That’s the only thing on his mind right now, the only truth that can possibly assuage the burning fury inside of him.
The battlefield is a mess of blood and bodies, ash and rubble, broken zanpakutou and grounded up dreams. The stench coats Kisuke’s nostrils and sits heavy on his tongue, adding fuel to the blaze.
For once, his grip on Benihime isn’t slick with sweat, but firm and unyielding. She hums I his hold, singing for blood. There is an edge of sadness and sorrow to her trill, one that Kisuke knows all too well because it echoes inside of him as well. An unending echo that falls forever into the deep bit of blackness.
That bastard, that Aizen, did the one thing Kisuke can never forgive.
Even the events of decades past, where Aizen had forced Kisuke into exile and turned their friends into Vizard and ruined Kisuke’s life, is more tolerable than this.
If there was one person in this whole damn war who carried no blame, who was innocent, if was Kurosaki Yuzu.
If there was one person Aizen should not have touched if he had a smidge of honor left inside of him, it was Kurosaki Karin.
For this reason alone, Kisuke is not alone in this hunt.
Ichigo is beside him, wrapped in a mantle of cold fury that would make his father proud, his eyes gleaming an eerie amber and gold that would make anyone shiver. Kisuke, however, only feels a stirring of arousal, right in his gut, coiling with the anger until his emotions are a confused tangle.
Kisuke imagines the way they’ll celebrate later, after they’ve destroyed the monster and sent him on to fiery torment. Locked in a room with their box of toys, working out the last of the anger in the best way possible. He imagines the way Ichigo will look, sweaty and debauched, and the way Kisuke will feel, completely overtaken, ruthlessly devoured.
He won’t have it any other way.
Zangetsu pulses in Ichigo’s hand, a call of comradeship to Benihime, who sings in return. The battle is nigh.
Kisuke feels a sick, bloodthirsty grin curl his lips. Time to kill the beast.