rude.”

One of Nagisa’s eyebrows rose in reflex.

”How delightfully rude.”

At once the Chinda tried to retrieve her thought, but muscles of the other woman clenched shut with such force that it barely moved an inch. Silence fell amongst the two. The Reiatsu seemed to subside, the noise of the panicked crowd was no more, and even the burning smell seemed to have disappeared. The only thing Nagisa could hear was the sound of her own heart beating. Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Cold sweat broke out on the Shinigami’s forehead as the true meaning of fear spread through her body, filled her every thought and limb. Fighting stronger opponents was common to hear. Fighting monsters like this…this…demon…Never before had Nagisa encountered anything like this.

She didn’t have to see the woman’s face to know that a dastardly grin spread over her face. Tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap The calm beat of her heart exploded and with heave Nagi retrieved her blade. Just in time to her woman’s voice speak the mockery of a prayer.

Black tendrils sprouted forth, eagerly lashing out at Nagisa. In this moment it was pure instinct alone that saved her life. Without so much as a conscious thought the Shinigami’s body moved left and right before finally finding the presence of mind to initiate retreat. At this point however the repulsive substance had enveloped the upper part of her blade already and was making its way towards the hilt. No! Farseer! Again Nagi heaved, twisting her hip to gain further momentum, but it would not budge.

Leave me, the woman instructed: Run. Run as fast as you can.

No! grim determination mixed into the desperation that was displayed in the beautiful blue eyes of her. I won’t leave you behind.

Again the woman weaved through attacking wires but ultimately it was futile, and one limb after another she was caught. Still, she never let go of her blade. With each passing second the steel grew thicker, eventually having gained enough strength to effortlessly lift the Shinigami into the air. Like snakes the polished metal crawled over her body, pulling her arms and legs taut before working their way towards her core. Wherever the metal string touched Nagisa’s skin it felt cold and tainted with a poisonous madness. In one swift motion it pressed the air out of her chest, making it hard to breathe before winding up her neck and caressing her cheek like a tender lover.

Painfully the wires dug into her, piercing clothes and skin alike until it barely pricked her white skin and caused ruby red blood to appear. Again and again the younger Chinda struggled, tried in vain to wind and find a way out, but only caused the bondage to grow tighter and tighter. Nagisa swallowed the pain, couldn’t even muster breath for a shout, but despite her body being bound and at the verge of breaking – the icy blue eyes would not yield.

834/50=28

Again and again Nagisa flexed, struggled against the bondage, but the metal wires only grew tighter and tighter until even the tiniest movement caused her great pain. Feverishly the young woman sought a way out of this situation. Time and time again she went through the list of spells she had memorized during her stay in the academy. However, reality was dismal. Despite having been called a prodigy ever since she had become a Shinigami, Nagisa was now as helpless as a babe, completely at the mercy of another.

What a horrible feeling.

Effortlessly – organically – the wires moved about, turned the Chinda upside down before bringing her close to close with the invader. It was an almost delicate woman of filigree appearance. The soft skin and small frame hid the strength that lay within, and made it all the more absurd. Nagisa was being manhandled by someone who wasn’t even a woman grown! And yet, at the same time the being before her felt ancient beyond measure…But also empty. It was akin to the sensation perhaps that one gets when staring into the depths of the ocean. It was empty, but it wasn’t empty. It held a sense of wonder and mystery, but also ominous dread. The sheer vastness of that soul made Nagi shudder.

Before the blue eyes the wounds her blade had left the invader with grew back together, disappeared smoother and cleaner than with anybody she had ever seen. This is how little it mean. the younger Chinda realized dryly. Did my efforts and my life find their embodiment in those slashes?  Unable to reply to Kirishi Nagisa turned inwards. She searched for the Farseer in her soul after having become aware of the fact that the alien wires were even digging into the metal of her blade. Surely her beloved friend was in pain as well – there had to be something she could do to alleviate it, to at least save her who had served, guided, and loved her so faithfully.

The string around her neck loosened, causing Nagi to cough and heave as she struggled for air. However, she was far from being out of danger. For whatever reason her capture had decided to let her breathe, but it had come at the cost of her limbs being stretched and bound so tightly the Shinigami began to lose all feeling in them. Weak, but far from broken, the younger Chinda stared at the monster out of blood-shot eyes that had not lost their icy touch. If anything the piercing gaze had only intensified. I will cut you. Cut you. Cut you. Cut you. Cut you. Kirishi reached out for her face, causing Nagisa to attempt to bend her neck and escape the doubtlessly tainted touch, but immediately the wires reacted. It arched her head backwards with great strength, exposing the Shinigami’s face and throat. I hate this helplessness. The thought echoed through her mind. If I were stronger…like Onee-san, then this would not happen. We would not be here. You wouldn’t have to suffer for my mistakes. Sadness began to fill her heart, not for her own fate, as strange as that was, but for the woman in her soul that would perish due to Nagisa’s foolishness.

The filigree fingers softly caressed her skin, but despite the tenderness of the motion the Chinda could only feel the horrifying Nothingness of the woman’s Reiatsu. For as long as she could remember Nagi had always felt alone, forsaken, forgotten. Here, in Soul Society and with the Farseer, she had found, for the first time since Kiriko, beings that eased that pain. Who gave her the impression of not being a nuisance but welcome. However, it took but the fracture of a second for all those thoughts to be whisked away, to be swept along by the tide of Kirishi’s Reiatsu.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the invader’s hand left her field of vision, but Nagisa could still feel its touch. It was as if someone trailed ice over her skin. Down her cheek, almost cupping it for a moment, and then gliding down, down, down. Nagi’s heart beat faster. The feeling of helplessness was suffocating; it took all she had to not burst out in tears and rabid cries of pain and misery. Slowly the tender fingers touched the skin on her throat and Nagisa noticed the hungry look in the Sovereign’s eyes. What was she to a being like that? Meat? Prey? Truly food or just a toy? Clearly not an enemy or a threat. Nagisa wanted to run, to disappear – but there was another part of her equally strong, perhaps even more, who longed for but one thing: Cut her.  Cut her.  Cut her.

”What is your name, little one?”

Against her will Nagi’s arm was forced to bend, to raise her weapon so that it was in clear view of the monster. Let me bend some more and I’ll slash out those despicable starry eyes of yours. A jolt of searing pain caused that thought to subside. Kirishi moved to trail the blade, and in a sense it made the Chinda feel more violated than an exploration of her body ever could have. To Nagisa her sword was much, much more than merely than a weapon. It was part of her, an embodiment of her soul. A friend. A family. A lover.

“I am Chinda Nagisa,” she heard herself say in a voice that felt as cold as the tundra wind. Summoning all her strength the Shinigami struggled to ignore the pain and twisted her body in a way that gave her but an inch, maybe two, leeway in her right arm. Freedom the Chinda immediately translated into a jerking motion of her blade. “Farseer!” She aimed for the eyes. Those questioning, judging eyes.

Nagisa…

As if in shock the young woman grasped for air as the weak voice of her Spirit echoed through her soul. Farseer! Nagisa felt an ache in her heart as she realized that the hourglass eyed woman was in pain, perhaps even more than she herself felt. I am here, Farseer!

Nagi…

The voice grew weaker and weaker, as if something forcefully put distance in-between them. Distance that seemed as vast and threatening as the dark, dark ocean. The Chinda swallowed the fear that caused her body to begin shaking. It was one thing to die. Another to do it alone. “Farseer!” Nagisa didn’t know whether her sudden motion had hit its mark, cared little about it in fact for one of the two souls that were dearer to her than anything else in the world seemed to be in peril beyond measure. Tears began to stream out of one of her eyes…the other grew even colder and harder, filled with a promise. I. Will. Cut you.

1138/50=22; 50gp

Still Nagisa hung suspended in mid-air. She was face to face with the invader, yet bound in a way that left her unable to move and at the invader’s mercy.

The Shinigami’s eyes widened in shock as Kirishi’s words seeped into her mind like poison. The thing she loved pulled away? Preposterous! Ever since she had come to Soul Society she had grown closer and closer to it! All her Onee-san had done was to test her, to train her; to enable her to become strong and stand at her beloved sister’s side. Kiriko held her close in her heart…not? Nagi’s steadfast conviction began to crumble, eroded by the invader’s words. No! the woman yelled in her head: Onee-san loves me! An almost feral expression found its way into the icy eyes and again a single phrase echoed through the Chinda’s mind: Cut her. Cut her. Cut her. As futile as it was the Shinigami flexed again, struggled to break free, but as a result the strength of the wires only increased, leaving her neigh helpless. Even though her body was bound, in her mind Nagisa was free and raged. Time and time again she struggled. Over and over she exerted herself until finally tears welled up in her eyes. Why was she so helpless and weak? The woman slowly fell limb, panting with exhaustion, her uniform smeared with the red of her blood from the myriads of small cuts where the wire had dug in too deeply.

The iron walls the Chinda had erected around her mind began to give way to Kirishi’s continuous sway. The invader too berated her for her weakness in a way. Yes, Kiriko was strong, but wasn’t Nagisa too a Chinda? Shouldn’t she too possess such strength? Then why was she in shackles now? The way Kirishi swung her about only added insult to injury – but in a way also fuel to the fire. What did that monstrous woman know about the bond between sisters? How could she even dare to talk about Onee-san?

In her helplessness it was spite that surged through Nagisa’s soul and she clung to. A slender hand neared the Shinigami’s face slowly, provoking in her an act of defiance. Realizing that she was not able to bend her head out of reach, the younger Chinda prepared to bite, to spit, to make the other regret. With her thin lips tightly pressed on each other it was dissent that shone in the blue eyes. She would not allow the defiler to touch her skin. Yet when the moment came Kirishi’s words caused her to freeze up. Freely and unhindered the cold hand cupped Nagisa’s cheek as the woman, paralyzed by what she had heard. “You’re lying,” she pressed forth. She has to be! She is just trying to get under my skin… Images of how her Onee-san had behaved around the Commander on the stage flashed before her inner eyes. Rumors that she had heard about Kiriko’s infatuation with the previous Commander rang in her ears. Could it be true that her beloved sister favored these men? The recent memory of how familiar the invader had seemed with what went on behind the scene of Soul Society clouded the Shinigami’s judgment further. The seed of doubt that Kirishi had planned rapidly bloomed, nurtured by her overwhelming spiritual pressure and Nagisa’s obsession.

Onee-san. The rumors about the Captain Commanders. Kirishi’s accusations. Nagisa’s wanton desire for love. Her hate for her apparent weakness. They all resembled puzzle pieces within the mind of the younger Chinda. However, instead of taking the time and sorting them out, the pressure in which the woman thought herself to be caused her to slam them all together. Perhaps it would have been wiser to live with the confusion. Perhaps it would have been better to retreat into the depths of her soul until all was over, for better or worse. But Nagisa’s infatuation with her sister, her compulsion, caused the young woman to force the jigsaw to fit:

Kenshou Ine and Kyousuke Tsukimiya were both bearers of a strange force, an alien trait, which caused Kiriko to become attracted to them. What if Nagisa too could become like them? Would Onee-san love her then? Clearly she would, for she showed affection to these men. Kirshi…was still an enigma. But she seemed to hate the Captain Commander, and since that was a man who was trying to steal Kiriko she was perhaps useful. On the other hand she was still the enemy, an invader, and thus was not to be trusted. What was her motive, what did she have to gain from toying with the younger Chinda? 

Nagisa struggled.  Within her soul pride and duty clashed with love and obsession. She needed aid. Help. Council. The pale blue eyes followed when Kirishi moved a hand towards the tip of the blade that the Shinigami still gripped tightly. I don’t know! Nagi lamented, hoping for her spirit to reply: What shall I do? What am I to think!? Her desperation was honest and clear, yet the moment the invader touched the weapon Nagisa felt an awful loneliness, paired with silence. It was as if Kirishi had separated her from the Farseer, leaving her utterly forsaken.

Upon that realization the heart of the young woman began to pound in her chest. Being tied down and facing death and confusion was one thing, but doing it alone after all the Farseer and her had been through finally caused her to panic. Almost playfully Kirishi seemed to caress the tip of the Chinda’s weapon, watched the drop of blood form with a maniacal expression in her eyes. As if time had slowed down to a crawl it seemed to take ages for the pale finger to wander towards Nagisa’s face. The inevitability of it all though caused the Shinigami’s body to convulse. Chinda’s eyes focused on the red drop that hung gingerly from the filigree finger. What was Kirishi doing? What was she planning?

Next to the fear another emotion began to form. A desire that seemed to say: Taste the blood.

It was a simple thought, spoken by a sultry voice that seemed to seduce Nagisa with each passing heartbeat. Taste it…and you will grow strong. You will grow able. You will be loved. Hypnotized by the sweet sound and promises to fulfill her desires the young Chinda found herself listening. Do it, urged the voice: If you want to be like them and be loved by Kiriko, you have to do it!

If I drink the blood…Onee-san will…love me? Kirishi’s pressure had dulled Nagisa’s senses, and the strange new voice sounded so very convincing.

Yes…all you have to do is lick it, suck it down into your core…embrace it…make it a part of you like you want Kiriko to be part of you.

A bland expression stood in Nagi’s eyes, replacing spite and defiance with a hint of longing, as she watched the finger approach.

Nagisa, no! as if from far, far away the younger Chinda suddenly heard a familiar voice cry out to her. Do NOT do it, Nagisa! Whoever it was, she sounded like she had been screaming for a while now. I beg of you, Nagisa, let me help you! Shut your lips tight! Close your ears to that voice! Nagi felt as if she knew that voice, knew it well in fact. Was it someone who cared about her? She wasn’t sure. But she didn’t have many friends, so if the care in that voice was true, she should follow, shouldn’t she? Out of reflex the young Chinda pressed her pale lips tightly upon each other, causing Kirishi to smear them with blood.

What are you doing? the earlier voice cooed, faking surprise. Don’t you want Kiriko’s love?

O…nee-san.

If you want her to be yours, if you want to be free of that painful longing, then part your lips – let it in.

No, Nagisa! There it was again. That desperate voice. Please no…let me love you, let me save you.

She pleads, because she is jealous. The sultry voice explained, beguiling Nagi even further. She doesn’t want Kiriko to be in your life, can’t you see? All she ever did was keep you away from her, restrain you in your love! Nagisa suddenly felt warm, as if someone was holding her tight and whispering into her ear: Let me in, and I shall give you all you desire…and more.

Finally Chinda’s lips parted and made way for the blood stained digit. And as the finger pushed forward into her mouth the young women began to carefully, and then thoroughly, wander up and down its full length with her tongue. Apathetically and then eagerly Nagisa began to lick ever single drop of blood, sucked it greedily down her throat, couldn’t stop anymore once she had started. It was warm and rich, tasted like metal and yet was sweet. However, once swallowed it seemed to turn to ice.

Nagisa could feel it distinctly make its way down her throat. However, it never seemed to reach her stomach. The place where it wandered instead was her heart, and once there the sobering experience ended with a sharp jab of pain that was equally exhilarating as it was excruciating. It was as if something – or someone – carved itself a place. Another pulse of pain followed, targeting her right eye with an intensity that made the woman think it might burst. The Shinigami’s body jolted as if electrified, followed by a long exhale that left her limb. Weak. Exhausted.

In a haze, as if a veil was slowly being withdrawn, Nagisa’s consciousness returned. Again – or still? – she found herself face to face with Kirishi, and albeit Nagi did not notice it herself in this moment, for the other woman change was plain to see. One of Chinda’s eyes had turned from blue to crimson. “Wha…what…have you…done?” the Shinigami stammered, her chest heaving heavily as if breathing alone took a great toll on her. However, the worst was yet to come. Turning herself inward Nagisa asked herself as well: What have I done?

To her horror not one, but two voices answered.

You have doomed/saved yourself, Nagisa.

1706/50= 34; 84

There was a moment of tranquility, amidst the chaos and confusion that seemed to permeate every nook and cranny of the world of the dead. A moment of peace as the aberrant Kirishi slowly pulled her finger out of the unconscious Nagisa; A hint of color on her otherwise pale cheeks as she leaned forward and rest her forehead on the temple of the upside-down shinigami and let loose what may have been the most sincere smile she had made all day.

Death

Obsession

Evolution

”Eheh...heheh...hehehehahahaaha̧h̢ͯͬ̅̀ͨ̈̒aͩͦ͑͡h̶͂̿͋a̾̍̓͑͘h̛̅ͭá̷͋ͧ͂͜h͑͗ͤ͢a̧ͯ̆ͫ͋̎͢͢h̷̡͋̽̈́̽͟͜͠ã̡̛ͬ͑͊̅́̓̂̂͝h͋ͧ͂̅̔͂͆̊̌͊ͣ̈́̃ͦͫ҉͏͘҉ą̴̓̈́̌͑̅̋͗ͦ̇͛ͭ̃͘͜͝ !“

Pulling back from the entangled young god, the erratic espada let loose a diabolical laughter at her own foul machinations. Her voice erupted across the courts; her countless souls echoed across the blackened skies of the infected realm. Each slightly off in its own unique way and yet each unmistakably hers. A riotous display from the mouth of one broken young woman expressing naught but utter delight as to the confusion of the now conscious and still tightly bound fledgling hybrid.

This is what obsession meant. This was the call of entropy's curse. The nature of the heart; the nature of desire. The endless spiral of darkness into which all living things inevitably fall; Each thinking their fate somehow different from the last. Each thinking they would be the ones who'd somehow be able to dip their toe into that horrible wake and somehow be the first to escape without first submitting to that monster that lie deep inside. That monster born of the toil of our own ego which Kirishi took such a morbid delight in letting loose in the hearts of all she met.

”What a silly question, Nagi-chan,” she mused quietly as slowly flipped her host upright. The newborn Nagisa; still clinging so desperately to her precious blade. Still tied by the umbilical chord of her new mistress. Whether or not she knew it yet; her fate had been sealed in that last precious moment.

”I've merely given you the opportunity so few have; the gift to grow beyond your potential as merely another too naive to come face to face with the final adversary on their path to perfection.”

Holding out her hand, she allowed Nagisa's head to complete its upright twirl and gently pulled back the hair that had fallen over her face. There she gazed at the eyes of her newest recruit; the face of her newest soul saved. The proof of her status as the Espada of Evolution; the evidence of her boon to the world she called home and the monsters she called family.

To the family she would leave her sister.

”Now, now that's no good. There's still some doubt in your mind,” she spoke frankly as she pulled a small knife from the sleeve of her kimono. The thing was dull. Rusted. Merely a box-cutter from some dump in the human world. And yet in the hands of one capable of shattering even the shield that protected the Seireitei, she was confident it would be more than enough to slice the flesh of a shinigami like her. And slowly scraping the thing against the bound shinigami's abdomen, she began her grisly work of doing exactly what it was that Nagisa was so intent on doing so her.

Cutting her to shreds. Peeling back that useless layer of flesh and muscle and blood. Leaving her wounded and crying and dying in the streets or seeing what kind of hollow would come forth to protect her.

”And still a part of you that thinks you'll survive this without giving in to what your precious sister really wants from you.”

WC: 610; GP: 12; TGP: 70

Laughter, full of amusement, delight and a baleful glee. It was a wicked sound that was chorused by many voices, some strong, some soft, some shrill, some somber. The way it thundered through the sky sent a chill up Nagisa’s spine. With but the flick of her wrist Kirishi turned the Shinigami about, rotated her into a less embarrassing position, but Nagi knew that this ordeal was far from over. Thick black hair shrouded her face, gave her a moment’s respite from the gleaming eyes of the invader. Eyes that were as mischievous as they were hungry.

“Final…adversary,” the Chinda repeated, wondering if the other woman meant herself with that, or if she was rather referring to the voice inside her head. And if it was the latter, which one. Again Kirishi’s hand moved forward, this time tenderly parting the hair out of Nagisa’s face, brushing it back to make the Shinigami appear less haggard, more beautiful. The Chinda tried her best to match the smaller woman’s stare, to at least muster hints of the dignity and defiance Kirishi had stripped her off. However, the invader was athirst, and under her gaze Nagisa felt naked and helpless.

Breathe, Nagisa, the Farseer said, but her own voice was vastly different to the calm and composed nature Nagi had grown accustomed to. Whatever she did, whatever she will do, together we will get through this. The Shinigami was as if a familiar feeling of serenity and comfort swept through her body and eased the pain. Together we will persevere.

Now, now, the sultry voice chimed in. Don’t go and hog all the fun, you vicious dame. There was a second sensation now that spread through her body. It was warm and just hot enough to be unpleasant and pleasant at the same time.

You have no place here! the Farseer said, her voice as cold and biting as an icy gale. A stalemate occurred in which the easing cool kept the boiling warmth at bay, confined to the size of but a quarter of the Chinda’s chest. Feeling the tension within her Shinigagmi the Spirit sought to speak in a soothing voice. Nagisa, listen to me, it will be alright.

From the depth of her Kimono the monstrous girl had retrieved a rusty and dull looking knife. Brandishing it Kirishi loosened the sash around Nagisa’s waist. With tender fingers her hands caressed Nagi’s abs, traced their outline against her pale skin and causing them to twitch and contract as the Shinigami tried to wind her way out of the shackles yet again, all the while her eyes transfixed on the knife. It wasn’t that Nagisa was a stranger to pain. Nor could anyone claim her to lack courage in the face of the enemy. However, to just helplessly wait for to be cut, to be gutted like a fish after having had her body exploited called for an entirely different form of valor. One Nagisa didn’t possess. 

The Shinigami tried to avert her gaze but she could not, as if hypnotized she could do nothing but stare as the knife edged closer and closer to her skin. The Chinda held her breath and sucked in her stomach, but alas the inevitable had caught up with her. The knife felt cold, but was quickly drenched in warm blood as it parted layers of skin, a sensation only preceded by the constant stream of pain that flooded Nagisa’s system. Pain, as if she was aflame, filled her mind, her every thought and Nagi’s head reeled back. She swallowed a scream, clinging to a notion that was a mix of pride and the unhealthy mantra: What would Kiriko do. For one, she wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t give her opponent that satisfaction; that much was clear.

Unwaveringly and with steady hand Kirishi continued to carve a bloody picture into the Shinigami’s skin. Not for an instance did the maniacal woman falter, seemed to only garner delight from Nagisa’s resistance, whether it came in form of subdued shriek’s, quivering skin or an aching of the back. Retreat into yourself the Farseer urged: Come with me. Come to the lake. It was as if the Farseer held a hand outstretched for her wielder. Don’t fight the pain, let it flow. Let it flow out of you, and then come with me. Nagi’s eyes were clouded once more, the pain and strain taking their toll on her mind. Lifting her head she stared past Kirishi into the distance, where the Farseer was waiting, beckoning for her to join.

Slowly Nagisa could feel the pain lessen, could feel the weight and the tension ease and eventually her existence in bondage was replaced with standing at the all too familiar lake. The Farseer stood ankle deep in the water, but immediately rushed forth to embrace her battered Shinigami. “I am sorry,” she whispered softly into Nagi’s ear: “I am so sorry that I couldn’t protect you.” Weakly the Chinda grabbed hold of the Spirit’s clothes, clung to them in trauma.

“I am…sorry too…” she finally replied, her voice but a murmur in the wind. “I couldn’t resist… I let you down.” As Nagisa spoke a trail of blood painted her lips, drooled out of the corner of her mouth and stained the Farseer’s grey skin. The Chinda’s body shook in violent spasm as another surge of pain seared through her body.

“Shh, hush now,” the Spirit clutched her tightly.

“If…if I just…would have had the strength…to…to listen to you,” tears welled up in Nagi’s eyes and she buried her head at the other woman’s chest: “To trust you…I feel…ashamed.”

The Farseer planted a kiss on Nagisa’s hair. She was moved by her sincerity, her vulnerability. “All you wanted was for someone to love you,” the Spirit said with a caring voice: “There is no shame in that…but Nagisa” Tenderly the Spirit cradled the Shinigami’s head in her hands, raised her up so they looked each other in the eyes: “Can you not tell that I love you?”

The knife jerked, twisted, ripping apart flesh and muscles – the resulting pain caused Nagisa’s Inner World to shatter, immediately returning her to the real world. Arching her back in pain the young woman threw her head into her neck and screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

1050/50=21; 105

One second she was still searching. The next she had found what she was looking for. Stepping free from the shadows that had cloaked her approach, Kiriko stared with sharp eyes at the scene before her. Facts flooded her mind, simple and straightforward. The enemy had been sighted. She was within striking distance of both mid-range and close attacks depending on how Kiriko continued to close the distance. No visible wounds from any previous attacks, but there were several rents and tears in her kimono as if someone had at least cut the cloth itself if not the body beneath it. The reiatsu was thick and oppressive. Her target was confirmed.

At Kirishi's side was the body of a Shinigami suspended in mid-air. A young woman. A member of the Fifth judging by insignia on her uniform. She was injured. A multitude of cuts across her body and the more serious wound that Kirishi was currently inflicting. The injuries and the woman's own power levels meant that she would be no help in a fight against the enemy. Recruit Chinda Nagisa.

She knew that. Knew it. But it didn't matter. It couldn't matter. Not with the orders she had. Not with... not with what was needed right now. Kiriko had her duty to attend to, and that girl who had been masquerading as Nagi-chan had to come second. Everyone and everything came second. Reaching for the sword at her side, Kiriko stirred as her hand met nothing but air. Oh... That was right, she had forgotten in the rush of moving without thought. Of pursuing her target. Chinda Kiriko didn't exist anymore, it was just Penance.

And Penance had a dream for the future that did not contain Kirishi.

Simple. Black and white. She knew what to do. How to do it. There were twenty-six variations of her first move that would succeed in eliminating the target and Penance ran through the calculations to pick the best one for the current conditions. Instead of stepping through space, instead of spearing the woman on her hands, instead of crushing her with a Bakudo, Kiriko's mouth opened and words tumbled out.

“You've hurt her.” Dull words. A statement of fact like something read from a report so far away from the battlefield. Obviousobviousobvious. Nagi was smeared with crimson, blood leaking from the corner of her mouth and dripping down the side of the cheek that was turned in Kiriko's direction. Such a large amount of blood. The body only contained so much, a finite amount. She knew how to calculate the loss, how to gauge and guess how much had exited a body and how much could potentially remain. To estimate from that if the target would survive. If there was a chance.

She didn't look.

Something was moving like ice through her veins, slow and hulking. It wasn't the anger she had held so close to her chest for the last few months. It wasn't the rage that rocked her to sleep at night, keeping away the nightmares. It wasn't the pain that she had enshrined within her own soul.

Penance wasn't sure what it was. But the words wouldn't stop. “Report your status, Chinda-san.” Firm words. The whiplash of an order. She knew how to command people, how to get what she wanted from them. Nagi-chan was a soldier, she would not disobey a direct order. She would respond. She would open her eyes and respond because she had been trained, and Kiriko had seen the summaries of her field work and all the reports that had ever included any scrap of information about the girl. Soldiers did not disobey orders.

Her fingers flexed, tensing at her empty sides as if searching for a blade. She was unarmed. No weapon. No zankaputou. Not even a real Shinigami. But she was a soldier. And she was Nibantai. That's right... She knew how to do this. She had trained so hard and for so long, battle after battle, bloodshed after bloodshed, just for the right to call herself a fighter. To win the praise of Tsukimiya-taichou with her Hakuda. She didn't need a sword, not when her enemy was one of them.

Eyes lifting, her face turned frigid, the chill that came whistling down the tallest of mountains and raced across a plain of ice and snow. And then she smiled, lips curving upward and teeth flashing, as if someone had carved the expression out of stone. “You're a Sovereign, aren't you Kirishi-chan? I wonder...” She had always hated that man, and here he was throwing his little pawns at the things that belonged to Penance as if she wouldn't notice. As if she wouldn't know that he was behind this whole thing.

“I would have thought he had told you the rules to these little engagements. I guess not,” she crooned, eyes glittering with the promise of pain. Damn him for leaving her with his cast-offs, as if it was her job to clean up after that man. She knew he wanted the world to burn, but he could at least do it with some finesse.

This time when she blurred into action it was with a full heart. There was a time and place for thoughtless obedience, but right now she would take the power behind her thoughts and use them for her own gains.

“You broke a rule, Kirishi-chan. I'll have to punish you now.” And then she was there, at the woman's side, hands on the ground as she spun at her core and kicked out – sending her foot hurtling towards the Sovereign’s stomach in an attempt to throw her away from Nagi-chan. She could hold her full weight on one hand, even with the sophisticated maneuvering required for her first attack, and Kiriko lashed out with her free fist as she sought to break the target's wrist and send her weapon clattering to the ground. A purple of the darkest hue, aubergine tinged with midnight, bloomed around her like the unfolding petals of a lotus as she struck the target with deadening force and accuracy.

That was right. She had never needed Aneue anyway to be what she was. To be a weapon. 

WC: 1033 | GP: 20 | Total GP: 20

That Pain; That Scream; The Cost of True Freedom

Pain. A peculiar thing, meant to convey a plethora of information. First and foremost perhaps that a change was needed in order to survive, but it could also transmit the idea that one was still alive – for better or worse. Pain is a very odd and bizarre sensation. Not only does it feel different according to circumstance, but in a way it can also develop a life on its own. Chronic pain ebbs and flows, as if it has its own heartbeat. It was during one of the receding moments that Nagisa was fighting for air, and through the rhythmic beat of pain that set her body aflame she heard dully spoken words:

You’ve hurt her.

A simple statement, spoken with a voice that was void of emotions, yet in itself it showed a level of care that meant the world to Nagisa. “Onee…san,” she croaked weakly, her tongue wallowing in the pool of blood that had gathered in her mouth. “Onee…san.” Tears ran down a haggard face that deathly pale. She came. The thought echoed within Nagi’s consciousness, flooded her system with a sensation similar to relief. Finally Kiriko had come to save her; Nagisa had known it all along. The Farseer was not the only one in her life after all. Feverishly the younger Chinda’s mouth began to twitch in an attempt to smile. All the years, and pain, had not been in vain if Onee-san still loved her…

Report your stats, Chinda-san.

She worries, Nagisa thought and tried to suck in enough air to speak once more: She wants to know if I am okay…I am now, since you are here, Onee-san. It wasn’t words though that spilled from the Chinda’s lips. Instead she fell into a violent coughing fit that saw her retching up more blood. It splattered on the ground, tinted clothes and threatened to pain even Kirishi’s porcelain skin with crimson streaks. I must reply. Onee-san is counting on it… Again Nagisa struggled to open her mouth, to articulate, but spitting out another swash of blood that had stained her white teeth in ill omen was all she managed.

Farseer… the younger Chinda mumbled in her mind. She was bereft of strength, but the tall dark woman was always strong. Yet before Nagisa could wonder as to why that beautiful woman was always so much better than her it was the sultry voice that was at her side.

Kiriko is here now, she whispered: You don’t need that old dame anymore…you’ve got her…and I.

Limpy Nagisa shook her head: No.

No? the voice seemed surprised.

I need the Farse… the thought trailed off. It was as if a cloud dulled Nagi’s senses, numbed the pain, and suddenly the Chinda found herself wondering if she truly needed the Spirit. After all, Onee-san was there…and the voice seemed eager to help too. Why would she need to rely on an ominous woman whose gaze only showed death and decay? A woman who always seemed to withhold something from Nagisa, as if she didn’t trust her enough…

No! Within the confinement of her mind Nagisa opened her eyes and found herself lying at the shore of the lake, her lower half submerged in icy black water. “It’s not just a need,” the Shinigami blabbered, as the soft waves beached her. “It’s a want.” Weakly the woman struggled to crawl further up the stony shore. “I want her in my life.” An irate hiss seemed to rise from the depths of the lake and suddenly Nagi lost traction. As if something – perhaps the angry waves themselves – were trying to pull her back into the numbing waters.  “Ahh -,” the surprised shout was drowned out by the water. It took what little strength the Chinda still possessed to struggle against the pull and dig her hands into the shallow ground. However, she found but fistful of stones. “No, no!” The waves grew in strength, crashed down upon the woman’s head again and again. “Farseer…please…”Nagisa arched her back, desperate to keep her head above the water: “Help me!”

A heavy silence fell upon the world. Within a heartbeat the waters had been soothed and despite the cold that stiffened her body Nagisa could feel a warm touch, full of strength. Cradled within strong arms the young Chinda put one limb around the neck of her savior and even before her eyes cleared of water the woman knew by the smell, by the feeling that it was her. Gradually the Farseer rose from the waters until the alien woman stood, almost gingerly, on a liquid surface so smooth it seemed to reflect a dark but empty sky.

“Farse…”

“Nagisa,” the Spirit’s face was soft, full of concern, but also longing. “I know you love Kiriko. I know that better than anybody, perhaps even yourself, but that love will destroy you the way you are living it now, can’t you see?” The golden hourglass eyes seemed sad, but not melancholic as usual, it was true, genuine pain. “It tears my heart asunder to see you do that to yourself. You are hurting yourself…” the woman seemed to gather herself, as if what she was about to say next took a great deal of strength: “You are hurting me.”

The magnitude of those words echoed within Nagisa’s soul. Suddenly the woman felt as if someone had dropped her off the edge of the world. She had grown used to the presence of the Farseer so quickly, had assimilated her into daily life so readily, that she had seldom stopped to consider how the dark woman that lived inside of her might feel. “Farseer,” Nagi’s soft voice trailed off as she moved a hand to tenderly reach for the other woman’s cheek.

“I am part of you, Nagisa,” the Spirit explained, slowly nuzzling into the palm that had been offered and going so far as closing her eyes. “Every time you hurt yourself, I suffer. Every time you lie to yourself to hide from the pain, to not have to cry, I do.” The Farseer let out a heavy sigh, slowly putting the Shinigami back on her feet.

“I am sorry.” Nagisa’s arms wrapped round the taller woman, hugging her tight in an embrace. “It’s…it’s just so hard,” the Chinda realized, no, admitted. “It’s so painful.”

“I know…I know…but it is not something that you have to do alone. It is something we can do together.”

“I’ve always been so lonely.”

“You do not have to, anymore.”

The heaves began to shake. The clear surface rippled, then broke. Slowly Nagisa’s hand wandered towards her lips to wipe at her mouth. Her fingertips were crimson. “I am dying.” The woman began to tremble, causing the other to hold onto her all the tighter.

“No,” the Farseer protested firmly. “Nagisa, there is a way.” The yellow hourglass eyes seemed anxious; her words came faster and faster as they slowly ran out of time: “All you have to do is…”

Nagisa’s spiritual reflection threw up a swash of dark blood. Then something began to tug at her, as if a rubber band had been stretched too taught and was now snapping back violently. “Listen, Nagi!” the Farseer shouted desperately over the shaking and the rumbling that threatened to cause the collapse of their world: “All you have to do…” But the Chinda was snatched away, thrown out of her inner sanctum and back into the real world, leaving the Spirit utterly alone. The Farseer’s arms sunk to her side. Hands formed into fist as the tall woman began to shake, silver tears rolling down her dark grey skin. “…to let me save you.”

The slender frame slammed brutally into the stone wall. Bones broke, shattered, and would have undoubtedly pierced and ruptured her organs had the Shinigami not been bound so tightly. Nonchalantly the silver wires raised the woman from the rubble that had once been a building, showing her off and around like a puppet. And like a marionette whose strings had been cut Nagisa’s head hung limply. The Chinda’s eyes were dull, clouded. She only barely recognized her surroundings. The colors seemed off too. Was it normal for the floor to be so red? The differently colored eyes threatened to roll back; it was a sting of pain that kept the Shinigami conscious, if barely. Slowly Nagisa realized that there was no paint on the floor, but her life, splattered in rich and broad strokes.

“Sa…sa…” Weakly the woman tried to form words. “Save…me…”

1419/50=28; 133

She struck and success filled her thoughts, the heavy shuddering impact of her foot slamming into that wretched creature's chest as her hand snapped through bone and send the metal blade skittering away from Nagi-chan's chest. She didn't think about the splatter of blood, the arcs of red that sprayed outward to lightly mist her face and coat her lips in the life of her sister. She didn't think about the horror of that monster's body, bending and breaking and snapping until Kirishi's very insides were spilling out and yet standing tall. Standing upright as if she had not just been broken in half by the power of Kiriko's strike. As if she had not just been killed by an overwhelming application of force. No one could survive those kinds of wounds. No one.

The joy at a correct maneuver, at a hit that was perfect in execution and result, the elation at her own skill, faded slowly. Ebbing and easing as the enemy skidded back out of range. Those dangerous black wires that Kiriko had first thought were simply holding Nagi-chan up seemed to be connected to the target as both women went flying back. A spray of concrete and smears of red indicated what had happened when they hit the wall behind them. What should have happened. What logic dictated would happen.

Except it didn't. It didn't because it was only Nagisa who had made contact with the wall, and it was Kirishi who was still standing there with that grin as her insides wiggled and rolled back inside her chest cavity. Regeneration? Her delight was like ash in her mouth as the monster shook out her sleeves and swung Nagisa back in front of her, as those gleaming eyes cut right back towards Kiriko's own as if Penance hadn't just ripped her in half with a mere kick.

What the hell... what the hell was this woman?

And then the words sunk in. She had been so focused on connecting, on striking and eliminating the threat, that she hadn't paused to let Kirishi's blabbering work its way into her mind. But standing there now, in the silence as the woman's body sealed itself up as if nothing had ever happened, Kiriko's mind began to race. To recall and search for any sort of clue that would give her an advantage right now. Anything, something, details that she had missed. She knew how to do this, how to find the littlest hidden thing that would result in a weakness in her opponent. She had fought most of her life against more powerful foes, winning through sheer intelligence and strategy. She could do it again, she would do it again, because she was going to murder Kirishi.

She was going to tear that expression off her face and gouge out those smiling eyes. She was going to crush that voice box and cut out her tongue. How dare she! Compare Kiriko to a... to an animal! As if... as if she knew anything about Penance! About the past! Rage swelled and rose up to coat her in perfection, but Kiriko knew too well the dangers of letting her anger dictate her actions. This was not someone she could overpower with carelessness. Despite her attack having clearly destroyed Kirishi's body the woman had somehow recovered, completely, and the power gap between them was not something she wanted to consider. Not with that vortex like energy that radiated from the target. As if she was empty inside of anything, of everything that made a soul alive.

Lifting a hand, she brushed her fingertips across her lips, smearing Nagi-chan's blood as cold certainty settled into her bones. No... No... She would not be angry. She would not lose control. She would think, she would witness everything with perfect clarity, because this was going to be the best moment of her life. Revenge should be had with open eyes. And Penance was going to imprint this entire moment into her memory.

Flicking her fingers, she watched dispassionately as blood hit the ground beside her. Nagi-chan's blood. “You don't know then? I'm surprised, I would have assumed he had sent you here to play out his little games. Just because you are not aware though, does not make it any less true, Sovereign,” she didn't minced words, speaking softly, words aimed like little darts to the heart of the matter. There was no time to be surprised that Kirishi wasn't aware of the name. No time to wonder what that meant. Only a time to take advantage of the lack of awareness. Only a time to take advantage of everything.

There was too much space between them. Kirishi had flown back quite a distance from her attack. Too far to make most of her attacks all that useful or effective. Gliding forward, she stepped over the crushed tiles as if she was skating across a ballroom, her eyes never wavering from the enemy.

Kirishi seemed to rustle, shaking Nagi up and down as if holding out a tasty treat for a favored pet. The girl hung limp in her bonds, her skin soaked with sweat and fatigue and streaked in pain. Hitting a wall certainly hadn't aided her health in any way, but there was still enough life there, still enough of a flicker of inner energy. If the girl could hold on, just a bit longer, she would survive. Kidou was magical like that, recreating almost anything from nothing.

Nagi's lips moved, slow and faltering, but the wind whipped her words away and Kiriko found herself uncaring of the loss. She didn't need to know. She didn't want to know. Nagi would survive. Nagi was a fighter. Words had never mattered between the two of them.

Distance dispersed as her feet ate up the ground between Kirishi and herself. She was close enough to see the beat of the woman's veins as her heart pulsed right before muscle grew and replaced that intimate view. Pausing only a few meters away, she set her right foot down delicately and eyed the creature with a disinterested glare. What did family matter to Kiriko? Was the woman really asking that? Asking her?

She had made the decision a long time ago. So long ago. When Chinda Kiriko had first enlisted. When she had first given her oath to the Seireitei. When she had first spilled her blood for the service of the Gotei. When she had first taken a life. When she had first seen the gleam of fear in an opponent's eyes and the slow detachment in her own when she looked in the mirror.

And still Kirishi asked about family. About value. As if the answer wasn't ingrained in the very words the target threw out like a puzzle. What value did family have? What value did obligation hold? The only true value in this world was duty, because in duty one could shed all aspects of themselves to serve their peers. To transcend their own selfish desires and become useful, for a moment, towards the greater good. Towards that faraway dream of a better future.

She didn't need to consider. To think. To doubt. Because it was an answer that was part of her very soul, the ingredient that had created her nature and led her down this path. Family or duty, what a stupid question.

Clearly Kirishi didn't understand Shinigami. She was nothing but a deranged child lashing out at her elders and expecting them to fall to pieces.

Time stretched on, considering and heavy. She assessed every angle, prepared for it all, and finally spoke into that void. “I have no family.” And then she struck, darting forward with a low stoop to duck beneath Nagi-chan's body and aim a punishing chop at the target's throat, to break the neck and sever the carotid artery. “I have no family because that word is meaningless. The entire Gotei belongs to me, and Kirishi-chan, you broke another rule,” she drove her knee up into the still healing ribcage of Kirishi, intending on slamming the bones through the monster's heart and turning it into ribbons.

She had made a mistake before, striking blindly to gain tactical advantage. That had been a miscalculation. What she really needed was a lethal strike. No matter how skilled at regeneration this thing was she couldn't come back from death. No one could.

WC: 1404 | GP: 28 | Total GP: 48

The body was like clay, slipping and sliding as if Kiriko's blows could remold and reshape what should be a solid container. What should be a physically limited outside. She had moved so fast, struck so surely, and yet even with all the force behind her attacks and the foreknowledge of exactly where to hit, this monster seemed unaffected. That face never even twitching as her chest exploded and her bones turned to dust. Kiriko could feel the emotions swirling, a haze not unlike the stupor of inebriation, the two broken royals filled to the brim with violent hatred and utter despair. She wanted to kill. Kirishi was not so different in her own desires, the intent flowing through her body and into Kiriko's own from where their skin melded in a mix of flesh and blood.

The analytical side of her mind was moving rapidly, picking at the world around her to try and see the truth, searching methodologically for details. For a weakness. And she knew what it was like to shatter a chest, to break apart a ribcage and pierce a heart. To crush the throat and spine. She knew what it was like because she had done it before, many thousands of different variations that all shared the same similar tenor when you got down to the basics. And yet... This time it was different. This time she struck and the sound of cracking skin and splitting bones was akin to the gong of an empty bowl, and she realized in that moment as Kirishi's arms latched onto her own that the woman had nothing inside of her.

Flesh, muscle, bone, tissue, ligaments, veins. All these things she had seen while the creature was recreating herself. But never the most important, the most vital of all, never the weak spots of organs. The blow hadn't felt right, hadn't felt correct, even though Kiriko knew without a doubt that she had landed the move perfectly. She might have just obliterated Kirishi's neck and filled her insides with too many holes, but the true target of her attacks, the heart, the spine, the air ways and lungs, none of them were in the right place. None of them were even there. Not in the way that she had been expecting, thinking, needing. Not in the way that would give her training any actual advantage over an unkillable monster.

Kirishi wasn't just a Sovereign, she was an abomination... Not even alive.

The bitch continued to talk, words escaping those pouty lips as if everything below the neck wasn't in shambles. Blinking, staring, assessing, Kiriko glanced at the arms that held surprising strength in those bony fingers that had wrapped around her own. She hadn't felt it at first, hadn't noticed anything beneath the blanket of rage and desire, but standing there in the void, in the sudden silence that should have been swamped with despair, Kiriko couldn't help but feel the steady tug at her inner core. The way her Shunko aura flickered and twisted and turned as if Kirishi was pulling... pulling Kiriko's energy into herself?

Biting out a sharp curse, Kiriko snapped her hands up, trying to break the hold and jump back before that monster stole any more of her reserves. But Kirishi was already letting go, her eyes trailing dark gouges down Kiriko's face before she shrugged like a dainty little china doll and pivoted. Turning away from Kiriko. Standing tall and... and... and walking away? What the hell was going on! “H...How dare you! How dare you walk away!” words slipped from between grit teeth, hissed and low and feral. Flames danced through her veins and Kiriko recalled the half of her soul that had always felt this way. For once she understood, understood Aneue in her entirety. Understood the searing wrath and the need to force respect through violence.

She was leaving. Turning her back on a threat. On Kiriko. As if she didn't think... didn't think that Kiriko was really a threat. Didn't think that Kiriko would be able to stop her. Didn't think that Kiriko would be able to follow Ine's orders. Didn't think that Kiriko was worth her time, her attention, her gaze. “Damn you,” it was an exhalation, a sliver of bone as her chest exploded with agony. Damn her. Damn her. Damn her. Damn her. She would not be ignored. She would not be ignored. She would not be left behind again like trash. Abandoned by even her opponents!

It didn't even matter anymore. Her determination. Her plans. Her orders. None of that mattered, only the flames inside her own head. The dull grind of her teeth as her whole body was awash with static heat. It was hard to breath. Hard to see. Hard to feel. Hard to think.

Kirishi began to step away, Nagisa hanging in the lee of her back like a discarded school bag. One step. And she was full of rage. Two steps. And she was filled with a deadly certainty. Three steps. And she knew what needed to be done. What needed to be done to an opponent that could survive lethal strikes and regenerate from normal injuries. Four steps. And she moved, letting the wind part before her as Kiriko plunged towards her target, the promise of death on her lips as her mind shrieked.

Shunko surged around her, a protective covering of the darkest aubergine speeding her approach until she moved like lightning. Eyes wide, unblinking, she called at the energy, crooning to the deepest recesses of her soul where her gift lurked. Reiatsu crackled all along her exposed skin, snapping and biting at the air as she focused it to one point, honing it down and compressing it to a singular dot at the tip of her fingers.

Purple screamed, the wind crying out as her Shunko-clad hand sliced through space.

'I'm sorry.'

She did not look away. Refused to blink. Centering her eyes on the electric blue orbs that still watched her. Forcing herself to see everything in that face, everything in that gaze, as Kiriko's hand cleaved through the body of her sister to get to the one behind it. Power swelled, rolling up from her toes and surging through her veins into the furthest point before it exploded out like a star collapsing into a supernova.

“Don't ever turn your back on me,” her words were like smoke, billowing out with the electricity of her burnt tongue, the whole of her body razzled like a live wire after such a massive output. It had been the only way. The only way. To ensure Kirishi wouldn't dodge. To land a hit that would cause the target's entire body to disintegrate from the kidou blast. So that there was nothing left. Nothing to regenerate from. The only way. The only way.

The only way.

'I'm sorry. Oh god. I'm sorry, Nagi-chan.'

WC: 1153 | GP: 23 | Total GP: 71

 “Sa…ve…” Wearily the young woman tried to draw breath through ragged lips. “Me…”

The world seemed to move at an odd pace. Some things happened quickly, yet for the most part seconds stretched to moments. Moments filled with pain and anguish. Again Nagisa sought to inhale, tried her hardest to formulate what she wanted to say, what she wanted her to hear. With the words at the tip of her tongue the young woman threw her mental self forward, to push them out and into the world. However, it wasn’t air that went down her throat. Swallowing her own blood Nagisa’s body was thrown into a spasm, a coughing fit that left her limp and defeated.

Tears dwelled up in her eyes as the Chinda, but not because this was the end. That she had realized long ago, no, what pained her heart the most was that the woman that had always loved her the most would part from her without hearing the words that she deserved the most. Nagi tried to form her hands to fist, to stem against the shackles and cry it out loud with what little strength she had left. But fate spited her. A thin stream of red, blood mixed with saliva, ran from the corners of her mouth, mixing with the tears that wet her cheeks and dropped unceremoniously from her cheeks. Death was never pretty.

Nagisa had lost the ability to perceive what was going on around her correctly long ago. Yet when suddenly a familiar figure stepped into her field of vision the spark of recognition fell onto her dying ambers. Onee…san… Dull eyes wandered over Kiriko’s impeccable face. She was beautiful, had always been beautiful. At least to Nagisa. There was something odd about that face though. The younger Chinda could not quite pint point it for a second that seemed to stretch to painful eons. She is…sad…sorry? Nagi would have smiled if she had had the strength. Don’t be sorry…Onee-san…it doesn’t matter to me…that you’re late. The edges of her lips twitched upwards before the muscles painfully cramped. Nagisa didn’t notice, it was a mere drop in her ocean of agony. Don’t be…sad, Onee-san…I am…not mad. Just glad…that you’re here.

A cold sensation ran down Nagisa’s spine. A new thought was born. One that the young woman knew was true, no matter how much she sought to deny it. It wasn’t lateness Kiriko was apologizing for. It wasn’t what her sister had suffered because of her. It was regret for what she would do next.

No. It was a simple thought that filled the Chinda’s head, yet strangely enough Nagisa couldn’t find the strength to fight it anymore. The constant pain. The throbbing and aching of her wounds. The suffering had all but broken her. Maybe it’s good when it’s over. For a brief moment the woman clung to that thought. That hope. That dream. Then came the memories. Pictures of Yuudai and her, eating and laughing. Lyv, talking without a pause whilst Nagi let kites soar. Pictures of Rania, Shun, Jasper, Kiriko…the Farseer. Before her eyes Nagisa witnessed the first time the two of them had met. How she had been curious but scared. How the Spirit had been ominous but kind, caring…warm. Thanks to her Nagi had never been alone anymore.

NO!  

From the ashes of her mind, the pitiful part that had accepted death, rose a fiery soul. I can’t die here! I won’t die here! The Chinda’s head rose, her lungs filled with air. I hate being alone! You’re part of me! You can’t possibly be different in that! How can I die here and leave you all alone!? I won’t. I won’t! Her thoughts raced each other until she finally found the words. You’ve always been there for me, please help me once more.

Gladly. Just say the word.

”Save me…TALDEER!”

Nagisa’s cry rang through the stillness that preceded Kiriko’s strike by the fraction of a second. A black fire with streaks of grey enveloped the shackled woman, and as her figure drowned in the flames her body seemed to dissolve until it slipped out of bondage. The formless energy bounced to the side, grew and took form until it resembled a Taijitu. Twice, thrice it spun until the colors finally unraveled from one another, revealing two women. Both had an arm outstretched, their fingertips touching lightly and as the flames died down Nagisa had been reborn.

There were two of her now. One with pale skin and dark lips, her hair as black as the night. The other of greyish skin bordering a dark shade of blue, with lips like chalk and hair the color of snow. They both opened their eyes simultaneously, glancing at each other lovingly as if they basked in the presence of one another. One eye white, the other black in both of them. It was a symphony of symmetry, the only exception being the weapons they held in their hands: they were perfect twins. Jians, elegant long swords made of metal so dark it seemed to swallow all light. Time stood still for a moment as the world held its breath. When it began to move again, the black one fell.

Immediately the other was at her side, softly cradling the twin at her chest as the remnants of the Black One’s uniform hung loosely around the pristine skin. Carrying her unconscious sister in both arms the White One turned towards the other two women. “She might forgive you,” the White One announced: “But I never will.” Her voice was tinted with disdain. “And neither of us will ever forget.” Then they disappeared. Her words still echoed long after she had left.

Two monsters, distinctly different and yet strangely alike, was all that remained on the field of battle. They both could die, vanish, for all the White Nagisa cared. She had to save her sister, would save her sister. And she already knew how.

1001/50=20; 153

Exit Thread

She couldn't be emotional. She couldn't allow herself to think about what she had done, because if she gave in even the slightest inch, even the smallest of slips, Kiriko would realize that she had just sacrificed her little sister for the dream. Sacrificed Nagi-chan when it was always supposed to have been Kiriko who died, Kiriko who suffered, Kiriko who deserved to be in pain. Not the innocents, not the few who were still pure and genuine. Not Nagi-chan, her... her sister. She wanted to rationalize, to force logic into play so that her thoughts would stop racing and her chest would ease up the vice grip on her lungs. She wanted to tell herself it was all for a goal, the only thing she could have done to achieve the mission objectives. Nagisa was a Shinigami, she understood the risk they took, the drive and ambition. She had pledged her oath of fealty to the Gotei same as Kiriko, and any soldier should be proud to die if their death created the vital opening to slaughter the most egregious of enemies.

That was what life should be like. Plain and simple. Cause and effect. You had a duty and everything else washed away before that order.

But it wasn't that simple, it wasn'twasn'twasn't. Eyes stinging from the clash of debris, the air rife with electrical static that clung to her clothes and stabbed through her skin, Kiriko tried to tell herself she was not emotional. She was not, because she could not be. Could not lose the upper hand in such a pivotal battle. Not because of the loss of one Shinigami. Not because of the loss of anyone. And certainly not because of her own choices. That was a lesson she had learned early on, struggle and strive and do your best but keep your eyes on the next move because the moment you doubt the past is the moment your enemy is in your head.

So she told herself she wasn't emotional. Told herself she didn't care about the blood splattering her face, the tingle in her arms or the buffeting winds that struck her face like a slap. Told herself she didn't care about that girl, that imposter who had taken the shape of Nagi-chan, didn't care about her enemy, didn't care about what she had just paid up to the gods of retribution for her own split-second advantage. Didn't care about the look in that woman's eyes, the stutter of her lips, as she muttered over and over again while Kiriko drew in close for the kill.

She had always known how to read lips. She had never wished more fervently that she had paid less attention to her lessons in the Second. Had never wished for some ability to go back in time and dull her skill set. Never wished to be anything less than a blade... until now.

The acceptance in those eyes was the worst, because Kiriko was already writing it off, explaining to herself the myriad of ways in which this was okay. The ways in which it had to happen. Nagi-chan understood, she knew what sacrifice meant. She was a good soldier, a good Shinigami. Kiriko nearly gagged on her rhetoric, on the cold reptilian side of her brain that was so damned good at making everything out to be straightforward. Stripping the feeling from her thoughts so she would not be hindered by guilt, because guilt only held you back, made your punches that much weaker. And she could not be weak right now.

Damn it all but Kiriko could not afford to care, or to mourn. But she was not coward enough to look away, to spare her heart the pain of seeing Nagisa die from her own hands. Instead she stared straight ahead, trying to imprint each second into her mind, the last moments of her sister's life. Her fingers brushed the folded lapel of Nagi's uniform, Shunko crackling and stabbing outward like a spear, but right before she pierced flesh the air swirled and colors began to blur, her vision muting even as distinct edges slipped and slid around while the contents spilled out over their natural boundaries.

One second Nagisa was gasping for breath, the next she was displaced entirely. And it still didn't matter. Her heart clamped down so tightly that Kiriko didn't pause to register the shift, didn't consider what it meant, for Nagisa had served her purpose in keeping Kirishi pinned down, and she would not waste that chance to end this monster.

She felt the moment of impact, the space in between silence and intent when her hand sliced right through flesh and blood and bone. The hideous wings that had captured Nagisa took the brunt of the physical strike, hissing and cracking under her mighty blow. But this was unlike all of her other attacks. Kiriko had learned her lesson. She couldn't simply inflict mortal blows, she had to eviscerate the entirety of Kirishi's being. And so she did, energy thrumming up from the furthest reaches of her body to explode out into the target's back and pulse outward throughout her entire body.

Purple flames throbbed in space, flickering and oscillating through a thousand deadly shades as the edges of the reiatsu glittered with unholy glee. This was pure force, pure power, and she would not be denied the kill. Not be denied the certain end as fire rushed through her veins, no longer rage but celebration. A cleansing brew that purged the emotions from her soul, sterilizing the agony and leaving her clean and focused.

Without such clarity, Kiriko would never have noticed the shift, the moment when her flames flickered once before cracking. The sheet of energy shimmered very faintly, as if calling out to its weakest points, before an entire wall of aubergine shattered like glass and the perfectly centered force fell in a million tiny pieces. Breaking apart until each tiny sliver was no more powerful than the next, her entire array of Shunko prowess torn asunder like tinsel in the rain.

She had no time to feel the shock reverberating up her arms and through her body, to feel the contraction as the flow of reiatsu suddenly shuddered to a halt now that the explosion had been aborted in mid-step. Had no time to appreciate what should have been a vindictive joy as Kirishi turned back to face her, or any time to think on her next attack. Her next plan to kill a woman who was impervious to physical strikes and apparently able to block even the strongest of spiritual weaponry.

She had no time, because on the sidelines Nagisa had collapsed once more, a picture perfect copy of her crouching at the Shinigami's side. She looked away from the battle, just for a second, committing the worst of veteran sins, and the sight before her battered her soul like a paper boat in a storm. Nagisa had called out, at the very end, for someone to save her. For someone who wasn't Chinda Kiriko. Farseer... That white-copy who dared to glare at Nagisa's sister with such venom, as if it was her forgiveness that Kiriko had ever craved. As if she cared that she was losing her when the only one who had mattered was Nagisa.

The two disappeared from the scene, slipping in and out of her peripheral vision as everything seemed to shake and twist, black shadows dripping to pool at her feet. “You have taken my sister from me, Kirishi-san...” her voice, when she spoke, was like the dry rasp of bones. The rattling dirge of a funeral procession. But her face, when she looked up once more, was filled with a malevolent glee, “Thank you for that, things are so much simpler when I don't have to carry around such baggage.”

Nagisa's hatred would boil over from the events of today. She would no longer be trying to pester Kiriko into accepting her, into remembering anything about her past. No longer trying to humanize something that could not be remade. Kiriko had shucked her skin when she became Penance, there was no way she could crawl back into it. But Nagi-chan had made her want to try, just for a second or two, and that hesitation was what had cost her the battle so far.

But now she was certain. Nagisa was no longer useful to her. And she was better off without the tie. It had only held her back. Better off shouldering the guilt and the hate and the pain, because that was what she existed for. Kiriko would avenge her sister, she would make Kirishi pay, but not because of any familial kinship... no, this was her path in the world, to force the evils to commit penance for all that they had done in their lives. She was not anyone’s sister. She was Penance.

“How did you do that? I was certain I had you there. I suppose you can eat energy from attacks just like you do from physical contact?” Kiriko's voice rose up on the winds, a curious mixture of intrigue and bland dismissal. She liked to understand the mechanics behind actions, had always been fascinated with figuring out an enemy's techniques. But that pursuit had long ago dulled, it was only now fighting an enemy on par with her own ascendance that Kiriko couldn't quite put her finger on what was happening. How this monster was able to take in and throw out such amazing outputs.

Shaking out her wrists to get the feeling back into her fingertips, Kiriko crouched low to gain a more solid stance while eying her opponent faithfully. “You really are a monster, aren't you, Kirishi-san? There's nothing human left to you but your facade. I wonder if that's what I'm supposed to be like... Our brethren certainly are. Hatred is just like you, Severance too though she tried to pretend otherwise.”

There was something in her voice that was almost admiration. The reason for emotion was gone, removed from the mix, and in its absence Kiriko could contemplate Kirishi as a work of art. An interesting confluence of time and environment. This was the third Sovereign she had come across, each worse than the one before, and yet there was something masterful about the design that gave Kiriko jealous chills. Kirishi was a bitch and a monster, but she was a damned perfect opponent. No one had held out this long in a straightforward battle with Kiriko in a very long time, not even the Captain Commander had managed to put up anything interesting. She was going to make Kirishi hurt. Make her pay her dues to society. Make her regret ever being born. But it would be an enjoyable part of her job for once.  

WC: 1810 | GP: 36 | Total GP: 107