Post by Shun Minamoto on Dec 13, 2017 16:04:27 GMT -5
Specters of the past danced along the recently redone stonework beneath Shun’s feet. He knew because he and Tokiyo Fujikagi were the men who caused the initial destruction. Their first meeting, their battle in the Courtyard of the Third Division, still burned fresh in his memory. So much changed since that day, especially for Shun. From his perspective, over a century passed since then. To the perspective of everyone else, only a few years. Yet the mostly flat courtyard, with some strips of grass here and there, even a couple newly-planted trees, looked just about the same. The stone looked newer, naturally, and those two trees were saplings in comparison to the old behemoths that he and Tokiyo burned down.
Shun stood in the very spot that Tokiyo occupied when their battle ended. He collapsed here after Shun’s final strike, a combination of surging power and protecting the secret of his Shikai until the very last moment. He could practically feel the blood soaked through his wariji and tabi alike. He took a slow, deep breath, and in the distance heard the howl of wind as it blew down from overtop the towering, white buildings of the Seireitei.
Tokiyo evolved because of that day. He went on to become a Captain that Shun felt proud to serve under, someone who finally understood the purpose of Third. He later grew into a Captain-Commander that Shun revealed as the traitor and murderer that he was. Those thoughts and memories, they too played out across the courtyard like translucent ghosts. He saw Tokiyo first march onto the Courtyard to face any challengers, and he saw Tokiyo standing across from Shun in his office as Captain-Commander, telling the rebellious Captain of the Fourth to draw his weapon or sit back down.
A murdered, Shun recalled, who transformed into something like a god. Like Takua before him, like Kiriko before that. Three monsters, three murderers, all of them challenged by Shun Minamoto and each of them given divinity as a reward for their crimes.
He helped them get there, too, he realized. The thought plagued him for his whole century abroad.
By the time that howling wind reached Shun in the courtyard, it had barely enough strength to flutter the white haori he wore, emblazoned with the symbol for ‘First’ across the back in sharp typeface and pure black.
Many Captains and, allegedly, Captain-Commanders described it as the heaviest cloth they ever wore. Shun nodded along when it came time for him to wear it, too.
It never once felt heavy.
Why should it? he repeated the question he asked in return. Unlike the last time he spent any considerable length here, Genshi remained silent. He had little to chime in about these days, and seemed to only do it for the fun of it anymore.
When Shun reflected on it, he never found a reason to feel burdened by the job. The tasks were easy and as long as he had the power to back up his vision for the Soul Society, it even felt easy. Only those with self-doubt, without any sort of uncertainty in themselves, would be burdened by anxiety and fear by something like a haori or the rank it represented. Shun never felt such a thing. His faith and steadfast devotion to his sense of right and wrong never once wavered in the face of all of the challenges he faced.
But his faith in the world, and its sense of right and wrong, had wavered. In fact, it strained and groaned now to the point of snapping in two like a twig bent too far. Already he could see it splintering open at the point of stress.
There needed to be a conversation. Maybe a final one. He never claimed to know while he dreamed this ‘plan’ up.
“I know you’re listening to me,” he spoke to the wind. He knew it would carry his words to the man whom he wanted to hear them. “I know you’ve been watching, too.”
Then, he paused: no answer.
“We need to talk, Consequence.”
He never tried to summon a god, before.
Shun smiled and thought, Whoever said old age got boring?
*****
700 Words
Shun stood in the very spot that Tokiyo occupied when their battle ended. He collapsed here after Shun’s final strike, a combination of surging power and protecting the secret of his Shikai until the very last moment. He could practically feel the blood soaked through his wariji and tabi alike. He took a slow, deep breath, and in the distance heard the howl of wind as it blew down from overtop the towering, white buildings of the Seireitei.
Tokiyo evolved because of that day. He went on to become a Captain that Shun felt proud to serve under, someone who finally understood the purpose of Third. He later grew into a Captain-Commander that Shun revealed as the traitor and murderer that he was. Those thoughts and memories, they too played out across the courtyard like translucent ghosts. He saw Tokiyo first march onto the Courtyard to face any challengers, and he saw Tokiyo standing across from Shun in his office as Captain-Commander, telling the rebellious Captain of the Fourth to draw his weapon or sit back down.
A murdered, Shun recalled, who transformed into something like a god. Like Takua before him, like Kiriko before that. Three monsters, three murderers, all of them challenged by Shun Minamoto and each of them given divinity as a reward for their crimes.
He helped them get there, too, he realized. The thought plagued him for his whole century abroad.
By the time that howling wind reached Shun in the courtyard, it had barely enough strength to flutter the white haori he wore, emblazoned with the symbol for ‘First’ across the back in sharp typeface and pure black.
Many Captains and, allegedly, Captain-Commanders described it as the heaviest cloth they ever wore. Shun nodded along when it came time for him to wear it, too.
It never once felt heavy.
Why should it? he repeated the question he asked in return. Unlike the last time he spent any considerable length here, Genshi remained silent. He had little to chime in about these days, and seemed to only do it for the fun of it anymore.
When Shun reflected on it, he never found a reason to feel burdened by the job. The tasks were easy and as long as he had the power to back up his vision for the Soul Society, it even felt easy. Only those with self-doubt, without any sort of uncertainty in themselves, would be burdened by anxiety and fear by something like a haori or the rank it represented. Shun never felt such a thing. His faith and steadfast devotion to his sense of right and wrong never once wavered in the face of all of the challenges he faced.
But his faith in the world, and its sense of right and wrong, had wavered. In fact, it strained and groaned now to the point of snapping in two like a twig bent too far. Already he could see it splintering open at the point of stress.
There needed to be a conversation. Maybe a final one. He never claimed to know while he dreamed this ‘plan’ up.
“I know you’re listening to me,” he spoke to the wind. He knew it would carry his words to the man whom he wanted to hear them. “I know you’ve been watching, too.”
Then, he paused: no answer.
“We need to talk, Consequence.”
He never tried to summon a god, before.
Shun smiled and thought, Whoever said old age got boring?
*****
700 Words
