At World’s End – Part One
“I always expected heaven to be more…”
“Clean?”
“Royal?”
“Angelic?”
“Blue?”
“Pink?”
In tandem, several pairs of very confused eyes turned towards one Szayel Aporro Grantz, who still clung to Ishida’s hand as though fearing the Quincy would escape from him at any moment. At their stares, the eighth Espada merely sniffed.
“Pink is perfection,” he declared, flicking his hair with one hand and demonstrating exactly why he thought so. Not a modest one was he.
Kisuke shook his head, rubbing fingers over his brow as he looked down at the gathering of human and Shinigami, friend and foe alike. “Well, I’m glad to see that you’re all in such high spirits,” he drawled, most of them sharing the same confused look before turning to examine the surrounding area.
A landscape stretched out around them, filling the horizon as far as the eye could see. Currently, they all stood gathered at the top of a huge, golden structure, similar to a Mayan temple. And large, blocked steps led downwards in each of the four directions. All fighting had ceased as their attention was grabbed by the oddity of the situation, taking in what lay sprawled out below them.
The land itself was covered in a thick blanket of white mist, obscuring the earth and most of the low-lying vegetation. Springing up from the fog were other structures appearing to be temples in various states of wear and with different styles. Some looked as if they were newly built, and others looked as if they were two steps away from collapsing inwards.
“Where are we?” A lone voice emerged from the crowd of Shinigami, Vizard, Arrancar, Quincy, and traitors alike.
Aizen, who had been standing in the very center of the crowd, suddenly made his presence known. “Can you not tell?” he questioned, voice carrying easily in the hushed silence. “This is heaven.”
Someone scoffed, disbelief rising above the ensuing murmur that rippled through the crowd. “Don’t look like much a one ta me.”
“But how did we get here?” Ukitake queried, feelings a mish-mash of regret and confusion.
“The key,” Urahara explained from beside Aizen, the both of them looking a tad weary. “For some reason, it brought everyone here.”
Reiatsu trickled through the gathered crowd like clinging, searching tendrils and subtly parting the throng. Yamamoto’s aged face appeared at one end of the path, which would have led him straight to Aizen and Urahara, who were now flanked by Gin and Ichigo. Wrinkled fingers tightened around the head of his zanpakutou that had returned to its staff form. In fact, most of the hostilities had abruptly vanished at the sudden switch in location.
His gaze centered on the lord of Hueco Mundo. “And how did you get that key?” he demanded gruffly, several of his more loyal subordinates clustering around him as the line began to draw itself.
His Espada returning to his side, creating an obvious division in the forces atop the largest temple, Aizen inclined his head. “It was a gift.” His eyes glinted. “From someone else you managed to anger.”
“Yer own son betrayed ya,” Gin added with a faint cackle and smirk of amusement. “Tell me, old man, how does tha’ feel?”
It took several seconds for understanding to filter into the captain-commander’s conscious, and then, his eyes widened fractionally. “Isshin,” he stated on the end of a growl. And that was all he said, the implications falling heavily on him and the Shinigami who stood by his side.
“If this is heaven, then where’s the throne,” Ichigo unexpectedly asked, ignoring the mention of his father as he glanced around.
Nearby, Aizen smirked and pointed, gesturing vaguely to the landscape below them and the many temples. “There,” he explained. “One of those hides the right one.”
“A scavenger hunt was not in the manual,” Urahara commented with an askance glare at what had to be a hundred different structures. Even more were barely visible in the distance.
In light of that information, Yamamoto drew up straight, his expression thunderous. “I will not stand here and watch you become king, Aizen,” he warned with a dangerous rumble. Whirling, he faced his subordinates. “Find that throne immediately,” he ordered. “Or find yourselves surrounded by chaos.”
Aizen merely smirked at the idea of such a challenge because he held information that the old man didn’t. He had the feeling he knew exactly which one to head to. While the Shinigami scurried around like rodents searching for a speck of food in yesterday’s garbage, he would seat himself upon the throne.
His fingers enclosed around the key, still a necessary object, as he pushed it safely into his pocket. Few knew that it was also needed to unlock the throne room once the correct temple had been chosen, which was why none of the Shinigami would ever find themselves on that throne.
As the Shinigami abruptly scattered, abandoning their prior battles and focusing only on finding the right temple, Aizen turned towards his own subordinates. He tried not to distract himself with how many he had lost. Once he was king, there would be no need to mourn. As soon as he was king.
“Kisuke, Gin, Ichigo, you three are with me. The rest of you, join their ridiculous search. Distract them however you must. I want no followers.”
Hands in his pockets, Stark tipped his head to the side. “You know where you’re going then, boss?”
“Would you expect any less of me?” Aizen replied a touch arrogantly. “Do try not to get yourselves killed. Our comrades in Hueco Mundo are waiting.”
Ichigo sucked in a breath, idly wiping at a trickle of blood that streamed down the side of his face. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he commented, feeling a bit haggard himself. “Otherwise, this’ll not end well.”
The lord of Hueco Mundo merely inclined his head, turning to the south-facing steps and moving to walk down them. “Everyone has their own idea of what heaven should be,” he explained as the other three followed him. “And that will lead them to their own conclusions about which temple houses the throne. They do not understand what heaven really is.”
“And that would be?” Kisuke prompted, having not heard this part himself; Sousuke had been rather hush-hush about the whole manner.
“A reflection of the world itself,” Aizen answered as he stepped down the last stair and landed on solid ground, ankles disappearing in the thick fog. “It is not the grandest palace. It is a humble existence, a broken existence.”
Ichigo furrowed his brow, having some trouble following the man’s logic. His waraji squished on the soggy soil beneath their feet as they waded into the mist, the sounds of the other Shinigami far ahead of them. And yet, Aizen guided their group effortlessly, seeming to know by instinct where to go.
Beside him, Gin bumped shoulders. Ichigo glanced at his lover, a bit concerned by the obvious scorch marks on his shihakushou.
“It’s Aizen-taichou,” Gin murmured, taking Ichigo’s hand and squeezing it briefly. Reassuringly. “Trust him.”
He had, after all, gotten them this far. And Gin trusted Aizen with his life. With Ichigo’s life. It wasn’t that difficult for Ichigo to follow.
– – –
He knew that they were skeptical. If Aizen hadn’t known the truth himself, he would be as well. But the building that stood before them in all its dilapidated glory was surely the correct temple. The one he had been seeking. The stone wall that surrounded the entire structure was crumbling on the top, the edges uneven and the coloration faded with time. There was evidence of watermarks and storm damage, making him wonder why it hadn’t fallen yet.
“Are you sure, Sousuke?” Urahara asked as they stepped past the creaking gate, swaying in an invisible wind and squeaking with every motion.
Casting his gaze over the courtyard, the overlord simply nodded. “Without a doubt,” he confirmed as he took in the state of the court. He was certain it had probably once been beautiful, elegant in its subtle simplicity. Now, it was only so in a sad and desperate way, as though clinging to its former glory by a very thin thread.
There was a singular path leading from the main gate to the front entrance that was darkened by a steep overhang of crumbling stone. To either side of the cobbled path, missing dozens of once-inset rock, the courtyard had once been home to flowering trees. Their branches curled elegantly upwards, but a few drooped down like a weeping willow. They would’ve been beautiful had they not been dead, each branch gnarled as though a single touch would crack them. Few leaves dotted the bare limbs, rustling in the faint and stale breeze. Even more telling was the liquid that ran down each trunk in soft rivulets, pooling on the ground beneath the covering of mist. And poking up from the fog, grass lined the earth, bent over as though weighted by age and a dull green like the plains in fading summer.
Ichigo stepped off the beaten path, curiosity driving him to the nearest tree. He reached out, fingers brushing across the rust-colored sap. Surprisingly, it was fresh and rubbed off on his fingertips. Furrowing his brow, he brought it towards his nose, giving it a cautious sniff. The sharp and bitter scent of copper flowed to his nostrils.
His eyes widened in shock. “It’s blood,” he declared, dropping his hand to wipe his fingers on his hakama. To rub away the feeling of sanguine fluid on his fingertips. “The trees are bleeding.”
“And rightly so,” Aizen replied from ahead of the rest of his companions, gaze unerringly focused on the entrance to the temple. “I imagine that any onlooker would see the state of our world in much the same manner. Barely clinging to life.”
Urahara tilted his head to the side as he tried to absorb every detail. “The temple reflects the world,” he murmured. “I see what you mean now.”
“Che, figures.” Gin wrinkled his nose as he moved to catch up to Aizen, Ichigo following him. “Looks like this even with the royal family ‘ere.”
“That so-called royalty was given by man and is therefore invalid,” Sousuke explained as he found the bottom of the stairs and began his ascent, ignoring the stones as they shifted beneath him. “The world did not accept them, so even if they had sat on the throne, it would have served no purpose.”
Urahara hummed noncommittally, a touch of worry entering his expression. “What makes you think that the world will accept you?”
Aizen’s silence was all too telling. He had no confidence that he would be chosen by the sapient representation of the world, but he was going to attempt it anyway. After all, being rejected was better than doing nothing at all. Besides, he had a backup plan and if necessary would have all those dear to him give it a try before he gave up. Aizen was going to enact change with whatever it took.
The opening to the temple was a dark and shadowed entrance, half-covered by dead ivy. Aizen brushed the vines aside as he stepped inside with no hesitation, a chilly wind wafting from the deep and smacking him in the face. It smelled stale and old, like a crypt that hadn’t been opened in centuries.
Behind him, he could hear the others making comments of their own, but he pushed them to the back of his mind. The throne was here, he could feel it. And the key was warming in his pocket, buzzing as though it held reiatsu of its own. Perhaps resonating with the throne.
Oh yes, this was the right temple.
Before him was a long corridor, holes opened in the ceiling to let in thin streams of pale light, and no other path to take but the one in front of him. Cobwebs hung from the roof, and the floor was covered in a thick layer of dust from millennia of disuse. It was starkly silent within, the sound of their steps across the otherwise smooth stone a rasping echo. And it was cold, skin prickling at the chill.
“Did anyone follow?” Aizen asked, voice reverberating up and down the long corridor, breaking an almost reverent silence.
At the back of the line, Gin shook his head and glanced over his shoulder. “If they did, I can’t tell,” he answered as the faint light of the exit grew less and less visible.
“Good,” Aizen replied and focused on his goal. He only needed long enough to sit on the throne, and then, it didn’t matter if anyone had followed.
Ahead of him, he found the end of the corridor. A thick door made of wood and banded by iron bars. Four chains crossed the front diagonally, and in the very center of the door was a lock, vaguely resembling the symbol used on Ichigo’s Shinigami badge.
Aizen came to a stop in front of it, one hand reaching into his pocket to withdraw the King’s Key. His companions crowded around him, all trying to watch. Even in the dim light, he could see the play of power flickering over the metal of the key, how it sparked with reiatsu. His reiatsu.
He didn’t hesitate, just pushed it into the lock, hearing the harsh sound of metal grating on metal. He let his reiatsu flow into the lock and then released the key, watching as it seemed to turn itself. There was a faint click and then a rumble as the temple around them began to shudder ominously.
“I hope that is supposed to happen,” Urahara commented from beside him, a touch of worry entering his tone as he briefly touched fingertips to the brim of his ever-present hat.
The overlord opened his mouth to reply but was distracted by the sound of an even louder click. And then, the lock itself seemed to draw back into the door, separating from the chains. The metal links fell to the side and started to withdraw into the wall as well, vanishing into nothing. And then, there was the sound of something scraping as the door abruptly clicked open by a few inches.
Feeling closer to his goal, Aizen lifted a hand and pressed it to the door, giving a push. It opened easily, admitting him to a room that was just as dark as the corridor. Stepping inside the wide space, he immediately stopped at sight of the centerpiece. A singular throne on a raised dais six stairs high. The roof was open above it, sending down a small corona of pale light; the seat itself was covered in draping fabric but dripping in cobwebs.
Behind him, the others crowded into the entryway. Aizen dropped a hand, gesturing for them to stop.
“Wait here,” he ordered, gaze focused on the aged throne.
They obeyed without argument and stayed in a cluster near the door. Aizen stepped forward, crossing the floor towards the throne. Each footstep stirred up a cloud of dust until he stood at the edge of the dais and brought his foot onto the first stair.
Almost immediately, he felt the air around him stir, and then, a form began to take shape between he and the throne. It wavered for several seconds before firming. Revealing a young man dressed in a dark blue yukata, feet bare against the cold and dust-covered stone beneath him. Tousled brown hair fell into grey-blue eyes. A very familiar young man.
Aizen Sousuke felt his heart stutter in his chest, body freezing in place. He suddenly lost the ability to breathe.
“Aniue?”
And Shigure smiled at him.
– – –
“What’s going on?” Ichigo whispered, almost afraid to raise his voice in the stark silence of the large room. “Why isn’t he moving?”
Urahara shook his head, gaze focused on the man in front and the throne a few stairs ahead of him. “I don’t know.”
Then, Aizen’s shocked whisper floated to their ears, causing the three to exchange glances.
“Aniue?” Gin repeated, smile wiped away in the face of his confusion. “I didn’ know Aizen-taichou had any brothers.”
The blond, however, paled just a bit as recognition dawned. “He doesn’t,” Urahara replied, staring at the empty space that seemed to have captivated his friend. “There’s only one man he ever considered like a brother to him. Sohma Shigure.”
“I’ve never heard ‘o him.” Gin shifted uneasily, brow furrowing as he watched and listened to Aizen converse with an invisible entity.
“And you won’t either.” Heedless to Aizen’s prior command, Urahara moved a few steps forward, trying to circle around and get a better view. “His name has been completely wiped from Seireitei’s records. Only those who were there would ever remember him.”
Zangetsu thrummed on his back, as though intrigued by something as Ichigo followed his mentor. “Who is he?”
“Former fukutaichou of the fifth. He was accused of all manner of terrible things, including having the powers of a Vizard, and executed a few centuries ago,” the shopkeeper continued, eyes softening as if in remembrance. “You could say he was the catalyst for… well, everything.”
Aizen’s voice floated to them, soft and barely discernible. It should have worried them that he was speaking to thin air, obviously carrying a conversation with something only he could see. But there was no madness in his eyes, no confusion in his movements. Kisuke was not worried. They had expected a test of some sort, some way for the world to choose its king. Visions of past loved ones were probably only the beginning.
Gin frowned, his fingers seeking out Ichigo’s as though being reminded of what it had felt like to lose something just as precious to him. “He never mentioned ‘im. Not a single thing.”
Urahara’s hand settled on his head, pulling the hat lower over his eyes. “Admitting ones greatest pain is the same as admitting ones greatest weakness, and we all know Sousuke would never do that.” He paused briefly, fascinated by the one-sided conversation.
From his position, he could see the emotions flickering across Sousuke’s face, the decision that weighed on him.
“It’s all up to him now.” He went silent as a feeling of power began to creep into the room, sliding around the edges and filling inwards. It prickled his skin, made his own reiatsu stir in response. And he had no doubt that it was coming from the dais, called by the throne and the event that was about to take place.
They could do nothing more than watch.
– – –
“Why are you here?”
Shigure chuckled, raking a hand through his hair as had often been a habit for him. “Isn’t it obvious, otouto?” he questioned, amusement on his face as he gestured with one hand. “I’m your… eh, what’s the word… avatar? I think that’s what they call it now.”
Tipping his head to the side, Sousuke felt confused. “For what?”
One thumb jerked over Shigure’s shoulder, pointing at the throne. “You want this, don’t you? But the world has to deem you worthy, and I’m the voice for it.”
“How are you here?” Aizen asked, still seemingly stuck on this very fact.
There was his dearest friend, a man he considered his brother, standing in front of him. He didn’t appear strained and stressed as Sousuke had last seen him. But alive and well. Healthy. Happy.
Shigure shook his head, eyes losing a bit of their teasing edge. “I’m not alive again, Sousuke. I’m just an image, a projection of that which is most familiar to you. It’s strange though.” He paused to chuckle. “Most people would see themselves, but you always did have to be different.”
The overlord found himself grasping for words, the research he had conducted revealing nothing. “This is a test then?”
“Yes. No. It depends on how you want to look at it.” Shigure took a step, clearing the path between he and the throne so that Aizen could finally see it again. “We’re pretty impressed with you. Though really, a little less destruction on your path to setting things right might have been preferable.” Grey-blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully.
“We?” Sousuke repeated and dared to climb another couple of steps.
Up close, the throne looked even less intimidating. It was made of aged wood – that much he could see beneath the draping cloth – and covered in layers of dust. The light that fell on it was dim, like a hazy sky before a thunderstorm. And he belatedly realized that though Shigure stood in the light, he cast no shadow. Not to mention the arm of the throne seemed to be sticking right through his hip. He truly had no material form.
Shigure inclined his head. “Yes, we. As in the collective. The world. That which will decide everything. Whatever you want to call us.”
Sousuke took the vital information in stride, eyeing the throne that seemed to sit innocently in front of him. Just waiting for him to take what he had been seeking for the better part of several centuries. The very same object that he had risked everything to obtain. He knew that the others were in the room with them, but honestly, a part of Sousuke had forgotten all about them.
“What do I have to do?” His voice came out much hoarser than he would have liked. Reverent almost.
He could feel Shigure’s eyes on him, watching his every movement. “Just sit,” he explained, tone an honest invitation. “And think of what you want most from us. We’ll take it from there.”
“You will decide whether I am worthy,” Sousuke finished for him and lifted his gaze from the throne and back to his most precious friend. Dark brown eyes met stormy-blue, and he was only half-serious when he questioned, “Restoring the wrongs of the past wouldn’t be feasible, I don’t suppose.”
Shigure’s expression softened, both sympathetic and saddened, but for Sousuke’s sake and not his own. “What you have lost cannot be gained, not at this moment. Your Shigure has already entered his new life and is out of your reach.”
The overlord swallowed thickly. “I suspected as much,” he replied with a faint sigh and climbed the final steps, standing before the throne. “It is just as well. Shigure would not have liked this version of me. What I had to become to get this far.”
Smiling gently, the avatar merely gestured towards the dust-covered chair, representing everything Sousuke had worked so hard to obtain. “You have earned this chance, Aizen Sousuke. Take it while you can.”
And this time, he did not hesitate. The world itself was inviting him to try his luck, and Sousuke was not going to deny it.
With a final step, brimming with resolve, Aizen turned, caught a brief glimpse of the others as they looked on with belief in their eyes. And lowered himself into the throne.
Pandora's Box 