Troubled Thoughts

Kuchiki Byakuya silently walked the streets of Seireitei by the faint light of the moon, contemplating what was, and what was yet to come. He was on his way to the Kasumiōji mansion to converse with Kumoi regarding the Kasumiōji heiress situation, and if it was possible, to subtly make it known that Byakuya knew about the Bakkōtō manufacturing. The key was not to accuse – no, there was not enough evidence for blackmail to succeed – but instead, to remind him that there would be consequences… of the potentially lethal variety.

The thought crossed his mind that he might have more success by feigning support for Kumoi, but Byakuya dismissed it. Kumoi was hardly stupid, if he was in a high enough position of power to be able to attempt a coup. He would be extremely suspicious of sudden support. No, it was best to put him in his place, with both personal and political power.

Power… The 6th Division taicho's mind wandered back to Kurosaki. The man appeared to be a catalyst for change, and impossibly quick in attaining power under pressure. He couldn't help but wonder how powerful Kurosaki would be when the crisis was over, but no sooner had Byakuya thought it had he realized the real question. What would Kurosaki do with his power when Hell was defeated?

After killing Aizen, Kurosaki had merely expressed a wish for peace. But members of Soul Society had betrayed him by attacking his family, and that was something that could never be forgiven. In that respect, Byakuya and Kurosaki were like-minded. So Kurosaki would likely seek out some measure of justice, Byakuya reasoned, unless he chose to allow Soul Society to punish the Berean internally, and trust in their judgment.

The Kuchiki Head's expression changed minutely, a small, pensive furrowing of his eyebrows as he attempted to put himself in Kurosaki's position. No. Law or not, Byakuya would not, could not let another decide the fate of those who had wronged him so deeply, so personally. He would need to ensure that the ones responsible were never allowed to be in a position where they could make another attempt on his family. Byakuya himself would prefer swift, public execution by Senbonzakura, so as to make an example to those who would dare follow in the perpetrators' footsteps.

It was partly for this reason, after all, that Byakuya had fought so intensely against Kurosaki Ichigo that day on Sōkyoku Hill, scant minutes after the boy had saved Rukia. He had felt that Kurosaki was largely responsible for Rukia's complete loss of power, and through that, her eventual sentencing to execution. On top of that, the fool had had the nerve to taunt and criticize him for not defending his adopted sister while Byakuya had already been caught between two contrasting vows! How could he not bring out his ultimate techniques, Senkei and Shūkei: Hakuteiken?

Of course, now Byakuya knew the truth, and he was grateful that Kurosaki had succeeded. He had been given another chance to reconnect with Rukia, and now he could see beyond duty and into morality. Ironically, it seemed likely that he would once again enter a situation where his honor and pride were split in two paths. If Kurosaki were to invade with the intent to personally end the Berean who had sent his mother to Hell, and the Kasumiōji who had delayed Urahara from enacting their escape plan, what was the correct course of action? Should he act upon his duties as taicho of the 6th Division and defend the members of Soul Society that he knew, he knew did not deserve it? Or should he allow Kurosaki, the man to whom he owed so much, to pass unhindered?

Of course, the point would be largely moot if it actually came to blows between us once more, Byakuya mused dryly. Much as I am ashamed to admit it, I am not strong enough.

My lord, defeating the wielder of Zangetsu may be difficult, but it can hardly be impossible. Every being has a weakness.

Byakuya nodded absently to himself. That was true – everything had a weak point. Before, Kurosaki's weak point was as obvious as his inability to control his own power: Kidō. But he was evidently fixing that glaring failure, which left… what?

Speed? No. Physical might? No. Spiritual power? No. Time limit? No. As jarring as it was to consider, it seemed that Kurosaki had grown to the point where no single taicho could defeat him – it would take Yamamoto-sōtaicho, or a team of well-prepared taicho, to defeat him. Of course, that only made sense, considering that the might of the Gotei 13 had been incapable of defeating Aizen after he'd… evolved…

Were he a lesser man, Byakuya's eyes would have shot wide open. The Hogyōku! Could that be the key to defeating Hell?

And if so… is it wise to allow Kurosaki Ichigo to evolve to such a point where not even Ryūjin Jakka can burn him?

To that, Byakuya had no answer.

Zen'i quietly followed his new master through the sandy desert that comprised one of the levels of Hell's dimension, trying and failing to sense Masaki. There was simply too much interference, with Hell's reiatsu permeating everything. Even the sand, the decomposed corpses of countless Togabito, had a dull power to them.

"Hell-sama? The sands…"

"Yes?"

Hell sounded amused, which Zen'i took as a good sign. "They're made of dead Togabito, right? Can you resurrect them, if you were ever so inclined?"

"Of course. It is my world, after all. And unlike the lava pool, no one has ever been able to bring another back from that fate." Hell turned his face slightly to look at Zen'i out of the corner of his eye. "Why? Thinking of bringing back Shūren?"

The Togabito snorted. "Hardly. If I ever were to have the power to resurrect anyone, it'd be for an ally who I could trust not to stab me in the back as soon as it suits him. Or at least someone whose goals are aligned with my own."

Hell's laugh resounded in the desert air. "You'll have a hard time finding such a person here, Zen'i. After all, this is Hell. Alliances here are borne of necessity, and dropped as soon as they don't need each other anymore. Trust is a commodity that none can afford."

Zen'i silently conceded the point. He was alone, unique in Hell in that he was merely a soul fragment, not a full soul. Cutting off his chain would do nothing but leave him too weak to sustain his own existence. On top of that, he had a very obvious weak point: Masaki. And Hell would no doubt mercilessly use that, as would any Togabito who discovered her existence.

No, it would be foolhardy to trust, to rely on anyone in Hell.

"Here we are." Hell suddenly came to an abrupt stop.

Zen'i barely avoided walking into him, but took a moment to look around. "Here? We're in the middle of nowhere. You can't even see the cliffs from the next level up."

"Exactly." Hell stomped his right foot once, and there was a sudden rumbling underneath their feet. Not more than two feet in front of Hell, Zen'i watched the sand depress, then sink, and then form steps down. Shortly following, the sand trickling down the sudden hole whirled about and made a smooth, polished-looking banister that followed the spiraling steps as far down as Zen'i could see.

"Another level?"

"Naturally. Hidden, of course – this is my little secret. A place for me and my lieutenants to rest, recover, and strategize. Masaki is there as well, as… an honored guest. Shall we go see her?"

Without waiting for a response, Hell began to descend down the staircase. Zen'i followed. A few minutes later, they had reached the bottom, and stepped through the door.

It took Zen'i a minute to process the sudden change in lighting, but when he did, he quickly looked around. They had apparently emerged into a grand hall of some sort, dozens of meters wide and at least twice as long. Tapestries and rugs the colors of fire decorated the stone walls and floor, while at the center was an enormous table of some expensive-looking wood. The table was currently bare but it appeared capable of hosting perhaps twenty people.

On either side of the hall there was a single door, and directly opposite Zen'i was much larger, decorated door. Probably Hell's quarters, or his throne room or something.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Am I supposed to?"

Hell smirked. "Then let's move on to the main attraction. This way."

They moved on through the largest door that Zen'i had noted earlier, and the former aspect of Ichigo immediately spotted the unconscious form of Kurosaki Masaki, whose feet had been chained to the wall on the right side of the room. Instantly abandoning Hell, Zen'i rushed to her side. "Mom?"

Masaki stirred, blearily opening her eyes. "Ichigo?"

"Not exactly." Zen'i helped her to her feet, where she was able to get a good look at him.

"You're… Ichigo but not," Masaki observed critically, her eyes sharpening as the remnants of sleep fled her mind. "You're what Ichigo expelled. Who and what are you?"

"His name is Zen'i, and he is the reason you still exist," Hell interrupted, answering easily. "I suggest you become accustomed to his presence, as he is now your protector. Now that that's settled, I would like to propose an offer to you, Kurosaki Masaki. Swear not to try to return to the living world, or to Soul Society. Do so, and I will unshackle you from this wall. You could go where you please, do anything you like, enjoy whatever food and drink you care for. You don't even have to fight for me if you don't wish to. I will swear to such myself if you desire it. A fairer trade you will never hear."

"Is that so? I have a better offer," Masaki challenged. "Let me out of this dimension, free me from any bindings towards you, and I promise I'll keep my son from destroying you when he comes back."

Hell paused, appearing to actually consider the proposition. "A tempting offer, truly," he finally replied, "considering that your son, Kurosaki Ichigo, is possibly the only man with a shred of a chance to defeat me… short of the Reiō himself deigning to come after me that is. However, I think I shall have to decline. I'm afraid my plans will require your presence here in my dimension, at least for the moment." He cocked his head to the side, his eyes losing focus briefly. "It would seem that I have other business to attend to. Let us revisit the issue later, hmm?"

With that, Hell strode from the room. The instant he was gone, Masaki slumped in her chains, letting herself fall into a sitting position against the wall. After a moment, she turned to look at Hell's companion. "So, you're my protector?"

"Yeah." Zen'i sat cross-legged in front of her. "Don't worry. I'll do my best to get you out."

"Why? Aren't you Hell's slave?"

"Not by choice. I rely on his reiryoku to exist after Ichigo cast me out of his soul."

"Again, why? Why would you try to save me?"

Zen'i was silent for several moments. Just when Masaki was about to give up on receiving an answer, the Togabito opened his mouth to respond. "I have not forgotten where I came from. I have my pride."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Masaki asked, unsure as to her protector's meaning.

But Zen'i refused to say anything more on the subject.

Ishida and Inoue reentered the Urahara shop, the Quincy leading the way. "Urahara-san?"

The shopkeeper in question poked his head out of a nearby door, smiling underneath his bucket hat. "Ah, Ishida-kun, Inoue-chan. I've been expecting you. Come in, come in."

"You've been expecting us?" Inoue asked as they followed the eccentric ex-taicho.

"Of course. You need information on where to look for that Quincy contract, correct?" Without waiting for an answer, Urahara quickly typed out a few commands into his computer, and a map of Europe and Asia appeared. "I took the liberty of hijacking Mayuri's records of the Quincy. It would seem that very few Quincy had any knowledge that a contract existed, and none of them knew the contents. Many of them, however, did speak of an ancient box that was never to be opened. Of the many Quincy artifacts that Mayuri managed to locate for study, that box was not among them. I think that's your best bet for locating the contract."

Clacking a few more keys, Urahara zoomed in in Germany. "Supposedly, the box was held in a sacred tomb made for the first Quincy. This tomb lies in a graveyard close to a town called Lichtenstein."

"Fitting, I suppose, considering the name's translation."

Urahara tipped his hat slightly in Ishida's direction, before clacking a few more keys and pulling up some written records. "The box was moved at some point. One of the accounts indicate that it was decided that the artifact was to be protected by the strongest Quincy families."

"Assuming that tradition continued, the Ishida family should have inherited it within the last century or so," Uryū completed. "Unless it was forgotten, or presumed destroyed of course. I'll have to go back through the family records. Are there any records indicating who had it last?"

"Let me sort the records referring to the artifact by date and get the last one." Urahara nodded to himself, and with a few more keystrokes, a singular record appeared. "This record appears approximately a decade ago. It's… it's your grandfather, Ishida-kun. He was the last caretaker."

"Did he say where it was?"

"No." Urahara smiled grimly. "The record states that he laughed and spat in Mayuri's face. He didn't live long after."

"What… what were his last words?" Inoue began to step away, to try to give her friend some privacy, but Ishida took her arm firmly. "No… stay, please."

"Are you sure, Uryū?"

"Yes."

Orihime nodded and made no further motion to leave.

Urahara cleared his throat. "Ishida Sōken's last words were thus: 'Ryūken, Uryū… my pride, my spirit, lives on in you. I pray I have made a difference.'"

Ishida stood in silence for almost a minute, bringing his emotions under control. A single tear strayed from his right eye, trailing its way down his cheek and chin before falling to the floor as if in slow motion. Grandfather… of course you made a difference! I wish I could show you all that your words, your teachings, have wrought!

Ishida's free hand clenched. I will find the contract. I will find a way to nullify it. But before I rid the world of the contract, before I potentially condemn myself to a powerless existence… I will send Mayuri straight to the Hell he deserves.

Uryū shook his head, clearing it from the thoughts that had spawned from the raw, unfettered hate he held for that inhumane scientist. No. If I kill Mayuri, other captains will come after me. It's not worth it. Yet.

"Uryū?"

"Come, Orihime. We need to see my father."

"I don't mind, but why do you need me to come with you?"

"Firstly, I doubt Hell would have made the contract destructible to those with Quincy powers. Therefore, your rejection abilities will prove useful. Secondly… I need you to distract me from conjuring ways to invade Soul Society and reduce Kurotsuchi Mayuri to a gibbering, tortured wreck beyond all form of human recognition before killing him."

Inoue looked a little troubled, but nodded. "Alright, Uryū."

Ichigo sat atop a tower on the roof of Las Noches, meditating on the countless spiritual ribbons that floated past. The number of Hollows that lived in this dimension were staggering – it truly made him wonder about the efficiency of Shinigami to purify all the Plus souls of the living world.

But that was irrelevant to the task. Ichigo needed to find Grimmjow.

**Flashback**

"You want to find Grimmjow?" Nel asked incredulously. "Why?"

"He's strong, but after I beat him he'll be looking for ways to improve his power. I could tell that he was that kind of guy, at least. If he's succeeded, then he'll make a powerful ally. Besides…" Ichigo sighed. "Too many people that have issues with me have gone after my family. Grimmjow seems like someone who would hold a grudge. I don't know if he'd go that far, but I can't take that risk. It's nothing personal, I just want to know where everyone who is pissed at me is."

**End Flashback**

Yet Ichigo was having a very hard time locating Grimmjow's reiraku, despite having looked for close to half an hour. Normally he didn't require much time at all to locate someone – the only other time he'd had this much trouble was when his mother was being held inside a Seki-Seki prison. Since to his knowledge, Seki-Seki did not exist in Hueco Mundo, that left only three options.

Either Grimmjow was killed and eaten, he's learned to hide his presence very well, or he's not in this dimension. None of those options were particularly pleasant thoughts.

Ya know, I don't remember seeing him while we were becoming King of Hueco Mundo either.

Ichigo frowned. That was strange. He would have thought that Grimmjow would be particularly interested in seeing whom he had to surpass to be the strongest. Straining his memory, Ichigo vaguely recalled that Grimmjow had something against Ulquiorra… But if Ulquiorra had done anything, he would have spoken up at the meeting. I suppose I'll just have to send some scouts. Maybe Nel will know a few people?

Can't do that forever, King. You will need to get to know your subjects at some point, Cazador snarked.

It's on the to-do list. Standing and stretching for a moment, Ichigo pondered what to do next. I suppose I should continue training my Kidō. Maybe Lisa will know something? I doubt Hiyori bothers much with Kidō.

Perhaps. But you should rest. It has been a long day, and a tired ruler does not give the appropriate impression to Hollows.

Silently acknowledging the point, Ichigo flickered back to the entrance of Las Noches and reentered.

Without a word, Pesche bowed and led Ichigo to the quarters that Aizen had once resided in. The room was relatively simple – there was a comfortable-looking bed, and an ornate writing desk. There was a simple dresser with a few other sets of clothes, and atop it was a sturdy-appearing sword mount. On closer inspection, the mount was decorated with what looked like ripples flowing from a full moon.

Aizen must've really loved Kyoka Suigetsu… Hey, Zangetsu, do you mind if I put you up there while I'm asleep?

I do not mind, but remember that it does not matter where I am physically – I am always with you.

Nodding at the reminder, Ichigo gingerly put his Zanpakutō on the sword mount. That done, he stripped out of his Shinigami garments and paused at his Hollow vest. After a moment, he decided to leave it on; it was certainly comfortable enough he often forgot he wore it.

Falling onto the bed, Ichigo closed his eyes and fell away from reality…

Ichigo was staring at man with slick-backed dark hair, whose eyes were wide, pleading with him to see reason.

"You don't understand! There is a reason why it is this way!" the man cried out.

"And what reason is that?" Ichigo spat. "The evil in life remain evil in death, Akio! Don't the good in life deserve a paradise free of those who abused their chance at life?"

Ichigo's eyes shot open. What the fuck was that?

"It's no good," Kenryū muttered. "It's too late. Kurosaki Ichigo is no longer in this world."

Enryū made frantic miming movements.

"No, I don't know where he went. I know we took longer than expected to make our decision, but now he's not even here." The barrier surrounding the house let out a gong, and Kenryū frowned. "I wonder who that is. Enryū, guard Rurichiyo-sama."

Enryū nodded sharply, and Kenryū stepped outside to see… a Shinigami captain? "Hello?"

"Hi! I'm your neighbor, Kurosaki Isshin. My son told me about you, and asked me to bring you this note." He gestured with it.

Kenryū took the paper quickly and scanned it.

Hey, sorry for having to up and leave. Things are worse than you know regarding Hell. But about your situation: I had a talk with Kuchiki Byakuya. He's going to talk-slash-intimidate Kumoi into leaving you alone, using my history for saving noble girls to make him back off.

Kumoi shouldn't give you any problems for a while, but that still leaves the Hell situation. It's not safe to go back to Soul Society yet, so my dad – the man who's bringing you the note – is going to offer his assistance in protecting the heiress.

But that assistance comes with a price: you need to use your Kidō to set up barriers around our house too. If we're to combine forces, it needs to be both ways. We'll expect you to help guard my sisters too. If you take our help and don't help out in turn… well, you won't like my response.

Make your choice. Stand alone or stand together.

Kurosaki Ichigo.

Kenryū nodded. The choice was easy, and while it would normally be beyond his authority to make such decisions, for Rurichiyo's protection he would happily accept any punishment she doled out. "We accept. We stand together."

Isshin smiled. "Then let's get started."

Next door, a certain Modsoul was sitting in Ichigo's room, staring at nothing. The Kurosaki home felt a lot lighter, Kon reflected, now that Yuzu had been rescued. Ichigo had brought her home just like he'd promised. But that had been hours and hours ago, and while he'd stolen a few quick looks to confirm that she was alright, Kon hadn't mustered the nerve to talk to Yuzu and express… express what? That he was so incredibly relieved that she was safe and unharmed? That he loved her just as much as the rest of her family?

But that's just it, Kon thought bitterly. I'm not part of her family. She's never known me. She always thought that I was a mere toy, never knowing that I'm just as alive as she is. Kon clenched his fists, angry at himself for feeling the way he did. Was it so wrong that he considered her family? That he considered himself a big brother to her, just like Ichigo did?

Not for the first time, Kon began to curse the circumstances of his birth – no, creation. He was a Mod-Soul. Why couldn't he have been born like a normal human, or even as a spirit in the Rukongai? Why was he denied the chance for a childhood, the chance to truly live? Damn it, he wanted to live! He wanted to run, and jump for joy, and hug his family, and weep in relief that Ichigo had saved their sister! And then he wanted to enjoy everything life had to offer, from food to beauty to sex to anything else that could make him feel alive!

But it was impossible. Kon sighed, uncurling his fists and bringing his – no, Ichigo's – hands up to look at them. I have no body of my own, except that lion plush. And even if I were to convince Urahara to make me a gigai and some forged records, then… then Soul Society would find me. Kon collapsed onto Ichigo's bed. If I had a body of my own, then I would eventually slip up.

It was true – Kon didn't think he could go without utilizing his incredible leg-power for the rest of his life. Not when he could run as fast as he wanted into the wind, not if it would save a life by getting someone to the hospital in time. And when I do, Soul Society will detect it and realize that I'm a Mod-Soul. And then…

Kon was under no illusions of just how ruthless Soul Society could be. They considered him subhuman, theirs to create or destroy at their leisure. How many Mod-Souls had been mercilessly destroyed when the project that created them was canceled? It would only be a matter of time if they detected him. They would wait until Ichigo and Isshin were otherwise occupied, and snatch him.

The Mod-Soul was barely aware of how his – no, Ichigo's – cheeks felt the slow trickle of tears sliding down Ichigo's face. It wasn't fair. He had just as much right to live as anyone else. Why was it that he could only survive?

"Kon…?"

Startled, Kon sat up straight. There, in the doorway, was the girl he had prayed for Ichigo to rescue. "Yuzu…"

Yuzu walked over to him without hesitation and climbed up on the bed before giving him a hug. "Are you alright?"

Kon choked out a laugh. "Me? I'm fine."

"Then why didn't you come down to join us?" she asked curiously, pulling away. "Or hug me back?"

Oh, how he had wanted to return her embrace – it was warm, and caring, and… Kon cut that thought short. "It doesn't freak you out?" Kon retorted. "I'm in your brother's body. I'm obviously not human."

"Karin told me that you cried for me," Yuzu said softly, which silenced Kon instantly. "When I was… that way… Karin overheard Ichi-nii talking to you, and heard you crying and asking how you could help. Ichi-nii trusts you to protect our family. And you protected Karin and Dad." She gave him another hug, this time not letting go. "If you can think and feel and cry, then I think you're human. Thank you, Kon-nii."

Heart in his throat, Kon couldn't help himself – he clutched his sister close and wept.