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Monster in the Clouds 2:AizenxIchigo

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Chapter 2: Circles and Lines

                                       I miss the way the sunshine would light up the world.
    There was no sunshine to find here. Here the night never fell and the sun never rose, regardless to how the sky lit up or darkened as if a sun was present. Sandy deserts conquered the hollow land, while tall white structures rose up around the large fortress of Las Noches. Savage beasts roamed the wild.
    The sky now was a dark black, and blood stained a path to the front door of the castle, as if something-or rather someone- was promptly dragged there. The winds whistled as they tossed sand over the land.
    A crescent moon hung lowly in the sky, a rare occurrence for this world. And let one be noted that these skies were not truly skies, but in fact united they made up a single canopy, hiding this world from the terrors of the power that the real moon held. But this moon inside the canopy was not completely fake-mind you- but a well-made artificial one, created long before.
                                          I miss the ways that made all the little things matter.
    He lay in bed, his orange hair standing out most of all against the stark white sheets. His breathing was labored, eyes clenched shut in pain. No treatment was done well enough to completely remove the multiplying poison from his system, at least none that he knew. It continuously ate away at his innards, never ceasing its vicious track.
    Ichigo’s spiritual pressure was likewise out of control, regardless to how well a silver collar suppressed it. His black Shinigami uniform was stripped from his body, and a white Espada one took its place. Like the one that belonged blue haired man, it revealed part of his well-toned chest, and came up-collar wise-to his chin, but remained unbuttoned down to his collar bone. His sleeves were long, stopping only after his fingers were mostly covered. His pants weren’t as long, stopping at his ankles so he didn’t trip over the bottom with his bare feet, ones that were scarred with the history of many fierce battles.
                                                              I miss you most of all.
                                                                      But now,

    That man, that same brown haired man who caused such pain to the orange haired teen, sat in the corner of his prisoner’s room. He only sipped at his steaming tea, finding the Shinigami more interesting than it.
    Ichigo had woken up, once almost a day before. And yet, he panicked, and Aizen was forced to crush him with his power. There was no mercy, no love when he did so: just the pain caused by a cold hearted killer.
    Aizen knew the strawberry had been faking fatigue since half an hour ago. Ichigo knew this too. But what good would getting up do? Neither really knew.
                                                                  Even without you,
                                                                  I’m waking up…

    He shot up like a bullet from a revolutionary musket, without warning, jumping out of the mass of the scarlet sheets that held him down like chains would a captive. He ran through the white door without a thought in his mind, nor a hesitation.
                                                                             Wait….
                                                                 I feel it in my bones

    All was silent as his feet hit the cold white tiled floor harshly, his breath coming in short and weighted. Blood poured down the orange-head’s shirt, leaving a crimson trail behind him. He was like prey, and the predators could track him no matter where he went. Sweat formed at his brow as he ran through the ever changing corridors of Hueco Mundo. He could faintly hear others following his, but with his goal so close in sight, he couldn’t stop to face them.
    Zangetsu was his priority at the moment. There was no other way to get out of here, not without his dear partner. Shirosaki chuckled in his mind. He was losing it. He was losing this fight. And that much was certain. Ichigo laughed out loud, clutching his aching side. It was a hopeless little laugh that symbolized his defeat, one he would go down being the only one injured.
                                                                 I wipe my brow,
                                                                 I sweat my rust.

    Grimmjow sprung himself out of nowhere, missing the frantically running teen by mere inches. To Ichigo’s mistake, he looked behind him, seeing what had so suddenly breezed past him. Then he saw them.
                                                               I need to shape up…
                                                                 For this is it…

    Every one of them hung by a rope on their necks in the hands of a select few of the Espada, chest’s frozen in place. Their eyes were glazed over, downcast, and hopeless. Cut’s scattered their bodies. Who were they? Why his friends nonetheless. He froze, and yet managed to crouch down and use his momentum to spin himself around. He wouldn’t let that happen! He wouldn’t let them get hurt anymore!
                                                                 The Apocalypse.
    His eyes darkened, the black sclera staining the white and turning his eyes yellow, and a dark red power radiated from him as he grabbed Sazelapporo by his collar and pushed him to the ground. Using the others head to flip over the pink haired scientist, he landed a downwards kick to Zommari. Both trembled under his intense spiritual pressure while lying there, face first on the icy floors. Noitora reached desperately for his Zanpacto, but never had the chance; Ichigo was on fire, landing a swift punch to his opponent’s stomach, making the taller crumple to the ground.
    Anger fueled his actions; there was no doubt in anyone’s mind about this. And though this is fiction, his rage was fact. Ichigo’s face shone with anger, his posture suggesting he was seething in frustration. His teeth were sharp, hair highlighted with strips of white, and claws sharpened to such a fine point that they could replace a sword. All of these were traits that did not belong to him, but those of his hollow. He was becoming one of them: a traitor to his own kind.
                                                               It’s a revolution, I suppose.
    Aizen himself brimmed with frustration and amusement. By this time Kurosaki had single-handedly dealt with all of his espada, minus Ulquilorra, Starrk, and Halibel. He noted that the silver collar, though still on the orangette’s neck, split itself in half and clung onto the tan skin for dear life, not caring that it was digging into its owner’s skin. His plan had worked: invocation of the soul to test its will and limits-and that’s all that mattered. And it seemed like that boy had none of the latter. And that was what was so amusing about him. But was this all that he could do? He supposed not, but he’d have to push harder to find out.
                                                                     I’m waking up,
                                                                     To ash and dust….
                                                                     So I must tell you that….

    The shinigami that hung off in the distance were soon cut down by the boy who had just lost himself to the pleasure of power. He slammed a hand against the walls, causing them to crumble under the harsh touch. Rukia was the first to recover, looking up at her friend with trembling eyes. What had happened in the time she passed out?! This wasn’t right! She passed out once more, rejoining her friends who were still in the abyss of sleep.
    Ichigo panicked. Had she died from being in his presence? He didn’t know, and growled lowly in frustration. They would pay; there was no mercy to give when it came from a lost one.
    Launching himself at Soskue Aizen, he bared his fangs and teeth, ready to feel that mans flesh give way under his power….
                                                               A sun that locks Heaven is much like
                                                               A moon that opens the doors to Hell.

    No such thing could ever happen. Both knew that, much like how they both knew Ichigo had never truly given up his consciousness out in that misty cemetery. But he had to try anyways, and, anyways, it was too late. There was no hope for the one cladded in darkness, nor one who accepts the devil in his soul.
    Aizen shuddered in anticipation, drawing out Kyoka Suigetsu-his weapon-once more. Even with the savage teen racing towards him, he couldn’t hide his grin. He would not be frightened by such a weakling.
                                                                And that which does not…
    Ichigo attacked, claws scraping against his opponents sword, creating smallsparks of light as he did so. Landing quickly behind the brown haired man, he himself grinned, half entertained by the opportunity Aizen gave him, before swiftly launching himself again at the leader of the Espada. Aiming for the back of his neck, he bared his fangs, preparing to take the kill.
                                                                Intervene between us,
                                                                Will alas…

    Being so wrapped up in his thoughts, Ichigo was not entirely surprised to be stopped by some unseen force. Crashing to the damp floor he cried out in anguish. His friends! Finding courage in the word friends alone, he attempted to stand up. This situation was too much like before. And if he stayed down, it wouldn’t end well.
    Aizen was before him before he could regain his balance, grinning slyly. There was not stopping this soon to be god now. He had already won. He knew that for a fact, so pushing Kurosaki a little farther wouldn’t hurt. He used a free hand to knock the Shinigami on the top of his head, sending him back down to the blood coated ground before sending Kyoka to run the boy through once again.
    With hate filled eyes, Ichigo managed to look up through blurry eyes that brimmed with unshed tears. Silently he dared the taller to do it. Finish it. Take the sword from his back and slice off his head. Snap his neck. Anything to end the pain. But Aizen only chuckled.
    “It’s not your time to die, I still have a use for you, Kurosaki Ichigo.” He sneered. Ichigo only bowed his head, in shame and in defeat. How could he have just wished for death when his friends…Where were his friends?! As if Aizen could read his thoughts, he spoke up in a low, mocking voice.
    “Your friends are safe, for now, at least. And they will remain that way as long as you comply with my every command.” He spat out the next, including a spiteful teasing tone.  “Now stand, boy.”
    This to Ichigo was worse than death. To bow down to this mock god as if he was a real one would prove to be tortuous. But, nonetheless, he stood, managing somehow to pull the sword out of his back and toss it onto the floor. Lowering his gaze to look anywhere but Aizen, he did not see the look of pleasure that weaved it’s way onto his master’s face. Nor did he foresee the man picking him up bridal style and walking away, the boys orange hair standing out against the white fabric of his arms.
    Yes, by the end, he wouldn’t be sure of whom he was anymore for torture never ended well. Maybe it was then that it began, the slow process of loosing oneself, maybe later on.
                                                                         Kill us.
    But let us be aware that to him, Kurosaki Ichigo was no longer Kurosaki Ichigo. He was the Monster in the Sky.
Warnings: I do not own Bleach, regardless to how cool that would be. Yoai, so don't like? Don't read it, duh!
AizenxIchigo

I bet I suprised some of you who actually love my stories to find that I had already put up the second chappie. Well your welcome!
R&R Pretty Please?
© 2013 - 2024 ShriosakiIchigo
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