The house was finally quiet.
For a long, tense hour, Rukia and I lingered in the hallway like a pair of burglars caught between bad decisions, half whispering, half listening to the soft rhythm of Kerstie's breathing and loud snoring. Every creak in the floorboards felt like an explosion. Finally, when we were sure she was deep in sleep, we managed to coax Chappy out of the bedroom and into the living room.
In my body, Chappy flopped onto the couch like a satisfied cat, yawning in my voice. "Mmm, this is nice. So soft! And your beard tickles when I talk!"
"Yeah," I muttered, running a hand down my face. "Glad you're comfortable in my skin."
Rukia crossed her arms, clearly exhausted by this entire situation. "Just… keep her occupied," she said, her tone suggesting that she'd already accepted the absurdity of her life choices.
I grabbed the remote out of habit. "Maybe I'll put something on, might help her fall asleep faster."
Rukia's glare could've shattered glass. "Absolutely not. If you turn on that television, we'll be here all night."
"Why?"
She shot a thumb toward Chappy, who was now staring in fascination at the blinking red light on the power button. "Because she'll want to talk to it."
"Fair point."
With that, we left the house quietly and slipped into the night, the air cool and crisp with the promise of June approaching. The neighborhood was silent save for the distant murmur of cars and streetlights. We ended up at the little park near my house, the same one where my kids liked to climb the rusted jungle gym and pretend it was a pirate ship.
"This'll do," Rukia said, hopping lightly onto the grass. "Show me what you remember of that… energy work you mentioned."
I took a breath, centering myself the way I used to as a teenager when I thought I could open my chakras by watching too much anime. I imagined pulling my energy inward, focusing it into a single point just behind my solar plexus. The air seemed to vibrate faintly.
Rukia tilted her head. "Your control is… better than I expected. Crude, but focused."
"Crude and focused," I said, smirking. "Never heard someone describe me as focused before."
She ignored that. "Again, but this time, try not to let your energy flare when you breathe."
That old habit was beaten into me by my old training—great—something to unlearn.
We repeated the process. Each time, the world felt a little quieter around me—like I was stepping into a space between heartbeats.
"You know," I said after a while, cracking an eye open, "I think some of this stuff from anime actually helps. Like, they weren't wrong about focusing your 'aura' or suppressing it to go stealth. Makes me think there's some manga artist out there who's actually a Soul Reaper in disguise."
Rukia pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing through a barely restrained laugh. "You are insufferable."
"Hey, I'm just saying," I said, grinning. "It'd explain a lot about Yu Yu Hakusho."
She gave me a look that could've frozen fire.
Still, there was amusement behind her eyes—soft and fleeting, but there.
While we practiced, I didn't notice the quiet presence on the edge of the street. Uryu Ishida stood a short distance away, hands in his pockets, glasses reflecting the dim park light. His spiritual pressure was steady, sharp, disciplined, and familiar in that way that made your skin prickle when someone dangerous was nearby.
He watched in silence as Rukia corrected my stance, her voice low and precise. Whatever expression he wore was unreadable—somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.
He adjusted his glasses slightly, eyes narrowing.
"Interesting…" he murmured under his breath before turning away,
Uryū Ishida moved silently along the shadowed street, the spring night air crisp enough to sting the lungs if you breathed too sharply. He hadn't meant to stumble across them—it was late, and his patrols were a quiet ritual, more habit than duty these days. But the flicker of spiritual pressure had caught his attention, faint but… oddly vibrant. Unrefined, yet alive.
He perched behind the cold metal of a lamppost, peering toward the park.
There—two figures in the dim glow of the street lights nearby. Kuchiki Rukia, unmistakably. Her movements were crisp, controlled, the kind of measured precision that spoke of noble upbringing and years of discipline. The other… was not.
The man across from her stood barefoot in the sand, dressed in loose shorts and a Supernatural t-shirt, hands raised in front of him like some kind of anime protagonist. His spiritual energy shimmered wildly, like a poorly tuned radio signal—surging and dipping, sparking in uneven bursts that made Uryū's brow twitch. It was chaotic. Messy. And yet… somehow, it worked. An unrefined chaos that vaguely reminded him of Ichigo when they first met, but not quite.
Orion. The strange outsider. Not quite a Soul Reaper, not a Fullbringer, not a Quincy… but certainly something.
Uryū adjusted his glasses, frowning as he observed Orion's latest attempt to "compress his reiatsu." The result looked more like someone trying to wrestle a balloon underwater. Each time he focused, the air pulsed faintly, dust rising from the ground. Rukia stood beside him, arms folded, sighing through her nose like she was coaching a particularly dense puppy.
"Your control is atrocious," she said flatly, though there was a trace of patience in her tone. "You're thinking too much about doing and not enough about being."
"I'm trying to be!" Orion protested. "It's just… in every show I've ever seen, this is the part where the mentor says something like 'feel the flow of your energy,' and then—boom—I unlock Super Saiyan Two or whatever!"
Uryū blinked. Did he just say Super Saiyan?
Rukia's shoulders stiffened. "That's not how reiatsu works!"
"Maybe you're just saying that because no one's ever tried it that way before!"
Uryū exhaled through his nose, pressing two fingers against the bridge of his glasses. "Unbelievable…" he muttered under his breath.
And yet… there was a flicker in Orion's aura just then—an adjustment, however slight. His energy stabilized for half a heartbeat before dispersing again. Rukia noticed it too, her expression softening from exasperation to mild surprise.
Interesting.
Uryū straightened slightly, his analytical mind dissecting what he'd just witnessed. Orion's technique was crude, but the principles weren't wrong. His body responded to instinct and imagination, not structure—unlike Soul Reapers, who were trained through centuries of rigid discipline. Perhaps that's what made his energy so volatile… and so unpredictable.
Still, the absurdity of it all was difficult to ignore. A Soul Reaper of noble descent, earnestly training a man who learned his spiritual technique from shōnen tropes.
He pushed his glasses up with one finger, a small smirk ghosting over his face.
"This world truly is full of idiots," he murmured—though, deep down, he was intrigued.
Because for all Orion's nonsense, the chaotic sparks around him carried something real. Something not even the Quincy archives had ever recorded.
And Uryū Ishida wasn't the type to ignore a mystery.
From his vantage point behind the trees, Uryū's eyes narrowed behind the glint of his glasses. That pulse again—unsteady, but there. He adjusted his stance, sliding a hand to his belt, from his pocket, almost instinctively, ready to summon his bow if this got out of hand.
That's when the faintest memory stirred in the back of his mind—something from the archives his father had kept sealed for years. A Quincy branch from over two centuries ago, one long considered extinct. Sturm Blitz. Masters of electromagnetic control, rumored to harness spiritual particles as living lightning. They'd been eradicated by both Shinigami and Quincy authorities for delving too far into experimental techniques that blurred the boundary between flesh and spirit.
Uryū studied the strange human before him again, his analytical curiosity sharpening. "No… he's not Quincy," he murmured to himself. "But the frequency of that reiryoku, it's not far off, either. What are you…?"
Below, Rukia rubbed her temple, visibly reaching the end of her patience. "Focus, Orion. You're supposed to be learning control, not putting on a fireworks show."
Orion exhaled, tension coiling in his shoulders. "You know what, Rukia?" He took a deliberate step back into the sand of the park, his expression shifting from concentration to determined frustration. "Every time I try to do it your way, it feels wrong. Like I'm forcing myself into someone else's skin."
He dropped low into a solid horse stance, bare feet pressing into the earth. His arms raised slowly, elbows flared, palms open before him in the familiar pose of a man about to scream his soul into existence.
Rukia's eyes widened. "Oh no. Not again."
Orion inhaled deeply. The air around him began to hum. His reiatsu surged, wild and uneven, yet somehow intentional this time. The ground quivered underfoot as faint arcs of blue-white electricity danced across his shoulders and hair. Occasional arcs struck the sand leaving steaming red hot glass.
Uryū's eyes flicked wide. That signature… that's spiritual plasma formation. Impossible at that density for a human!
Orion let out a low, resonant tone—more a vibration than a shout—anchoring his focus inward. His aura expanded outward, filling the park like a storm front about to break. A ripple of static rolled across the swing set, every metal chain vibrating in sympathy.
Then—he thrust his hands outward. A concussive wave of energy flared, scattering dust, rattling the jungle gym.
Rukia shielded her face, her robes snapping in the wind. "Are you trying to alert every Hollow in Karakura?!" she shouted over the pressure.
But before she could take another breath, Orion snapped his hands into fists—then clapped them together, palms colliding like thunder.
The explosion of power inverted in an instant.
The oppressive spiritual pressure that filled the air collapsed inward, sucked back into him as though the night itself had inhaled. The crackle of lightning faded, leaving only silence. Orion stood at the center of the park, completely still. His aura was gone. Vanished.
Not masked—almostabsent, like a void.
Rukia's jaw went slack. "That's… that's impossible." Her eyes darted, searching for any sign of him beyond the physical. Nothing. Even a trained Soul Reaper's senses couldn't pick up a single trace.
From the shadows, Uryū's heart skipped. His analytical calm cracked for the briefest moment. "He—he compressed his reiryoku past the perceptible threshold?" he muttered. "No… even captains can't erase their presence completely."
He stepped closer unconsciously, his white sleeve brushing a branch. "Who is this man?"
Down below, Orion cracked one eye open and grinned, panting slightly. "Hah… see, Rukia? Told you I just needed to go full anime."
Rukia was still staring, torn between disbelief and irritation. "You—how did you even—?!"
He shrugged sheepishly. "Well you saw how I charged my power? Well I went all out so I could feel how to do that, then I did it in reverse."
She threw her hands up. "You are insufferable!"
From his vantage point, Uryū's smirk returned—small, knowing, and begrudgingly impressed.
"Insufferable… yes," he murmured. "But perhaps not as foolish as he seems."
Then, as he turned away into the night, a quiet thought lingered in his mind—an echo of curiosity and faint unease.
If he ever learns to control that power properly… even the Seireitei will feel it.
Rukia sat cross-legged on top of the jungle-gym bar, her eyes half-lidded, the glow from the streetlight drawing thin gold lines across her face. The night air was still buzzing faintly from my earlier spiritual lightshow. I could still smell the faint tingle of ozone every time I inhaled.
We'd taken a break—mostly because I was dizzy from trying to hold my spiritual pressure inside my own skin for more than a few minutes. The concealment trick worked when I was standing still, but the second I moved, it was like trying to juggle electricity and balance on one foot at the same time.
"Your biggest problem," Rukia said, tapping the end of her sandal against the metal bar, "is that your focus scatters the moment you introduce motion. You need to learn to hold your presence steady no matter what's happening around you."
"Right," I said, rolling my shoulders. "So basically… meditate while sprinting through a thunderstorm."
She gave me a look that said, If you understand that much, stop talking and do it.
I took a slow breath and started again—eyes half-closed, body relaxed, trying to move in smooth arcs while keeping my energy compressed. I could feel her watching me, the weight of her gaze following every twitch of my hand and flex of my back. It didn't help that she was silent—Soul Reaper judgment is worse when it's quiet.
I made it a few paces before I tripped over the metaphorical wire in my head and the whole thing blew open again. My aura flared, spilling out like static.
Rukia sighed almost amused, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You're overthinking it again."
"Yeah, well, my entire body's made of overthinking."
She hopped down lightly from the jungle-gym, the hem of her robes swaying. "Then we'll try another method. Something to keep your mind from chasing itself in circles."
"Like what?"
Rukia's expression shifted—one part cunning, one part mischievous. I'd seen that look before. It was the kind of look that always meant trouble.
"Well," she said, crossing her arms behind her back, "perhaps distraction training would suit you. I'll attempt to break your concentration. You must maintain concealment no matter what I do."
I raised an eyebrow. "Okay… and what are you going to do exactly? Throw rocks at me? Yell insults?"
Her smirk deepened, faintly wicked. "Possibly. Or maybe I'll find… other ways."
I blinked. "Other ways?"
She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "You seem easily flustered, Orion. I imagine there are more… effective distractions than mere shouting."
My mind immediately betrayed me with mental images that would've made even a seasoned pervert choke on his tea. "Uh… Rukia, when you say 'effective'—"
"Focus," she interrupted, her tone sharp but her eyes glinting with teasing amusement. "If you lose control, you fail the exercise. Simple as that."
I groaned, rubbing the back of my neck. "You realize that's cruel and unusual training, right?"
"Good," she said, stepping closer. "Because if you can hold concentration under this kind of pressure, then nothing else will break it."
There was a long, loaded pause.
Somewhere above us, a swing creaked in the night breeze. My pulse was suddenly very aware of itself.
I exhaled slowly, pulling my reiatsu in tight again. "Alright then," I muttered. "Bring it on, short, dark and beautiful. But if I manage to stay focused, you owe me ramen."
For a fraction of a second, every ounce of her professional composure vanished. Her violet eyes went wide, not with anger, but with a kind of stunned surprise. The corner of her mouth twitched, a battle between a scowl and a smile that neither side won. Her posture, if possible, became even more rigid, a silent, instinctual protest against the word "short."
I felt it through our connection—a sharp, surprised flare of her spiritual pressure, like a startled bird taking flight. It wasn't hostile. It was warm, flustered, and deeply, undeniably pleased. The brief spike was followed by a wave of affection so potent it nearly buckled my knees.
A faint pink colored her cheeks, a blush she immediately tried to suppress with a stern frown. "Your focus should be on the training, not on making foolish wagers," she snapped, her voice a little too sharp, a clear overcompensation. She took a deep breath, reasserting her control. "But very well. If it will make you take this seriously, I accept." Her gaze narrowed, a mischievous, dangerous glint entering her eyes. "But when you fail, your next week of training will be twice as grueling."
She was trying to sound intimidating, the stern teacher putting the cocky student back in his place. But I could feel the truth humming between us. She wasn't angry. She was thrilled.
Her mouth twitched in the faintest ghost of a smile. "Deal. Now… don't blink."
The night seemed to grow smaller around us—the quiet park, the whisper of wind, and the challenge hanging in the air between us.
And for the first time that night, I wasn't sure whether the real test was the concealment technique… or surviving whatever Rukia had planned next.
The night air tasted faintly of spiritual residue — the lingering echo of Orion's last attempt at concealment. His aura still crackled faintly with static, like a stubborn ember refusing to fade. He stood a few meters away, breathing heavy, his hands still faintly trembling from the exertion.
He had done well. Too well, honestly. His growth in such a short time would have unsettled most lieutenants back in the Seireitei, myself included, but I've come to know better. I was drawn to him for a reason.
"Better," I said, folding my arms. "But your focus wavers the moment you move. A Soul Reaper cannot rely on power alone." There was an irony in that, here I was a lieutenant of gotei 13 training a human anomaly as if he were a fresh recruit with an unnamed asauchi.
He grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Focus under pressure, huh? That's always been my weak point. Got any tips, sensei?" In that typical humorous tone.
The way he said sensei — teasing, irreverent, with that boyish lilt — made something stir uncomfortably in my chest. I looked away, feigning disinterest. "I might," I said coolly. "But you'll need to endure distraction. Real distraction." I couldn't let him break me, this is my test.
He smirked, clearly sensing the challenge. "What, like throwing rocks at me?"
"Something like that," I murmured.
What followed were… unconventional tests. I started simple — flicking small pebbles at him, sudden bursts of spiritual pressure meant to throw off his rhythm. He adapted quickly, faster than expected. So I improvised.
I circled him slowly, my footsteps silent on the playground's sand. "You're overthinking again," I chided. "Don't chase stillness — be it." He managed to do so well earlier, but now to ingrain that feeling into him.
He exhaled through his nose. "That's easier said than done when you're walking around me like a predatory cat."
I couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at my lips. "Perhaps that's the point." Oh, the irony that I'm the predator and yet his name is Hunter, it wasn't lost on me.
His concentration was fragile—like glass stretched thin, trembling on the verge of collapse. I could feel the instability before I even saw it, a faint tremor in the air that betrayed the effort he was putting into holding himself together. The goal was concealment: to fold his immense reiatsu into silence, to quiet the storm into something small, unnoticeable. For a human, he was doing remarkably well. For a man with his soul… it was maddeningly difficult.
I circled him slowly, each step measured. The air shimmered faintly between us, our energies brushing like static. "You're fluctuating," I said, keeping my voice steady—professional. Detached, or at least that was the illusion I maintained. "You're holding it, but it's ragged around the edges. A skilled sensor would still spot you."
He didn't flinch. That irked me. He was too calm, too centered for someone so new to this level of control. So, I stepped closer. Just enough for the warmth of my own body to slip past the thin veil of his focus. I felt it then—his reiatsu quiver, the faint ripple that told me I had gotten under his skin.
His mouth twitched, a near-smile. "You're testing my focus," he murmured, voice low, steady, teasing. "Not my self-control."
"Those are often the same thing," I replied, and before I could stop myself, I let the words fall softer than I intended. The corners of my lips curved upward—traitorous. I leaned in just a little, close enough for him to see the lavender flecks in my eyes, close enough that I could smell him. He smelled of ozone and warmth — something distinctly alive and strangely sandalwood?
His reiatsu surged, flickering dangerously. He shut his eyes, forcing it back under control, every muscle in his face tight with effort. I should have stopped then. I should have stepped away. Instead, I lifted my hand, tracing the line of his forearm slowly until my palm rested against his chest.
His heartbeat hammered beneath my fingers. It wasn't just the pulse of life—it was rhythm, willpower, temptation. I could feel his essence through the contact.
"Remember the feeling," I whispered. My voice came out as something I barely recognized—low, intimate, trembling on the edge of command and confession. "When our pressures merged completely. The control it took right before release."
I didn't have to say more. I knew he remembered. I felt it ripple through him—the phantom echo of that moment in the shower when our energies had been one.
His shell shattered. His reiatsu exploded outward in a burst of raw, untamed power that made my hair lift at the ends. He gasped, choking it back down, every vein in his neck straining. I should have reprimanded him, but instead, I smiled. A small, victorious, entirely unprofessional smile.
"Better," I murmured, savoring the heat of his energy brushing against mine before I drew my hand away. "You're learning."
He swallowed hard. "You're evil."
"Efficient," I corrected, meeting his gaze. His eyes burned—not with frustration, but with something far more dangerous.
The air between us thickened, the unspoken truth of what we were doing pressing in from all sides. This wasn't just training anymore. It was a dance, a test neither of us wanted to end. I told myself it was for his growth, that I was pushing him toward mastery—but my pulse was betraying me.
"You're improving faster than I expected," I said, my tone slipping back toward the safety of formality. It was easier to hide there. "At this rate, I'll run out of lessons."
He tilted his head, that insufferably confident half-grin returning. "Then you'll just have to start inventing new ones."
I rolled my eyes to mask the heat rising in my cheeks. "Don't tempt me."
He laughed—soft, genuine, disarming. And in that moment, I realized how far we'd already gone. How dangerously easy it had become to forget who we were supposed to be to each other. He was human. Married. A father. I was supposed to be his teacher. But the gravity between us didn't care about reason or rank—it simply was.
When I finally stepped back, the distance hurt. The air felt cold, hollow. My hand still tingled from where I'd touched him.
"Again," I said, forcing steel back into my tone. "From the top. And this time…" I hesitated, just long enough for the edge to soften. "Try to remember I'm your teacher."
I wasn't sure which of us I was reminding.
You're playing with fire, Kuchiki Rukia, I thought. And he's already burning.
The night had gone still again — the kind of stillness that presses against your ears until every small sound feels amplified. The wind had died, the rain had dried, and the faint buzz of streetlights blended with the soft rustle of leaves in the park. For once, it almost felt peaceful.
Rukia stood near the swings, eyes half-lidded, like she was listening to something deeper than sound. I was still collecting myself, that post-training fatigue mixed with a weird thrill that came from having her so close moments ago. My spiritual pressure still sputtered around me in small bursts, like static clinging to the air.
Then a faint beep broke the silence.
Rukia's hand moved to her pocket, pulling out her soul phone. The glow of the screen painted her face in pale blue light, the shadows under her eyes sharp against it. "A hollow," she murmured, her tone flat but cold.
I didn't need to ask where. I felt it too.
It was subtle at first — a ripple, like the ground exhaling beneath my feet — then a low rumble, and finally that unmistakable spiritual pressure pressing in from the edges of the park. It was heavier than before, denser, angry.
My stomach tightened. The last time I'd felt that kind of presence, I'd nearly died.
Rukia's gaze flicked toward the far side of the playground where the faint shimmer of reishi twisted the air. "I should have expected this," she said under her breath. "Diverting Hiro's patrol left this district vulnerable. It must have followed your fluctuations."
"So this one's my fault," I muttered, forcing a shaky grin. "Guess that's progress, right? I'm officially noticeable."
She gave me a look that was equal parts exasperation and concern. "You're not fighting it alone."
The words hit me harder than I expected. I'd trained for this or at least, for something like this — since that night. But hearing her say it made the fear shrink just enough for me to breathe.
The hollow emerged near the slide, tearing through the air with a sickly rip. It was short and stocky, its limbs thick like knotted roots, its mask shaped like a warped bull's skull with deep grooves running across it. When it moved, it didn't walk — it lurched, dragging its clawed arms as though the ground was too soft to bear its weight.
Its spiritual pressure wasn't the strongest I'd ever felt, but it was wild, untamed. And it was staring straight at me.
Rukia stepped forward, already reaching for her sword, her voice low. "It's reacting to you."
That should've terrified me, but instead, something in me steadied. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was knowing I wasn't that same powerless man anymore… Not exactly anyway.
I swallowed, my hand instinctively clenching into a fist. "Then maybe it's time I hold my own."
Rukia's violet eyes flickered toward me with the faintest spark of approval hidden beneath her stern focus. "Don't push yourself. If it gets close, you dodge. I'll handle the rest."
But I was already stepping forward. My heart hammered in my chest, and my breath came sharp and quick, but for the first time… the fear didn't control me. I wasn't thinking about the consequences of causing more problems by fighting.
I planted my feet, centered my breathing, and tried to feel the energy the way she'd been teaching me — like drawing in a storm and holding it still.
The hollow roared, a guttural sound that vibrated through the empty playground, shaking the swings and scattering leaves across the sand.
My pulse spiked. The air between us seemed to hum, and somewhere beneath the noise, I caught myself whispering—
"Let's see if my training actually paid off."
The hollow's roar rattled the rust from the old jungle gym, echoing across the empty playground. Its claws gouged the ground, leaving twin trails of blackened reishi in their wake as it lunged forward.
Rukia's hand was already on her zanpakutō, but I held up a hand before she could draw. "Let me."
Her eyes snapped toward me, disbelief flashing across her face. "Don't be ridiculous. You're not ready for—"
"I know," I cut her off, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. "But I need to try. I've never done anything decent by waiting until I'm ready."
The hollow growled low, crouched to spring again. Its form a spring of tension ready to explode.
Rukia's grip on her sword wavered — just slightly — before she exhaled and stepped back half a pace. The decision cost her; I could see it in her eyes. But she was watching me now — not like a teacher overseeing a student, but like someone waiting to see what choice I'd make.
"I'm not doing this to impress you," I said quietly, my voice barely cutting through the hollow's snarl. "I just… I've run from every real fight I've ever faced. Even the last one. I tried to run."
Lightning cracked along my arms, flaring bright against the dark. The static hummed louder than my heartbeat. I drew it in, not like before when it sputtered and scattered, but focused, guided.
And in my hands, it began to take shape and weight.
The current thickened, weaving into form — the air vibrating until a blade of pure light hummed between my fingers. A long curved edge, sleek and sharp, forming a crescent at the end of a crackling haft. A scythe.
I couldn't help the small, wry smile that tugged at my lips. "Guess that's fitting," I muttered, "after training with a reaper."
The hollow roared again and charged.
I moved before I could think—muscle and instinct taking over. The scythe spun in my grip, the motion pulling the electricity outward in streaks that hissed through the air. The first swing caught the creature across the arm, and though the impact jolted through my entire body, it felt right.
I shifted my footing, pivoting into a cross spin to meet the next attack. The motion was sharp and clean, years of bo-staff training flowing through me like second nature. The scythe became an extension of my will, carving the air in a full sweeping arc. Lightning trailed behind it, the rotation fast enough to weave the crackling energy into a solid barrier of light.
The hollow opened its mouth, spewing a volley of spikes the size of soda cans in an explosive, sudden assault. They struck the wall of spinning lightning and shattered midair, sparks scattering like fireworks. The recoil hummed through the play sand beneath my feet, but I held steady, the scythe still spinning, the storm refusing to break.
Rukia called out behind me, "Try not to overextend! Its mask—aim for the mask!"
I barely registered her words before the hollow's massive claw slammed down, scattering sand in a small crater where I'd stood a half-second earlier. I rolled, the weight of the scythe dragging through the air like a storm tethered to my hands. My heart pounded; my vision tunneled.
The hollow reared up, its grotesque mask catching the light from a nearby streetlamp.
I charged again.
This time, I didn't hesitate. Every strike was messy, but deliberate — bursts of movement guided by raw emotion more than precision. Sparks danced across the scythe's arc each time it made contact, carving shallow glowing lines into the hollow's hide.
The hollow's claws came down again — a wide, sweeping strike that tore chunks of dirt and sand into the air. I barely ducked under it, the air burning hot against my skin. The scythe in my hands pulsed with erratic rhythm, my heartbeat syncing with the hum of electricity.
My body screamed to stop, but something deeper — instinct, anger, purpose — kept me moving.
I pivoted on my heel, dragging the scythe low in a wide, glowing arc that cleaved through one of the hollow's legs. The creature howled, stumbling, its body folding as it crashed through a rusted slide. I lunged forward before it could recover, planting my feet, swinging up and around — a clean strike that carved into its shoulder, the blade crackling like thunder tearing through bone.
"Orion!" Rukia's voice snapped across the chaos, sharp and commanding. "Don't let your energy fluctuate—keep your focus steady!"
"I'm trying!" I shouted back, twisting as the hollow's remaining arm came at me again. I ducked under the swing, barely — the claw caught my t-shirt, shredding it open across the chest. Sparks flared from my fingertips, instinct pushing lightning into my fingertips.
Byakurai!
The familiar piercing lance of lightning shot out like a spiraling beam in an instant, tearing through the edge of its hind leg as it dodged the blast.
I felt Rukia's energy close behind me, sharp and alert, ready to intervene, but she didn't. She was holding herself back, her knuckles white around her zanpakutō's hilt.
A deep, rasping growl escaped the hollow as it swung low, clipping my shoulder. Pain flared, bright and throbbing, but I stayed upright. The fear that used to freeze me… it wasn't there.
I pivoted again, pulling the scythe in close. Lightning of the blade, arcing down its curve as I drove the edge upward — the sound of a piercing crack as it tore through air and reishi. The strike connected, splitting the mask across one side. The hollow screamed, staggering backward in a flurry of sparks.
"Orion!" Rukia's voice was tense, warning — she could sense the recoil of my energy flaring too high. But I pressed on.
The scythe blazed brighter, its arc leaving a searing trail in the air. I stepped in and swung — once, twice — electricity bursting with each impact until the hollow staggered backward, its chest smoking. Its mask was fractured, spiderwebbed with cracks, its spiritual form flickering between solid and vapor.
For a heartbeat, it looked almost human — the distorted echo of a man in pain, not a monster.
Rukia's reiatsu spiked behind me. "Finish it!" she ordered, though her tone held something uneasy beneath the command.
I raised the scythe, lightning spiraling up its shaft like a living storm. The hollow dropped to a knee, its growl fading into a low, pained rasp. I could feel it — its spirit unraveling, on the verge of release.
But then—
"Wait."
Rukia's hand caught my wrist. Her grip was small but unyielding.
I blinked, still half in the rush of battle. "What? It's done—just one more hit—"
"No," she said sharply. "Don't."
The wind shifted, carrying the smell of ozone and burnt reishi.
The command in her voice cut through everything. I froze, breath ragged, the blade still humming inches from the hollow's cracked mask.
She stepped closer, her eyes searching mine, tension flickering across her face. "That weapon of yours… it's not a Zanpakutō. It's your reiatsu given form. If you strike now—if you destroy that mask—"
Her gaze flicked to the hollow, then back to me. "We don't know what will happen to its soul."
I stared at her, my pulse thundering in my ears. "You mean it might—?"
"Be erased," she finished quietly. "Like a Quincy arrow."
The hollow let out a weak growl, struggling to rise again. I felt my arms tremble under the weight of the scythe and the truth of her words. I hadn't thought about that. I just wanted to stop running, to do something.
Rukia stepped in front of me, drawing her sword in one smooth, deliberate motion. The familiar sound of steel singing through the air, grounded the moment.
"Step back," she said softly.
Before I could protest, she vanished in a flash step — her form a blur of white and black — and reappeared behind the hollow. Her blade cut through the air in a single clean stroke, passing through the mask with practiced precision.
It was possibly the most anime samurai thing I had ever seen since meeting her. "She really is amazing." I thought to myself
The hollow's body froze, its roar fading into silence. Then, as if exhaling, its form began to dissolve into fragments of dark reishi rising into the night like ash carried by wind.
Rukia held her stance for a moment longer before lowering her sword.
I watched the last of the hollow fade away, the faint shimmer of its purified soul lifting into the sky. "You didn't have to—"
"Yes, I did." Her tone was calm, but her knuckles whitened around her hilt. "If Soul Society senses you killing hollows with something that isn't a Zanpakutō, they'll see you as a potential threat. As someone who disrupts the balance between souls."
I swallowed hard, the weight of what she'd said sinking in. "So even doing the right thing… could make me an enemy."
Rukia's eyes softened, but only slightly. "In their eyes, yes. But to me…" She hesitated, sliding her sword back into its sheath. "To me, you were brave. Foolish, but brave."
The faint hum of the scythe's fading energy still clung to my hands, dissipating slowly into the air. I looked down at them, unsure if I should feel pride or guilt.
Rukia turned toward the darkened street, her gaze distant. "Next time," she murmured, "you wait for me before you draw that power again. Understood?"
I gave a tired nod. "Yeah. Understood."
The night was quiet again — only the rustle of leaves and the ringing scream of what is probably tinitus. The kind of silence that comes after lightning passes and the world remembers how to breathe.
And for just a second, I saw a faint glint in Rukia's eyes — worry barely hidden beneath the sharpness of her duty. Typical Rukia, trying to hide her concern.
By the time we made it back to the house, the horizon was already starting to gray. The streetlights buzzed faintly, fighting a losing battle against the oncoming dawn, which seemed to come a little sooner each night. My body still tingled faintly from the lingering static of the fight — that familiar rushvibration of that refused to fade after everything quieted down.
Inside, the house was still. A silence that felt heavy, like it's holding its breath. Rukia moved first, her steps light as she crossed the living room where Chappy had apparently spent her time stacking couch pillows into what looked suspiciously like a "nest." My body was asleep in it, mouth open, one arm hanging off the side. Great, I look ridiculous.
"Guess she made herself at home, not just in my body." I whispered.
Rukia gave a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You really do attract chaos."
I shrugged. "Never did figure out how to show that off at the school talent show."
She didn't laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched before she motioned for me to climb back into my body. Attempting one leg at a time like a pair of stiff jeans, the soul pill simply popped out of my mouth. A pulse of spiritual energy and a blink later, I was staring at her through my own eyes again. My limbs felt heavy, but real.
Rukia seemed to relax a moment, dropping her usual mask of duty completely. "You looked surprisingly cute drooling over a pillow like a sleeping cat."
I groaned, rubbing my face. "Cute, huh? Moving up in the world."
Rukia just stood there, arms crossed, looking at me in that way she does when she's thinking about a dozen things at once but only says one. "You did well tonight," she said finally. "Reckless, but… well."
"Well what?" I asked, smirking.
"Well enough that you're not dead," she replied flatly. Then, softer, "You're getting stronger."
The words hit differently. Not praise, exactly — but something close. Something real. I got the feeling she wanted to say more, but didn't want to stroke my ego.
She turned to leave, but I caught her wrist before she could step away. "Rukia."
She paused, glancing back. The air between us buzzed faintly with leftover energy — or maybe that was just my pulse. "Yeah?"
"Thanks," I said. It wasn't enough, but it was all I had.
Her gaze softened just a little, and then, before I could second-guess it, I leaned in. The kiss was quick — hesitant, warm, and over almost as soon as it began — but it lingered like a spark between us.
When I pulled back, Rukia looked at me with that complicated expression she gets when she's half a step from scolding me and half a step from doing something reckless herself. "You shouldn't—" she started, then stopped. Her voice dropped to something quiet. "Next time, try not to make it so hard to not worry about you."
"Noted," I said, grinning despite the exhaustion weighing me down.
She shook her head, exhaling through her nose. "I'll talk to Kisuke," she said, her tone returning to something more composed. "If anyone can help refine your control without blowing up half the district, it's him."
I snorted. "Oh good, the guy with a hat and cryptic talking points. Totally safe."
Her lips curved in that almost-smile again. "And next time," she continued, "we'll start tailing Hiro. He's not exactly diligent but… not a fool either. When the right moment comes and he's overwhelmed, you'll have your chance to step in."
"Play the hero," I said quietly.
She met my eyes. "No. Be one."
For a long moment, we stood there — two souls, half in shadow, half in light — before she finally turned toward the door. "Get some rest, Lightning Man," she said, her voice fading as she stepped out into the quiet street.
When she was gone, I stood there a moment longer, listening to the faint buzz of electricity still crackling under my skin, like an internalized bee hive.. The house creaked softly — the sound of normal life waiting to start up again.
I sighed, glancing toward the bed through the cracked door where my sleeping wife stirred faintly, unaware of the chaos the night had held.
"Guess tomorrow's gonna be weird," I muttered to myself, rubbing the back of my neck. "Better make some coffee."
And with that, the night finally gave way to morning — and the first quiet breath after the storm.