Band of Thugs

The thunder of hoof against sun-dried dirt tore through the narrow streets of Kusajishi --or what sorry excuse of a street the unpaved soil constituted-- as a white-haired young man rode on with a bemused look to his face. His left arm was in an improvised sling and while each pothole and crack in the ground caused some degree of upset to his injured limb, Takanashi Shigure would not allow a wince to take away from his ever-present look of casual pride.

It was a sardonic look: one that aknowledged the way of the world and was adamant in challenging it - but not without having as much fun as possible while doing so. It was a mindset and attitude that could not even be considered iconoclastic, however - after all, there really was no such thing as general consensus and cherished belief so far out in Rukongai.

This was Kusajishi and as far as anyone else was concerned, his word was now the law and given what had happened that very afternoon, he had more than earned and cemented it. After casting a smirking glance at the decapitated head strung to his saddle, Shigure then gave his horse a kick in the side to bring its canter up to a full gallop and continued on his way.


* * * * *


It is perhaps in human nature to turn back to our more primal, base nature when the necessary conditions are met; namely the lack of governance in the face of the  intrinsic will to power and the will to live. Coupled with the will to pleasure, it comes as no surprise that Rukongai was a hive of villainy — a dog-eat-dog world where simply living was hard enough, and anything more was the pursuit of the madly ambitious.

In such times, morality quickly becomes a burden while meekly liberal ‘sophistication’ devolves into nothing more than a joke around the campfire.

It is perhaps also in human nature to band together in such times - either to survive against the odds of difficulty or to exploit it. Small groups become big groups and big groups absorb the smaller groups. The age-old adage of ‘might makes right’ could not be any more applicable to the apparent hell of Rukongai - but for those who knew better than to hold onto their precious scruples, it could also be a paradise.

In the East were the men (and women) of Sabitsura - a band of like-minded individuals dedicated solely to pleasures of the flesh. Here, one could find brothels in abundance and similar establishments where people went to waste their lives away in the company of pretty girls - all the while under the influence of drink and other mysterious substances.

Providing much of these concoctions and blends were the nearby cultists of Sakahone; to these twisted zealots of some forgotten religion, intoxication was a way of getting closer to their local deity - or so Shigure had been told. If something could be drank, smoke, or snorted, it was probably made from the herbs and mushrooms growing in the hills under this cult’s control.

Other factions also existed: the Inuzuri and the Fugai to name but two of many -- but all, save for the Shinigami far away in the central regions, swore a begrudging fealty to one particular band in the North.

The mountainous regions far out in the North bred and nurtured hardy men as rough as the surroundings they called home. However, attempting to label this area as the most lawless would be an exercise in pedantic categorising - the threat of crime and corruption was spread across Rukongai surprisingly evenly, after all. It could be said that human behaviour had fermented for long enough and it was to be expected that the curse —or perhaps blessing— of depravity had long since pervaded the entirety of the known realm. But, at the same time, those who were a slave to the way of the world were also a slave to the men of Zaraki: the gang hailing from Rukongai’s northernmost region. They were not as large as the other groups but they were strong and enjoyed the benefit of the extensive veins of ore present around their territories. With this, they commanded a monopoly over all bladed weapons —namely swords— throughout Rukongai - a luxury and status symbol that existed, essentially, only to kill; while most thugs and bandit parties fought with clubs, hunting spears, farming implements, and whatever else they could find, it was only those dedicated to the practice of ending human lives that would ever require the specificity of a sword.

But it was not only Zaraki who had attained great wealth in exploiting human vice - a neighbouring faction had done the same, albeit far more lucratively.

The gang of Kusajishi was an upstart in comparison to all the other gangs vying for control and influence throughout Rukongai but in the short time of a few decades, its members had established a monopoly over a branch of hedonism equally steeped in wrath and greed: gambling.

While the thrill of the dice roll naturally clouded the judgement of many, it was the spectacle of violence that attracted the attention of many more. For the dirt poor, watching fights between roosters, hounds, and even insects constituted a source of entertainment known to all civilisations throughout history in the World of the Living. It was simple and brainless with the added possibility of winning big - or leaving in nothing but one’s own underwear. The surrounding populace neglected work for this madness only to be dealt a swift blow by fickle Lady Luck herself and the (naturally) fixed nature of the games. The stakes got higher, the violence more atrocious, and before long, grown men, children, and even heavily-pregnant women were pitted against one another all for the gamblers to bet on who would emerge victorious from the bloodbath.

Anything from money and family heirlooms to commodities such as rice were all put on the line - leaving many in ruin or even joining Kusajishi’s ranks to pay off their accumulated debts; the locals had effectively become trapped in the vicious circle of betting and losing money and could do nothing but resort to bigger, more dangerous bets in an attempt to salvage their losses - along with what little dignity and self-worth they had left.

And here Shigure was, back in the lands he owned —or, rather the lands he had taken— now with an added feat to his already impressive name.

He had once been an unbeaten child gladiator; fighting his way through similar boys to taller adolescents, he then made his name fighting grown men and feral beasts. By the time he appeared to be a young adult, he had ended more lives than would be reasonable even for the most dedicated of assassins and twisted of murderers. With each kill, he simultaneously became both more in touch with his humanity but also increasingly less so - depending on one’s view and definition of what humanity really meant. Killing his employer was hardly difficult and with his existing reputation and the law of the land being what it was, he became the de facto leader of Kusajishi.

And now, having taken the very head of the former leader of Zaraki whose name no longer mattered or even deserved to be uttered, the entirety of Rukongai was effectively his. Sure, people would question his authority but they would simply be crushed.

Such was the way of Rukongai.

Such was the way of Nature.

Shigure brought his horse to a slow trot as he cast the same sardonic glance to the civilians and villagers making way for his entrance. While the children could not suppress their curiosity and stared fearfully at the bloody, dangling trophy, the wiser adults knew better to keep their eyes plastered on the floor.

All except one.

Sliding off the horse with a clumsy, seemingly uncouth movement, Shigure then strode towards the bespectacled observer before disregarding the common courtesy of personal space and brought himself unusually close to him - evidently a stranger to these parts.

“Hey! You get along with your old man at all?”

Shigure could smell a rich man from a mile away and his question was one that often escaped his lips given the sort that often found themselves in Kusajishi. Giving a rich man a few free hands at the den, letting him win a handful of times to keep him hooked, then for the house to win back all the money and more was an easy enough practice. Then, keeping the penniless wretch as a hostage, a carefully-written letter by someone literate sent to the father was a sure way to ensure even more coin.

Leaning even closer, he offered a harsh whisper so loud, it defeated the purpose of having whispered at all.

“Fucking hell, try telling me that thing on your face ain’t worth a goddamn street out here!”

Stepping back slightly and guffawing now, Shigure then put an insincerely reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder.

“But I tell ya what: you could be even richer if you follow me a little way ahead. All in good fun, mate! I, Takanashi Shigure tell no lies.”

It was not often Shigure ever needed to personally hook in new patrons to the dens but it was an amusing exercise and at the end of the day, any profit made was mostly his.

And who in their right mind would turn down coin?

---

1575 | 1575

A Shinigami, he figured was most likely. After all, what other presence in the Rukongai would be that powerful without causing a panic? Surely, he would have heard the approach of a Hollow or an Arrancar long before he felt it in this strange, new world. With only the sprawl of the Rukongai as far as the eye could see, Shun confidently concluded that whoever approached him would be one of his not-quite-fellow black-clad servants of the balance.

A janitor given extreme power to fend off the monsters and men alike that would topple the world for their own amusement or personal satisfaction.

When he caught sight of the only person approaching the strange Shun Minamoto, it was of a relatively slender, even somewhat effeminate young man with white hair who approached, slowly, on horseback. At first, he appeared to be something approaching familiar; but a quick squint through his sun-glinting lenses told Shun that he was mistaken. He didn’t know anyone who looked quite like that, at least no one who was still alive. Over seven hundred years of life had shown him that many people were just copies of others with a new face attached.

As the man jumped down from his large, well-bred pack animal—a sign of wealth that Shun rarely saw—he didn’t quite believe his own eyes. The power was there, of course, but other things were missing: Where was the Shihakushō? The Lieutenant’s badge or, even, a Captain’s haori? This man could have fit in among the middle rungs of the Captains of Shun’s modern Gotei, and would have been among the strongest of them a mere ten years prior to his unintended departure.

Yet there he was, and he strode right up to Shun as if the idea of personal boundaries were entirely foreign, all while wearing nothing to indicate his status. Shun reflexively took a step back when the man started to rambled, treating Shun as little more than a backdrop in a conversation he was having with himself.

And what did he ask, when he finally found the man who had drawn his attention?

Whether he was on good terms with his father, and whether he’d like to make more out of his already-considerable wealth.

Shun cracked a smile, even for just a moment.

“I hate to disappoint, but my wealth is back home,” Shun answered with all the honesty in the world; or at least, most of it. “And I assure you, young man: Compared to what I already possess and don’t need? I doubt you have more than a drop in the bucket.”

More and more, Shun was beginning to realize just how allergic to what most people considered fun he must have seemed. Another voice in the back of his head that was neither himself nor Genshi—but, instead, probably the even-more-frightening wisdom—reminded him that, once again, perhaps Consequence’s words and even Knowledge’s dismissive attitude had been trying to tell him something from the very beginning.

Still, it didn’t change that making money had never entertained him.

More importantly, though, the name was familiar to Shun. Shigure Takanashi, a member of Third—or perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him?

Shun hardly noticed the hand that had clasped his shoulder.

“As much as I regret it, I’m going to have to burden you again, with a small request,” Shun changed the subject with a smooth voice.

“Do you happen to know where the nearest Shinigami is?”

*****

581 Words
1,141 Total Words

Shigure and I agreed to call it quits on this, given my absence. Ask him yourself!