The moment Orion disappeared into the warehouse, swallowed by the crackling light of the barrier he'd erected, a strange unease twisted low in my stomach.
I had never seen him form a barrier like that before.
The lightning stakes he'd driven into the ground hummed with unstable energy—raw, improvisational, brilliant. The reishi lattice between them sparked and shivered like something barely leashed. It was crude, dangerous, and unmistakably him.
When did he learn that?
That fleeting thought barely had time to form before Hiro lunged again.
I refocused, forcing my breath steady as his corrupted blades—four writhing, serpentine extensions of his Zanpakutō—snapped toward me in a blur. Each moved with an independent will, the grinding metal screeching like hungry things.
I twisted away from the first two, parried the third, and kicked off the fourth, spinning into distance as ice burst from my feet.
His Shikai…
Hairo Orochi.
Once, it had been a rigid, disciplined blade. Now it slithered like a nest of starving serpents, corrupted by the parasite hollowing out what remained of Hiro's soul.
"Give them back!" Hiro shrieked at the warehouse, voice cracking with manic fury. "They're MINE. He has no right—NO RIGHT!"
His reiatsu bucked, ugly and unstable. The tendrils spilling from his mouth—those grotesque, energy-siphoning appendages—whipped in agitation.
I kept my distance, reading the rhythm of his attacks. Messy but fast. Unpredictable. Parasite-enhanced reflexes. Relying on instinct alone could get me killed.
He darted in. Fast—too fast. I slid under one writhing blade, blocked another with the flat of Shirayuki, and froze the tip of a third. The fourth clipped my arm as I moved.
It wasn't the cut that froze my blood.
It was the tendril.
It brushed my skin—just a graze—but it glowed. Bright, pulsing, hungry.
Hiro's eyes widened and his grotesque mouth stretched into something like a smile.
"So sad…" he crooned. "…losing Kaien like that."
My heart stopped.
He shouldn't know that.
He couldn't know that.
The tendril pulsed again—stealing reiatsu, yes, but pulling information with it. Stealing memories. Turning my own soul against me.
My grip tightened on Shirayuki's hilt. "You will not speak his name."
Another explosion slammed into Orion's barrier. This one made the stakes bend, the lightning lattice ripple and warp. My chest tightened as the barrier flickered dangerously.
No—no, no—
If it broke while Orion was still inside—
I needed to pull Hiro's attacks away from it.
"Some no mai—TSUKISHIRO!" I cried, dropping a pillar of freezing death directly where Hiro stood.
He twisted out of it at the last instant, his serpentine blades snapping at me in retaliation. I forced him back, footwork precise, redirecting the clash so the shockwaves angled away from the barrier.
But he was growing erratic.
Angrier.
More desperate.
Another tendril struck my ribs. Pain lanced through me. It glowed again.
"What would Abarai think," Hiro hissed, "if he knew you still regret—"
I cut him off—literally—by severing the tendril with a burst of frost that flash-froze it mid-motion.
He screamed. A wet, gurgling noise.
Yet the damage was done.
He'd taken another piece of me.
The warehouse barrier shuddered violently under another Kido blast—this one stronger, more concentrated. My blood ran cold.
If that gets through… Orion. The victims…
"No you don't!" I snarled, lunging in close.
Our blades clashed—four serpents against one pure white arc of moonlit steel. Frost sprayed between us. His corrupted reiryoku hissed where it touched the ice, sizzling and cracking.
He wasn't trying to kill me anymore.
He was trying to get past me—to the barrier. To Orion.
He hurled a crimson Kido sphere over my shoulder. I barely managed to slice through it mid-air, but the explosion rocked the ground.
The barrier guttered.
Then, with a brittle, crystalline shatter—
It broke. We were just too close.
Lightning shards dissolved into the air like dying fireflies.
"NO—!" I sprinted toward the warehouse—
—and saw him.
Orion burst through the collapsing doorway, two half-conscious women slung over his shoulders. His clothes were torn, his skin scraped, and sparks still danced over his fingertips as he guided the stumbling victims behind him.
His face held no fear—only urgent focus.
He got them all.
Relief hit me so sharply it stole my breath.
Hiro screeched in rage, lunging toward them—but I was already there, dropping between him and Orion in a heartbeat. Shirayuki met the serpents of Hairo Orochi in an explosion of frost and corrupted reiryoku.
"Not one step closer," I growled.
Orion didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
He trusted me.
And I—
I would not fail him.
Orion vanished around the corner of an alleyway a few blocks away with the last of the victims—nearly two dozen of them. Some stumbled beside him, clinging to each other. Others ran in terrified bursts of clarity, barefoot and shaking, but moving.
Their silhouettes blurred into the midday glare, and then they were gone.
The moment his reiatsu dipped further away, Hiro's entire spiritual signature shuddered.
He felt it. His victims left his effective range.
He felt his lifelines fleeing, and his power waning.
A crackling howl ripped out of him, half-human, half-parasitic shriek. The serpentine blades of his Zanpakutō writhed in agony, starving for power.
"You—" he rasped, his tendrils thrashing wildly. "You let him take them… you let him TAKE MY POWER!"
I said nothing. I simply raised Shirayuki.
Truthfully?
I was mildly annoyed.
If I had full authority to release my full power in the world of the living, this fight would already be over.
As it was, I was fighting at a mere fifth of my usual lieutenant strength—my output throttled by the damn dimensional restrictions of the Gentei Reiin seal.
But fine.
Fine.
Sometimes we need a challenge to stay sharp. Requesting Gentei Kaijo would simply take too long.
"Tsugi no mai," I murmured, breath cold against my lips, "Hakuren."
He sensed it and moved—much faster than before. Desperation lends speed, and parasites lend reflexes. The blast of ice and wind erupted through the narrow street, covering every surface in frost.
Four serpents lashed in at once, their corrupted metal bodies spinning like drills. I parried the first, ducked the second, sidestepped the third, but the fourth—
The fourth pierced straight through the edge of my guard.
Pain exploded up my leg as the blade tore a line from my calf to my hip. I managed to twist away before the parasitic tendrils could latch on in the opening, but the damage was done.
My right leg buckled. I caught myself with Shirayuki.
"Still hiding behind human limitations?" Hiro sneered, releasing another Kido, this one a crackling arc of red. "How does it feel to know you can't beat me at full power?"
I swallowed the pain and the sting to my pride.
Lieutenant-class restrictions.
Injured.
Outnumbered by his damned serpents.
And still—
Still I felt the thrill of clarity that only real combat could bring.
He fired again. A twisted Hadō—thick with parasitic corruption—flattened a row of abandoned cars behind me, sending shrapnel skittering across the pavement.
I pushed off my injured leg.
It screamed in protest.
"San no mai," I whispered as the frost bloomed along the blade, "Shirafune."
My sword extended in a brilliant spear of pure ice—longer, sharper, deadlier than steel. I met his lunging serpents head-on, slicing through two and deflecting the third.
The fourth still came.
It always did.
"Why fight?" Hiro hissed, tendrils shaking as they sought my reiatsu again. "You've already lost before. You'll lose again."
He meant Kaien.
Of course he meant Kaien.
The cold inside me deepened.
This time I didn't retreat—I advanced.
Step through the pain.
Through the fear.
Through the memory.
I drove Shirayuki forward, the extended blade piercing his shimmering Kido shield. Cracks spiderwebbed across it.
His eyes widened.
Good.
He retaliated wildly—Hadō 33, then Hadō 58—slamming them together in a reckless combination that shook the asphalt. I dodged the brunt of it, but a shard of compressed reiryoku caught me across the ribs, the force lifting me off my feet.
I hit the ground hard, rolled, forced myself upright.
My leg screamed.
My ribs burned.
My breath fogged in the summer heat mixing with my ice.
But behind me?
Behind all this noise?
Silence.
Orion—and the victims—were well beyond sight now.
Safe.
Good.
Because now?
Now I could stop holding back.
I leveled Shirayuki at Hiro, frost spiraling down my arms as my reiryoku surged.
"You lose your power," I said coldly, "and now you show your true nature."
Hiro screeched, the parasite distorting his voice into something feral and broken.
"YOU WILL FEED ME!"
"No."
I stepped forward.
"You'll freeze."
Orion
By the time I stumbled out of the warehouse district and into the next block of cracked pavement and chain-link fences, Rukia's Hakuren detonated over the tops of buildings in a plume that looked like a cinematic avalanche.
A rolling wall of white blasted upward—pure winter ripping across the rooftops with frost thick enough to sparkle even in the noon sun.
The sight was oddly beautiful despite the circumstance.
I stopped dead in my tracks, breath leaving me in a stunned "holy shit."
"Note to self," I muttered, easing the two unconscious women off my shoulders and lowering them against a concrete barrier, "never piss off the tiny ice goddess."
My arms burned pleasantly. A month of working out more seriously—plus a decade of tossing my kids around like sacks of potatoes—finally paid off. These women weren't that different than lifting Freya by comparison. Malnourished too. Hiro had drained them down to scraps of what they used to be.
"Hey," I said to the most lucid woman standing beside me, I stopped, crouching beside them. "You're safe now. But you need to keep moving. Get to the police, or a hospital. Whatever's closest."
I stood up, my back gave a slight crack.
One girl—a younger one, maybe twenty-two—blinked up at me with glassy eyes. She was the same one who tried to kiss me earlier, before I gently redirected her like a Disney princess who'd missed her exit.
Now, apparently, she wanted a sequel.
She leaned in, kissed my cheek, and wrapped her arms around me with surprising strength.
I froze for a second, my brain going static.
Then I patted her back awkwardly.
"Yeah, uh—okay. Good luck. Stay safe."
I turned toward the plume of frost still thinning in the air.
And felt something in my chest tighten with determination.
"I have to go help her."
Lightning crackled in my veins. My pulse synced with it—steady, electric, familiar. Somehow this lightning gave me confidence, a wholeness that I always lacked until I met Rukia.
Flash step.
No, my flash step—
Lightning Step.
The world blurred.
I zipped across asphalt and broken glass, rebounding off the cracked side of a loading dock. Vibration shuddered up my legs as I launched again, each leap shorter, but sharper, accuracy threading me through alleyways and past burning energy scorch marks where Hiro's wild kido blasts had gone wide.
When I finally landed on the edge of the fight, Rukia's silhouette stood surrounded by shattered frost and severed serpentine metal. There were collapsed walls and rubble everywhere.
Hiro—what was left of him—writhed like something that should never have existed.
"Hey!" I called out, sliding in beside her, lightning blade forming in my hand, shaped something like a wider katana, I took a stance with it raised backwards like Riku in Kingdom Hearts. "Victims are clear. What'd I miss?"
Rukia didn't look back, but I heard the slight exhale of relief she always tried to hide.
"Good work," she murmured, voice sharp with focus. "I can handle him, but capturing him will be difficult. He needs to be bound and sent to Soul Society for judgment. Killing him," she added, blade lifting, "would be easier. But also harder to explain in my report."
She was bleeding from her left leg, the sight made my stomach churn like shoes in a dryer. As my blood ran cold. I have seen blood spilled a hundred times over, my own was nothing to me, but my kids, Kerstie or Rukia… it was different.
A monstrous, twisting shriek erupted from Hiro's distorted face.
I tightened my grip on the lightning blade, sparks dancing along my knuckles.
"Well," I muttered, glancing at the three mangled serpents still attached to the handle of his corrupted shikai, "if you want him alive…"
A spark snapped across my fingers.
And an idea hit me—
sharp, electric, thrilling.
"…I think I've got something, no guarantees though. It's not like I've ever tried it before." I finished.
Rukia's eyes flicked toward me—only for a heartbeat, only enough to say I'm listening.
My lightning crackled louder, building into the shape of something new. Something I'd been experimenting with since the night I learned I could condense electricity into more than just blades.
A technique built on the same principles as the barrier rods.
If those rods could create a containment field—
Maybe I could build something stronger…
A binding, like a cage.
Yeah.
A lightning cage.
"I can trap him," I whispered, sparks arcing between my hands, my heartbeat syncing with the hum.
Rukia took a half-step forward, setting her stance, ready to create an opening.
"Then do it," she said.
And the battle shifted.
Rukia didn't look back at me—she didn't need to. Her stance shifted, her blade angled low, and I could feel the temperature drop like a warning bell.
"Ready your binding technique," she commanded, voice crisp. "We trap him on my signal."
My pulse surged with adrenaline and electricity.
"Been waiting for this," I murmured.
Rukia clashed with him, keeping him busy and giving me room that I would never have had otherwise.
Lightning gathered beneath my skin as I flash-stepped around Hiro—five points, equidistant. My body moved on instinct, old muscle memory tied to childhood ritual and new muscle memory tied to reiryoku flow.
One rod in the ground.
Then the second.
Third. Fourth. Fifth.
A perfect pentagram.
By the time I landed on the edge of a low warehouse rooftop, my hands were already outstretched, fingertips sparking as lightning arced between each rod, forming an unbroken web.
"Rukia—back!" I shouted.
She disengaged instantly, sliding out of the kill zone with the fluid grace that only a century of training could give.
I took a breath.
Then another.
And I spoke words I hadn't said since I was thirteen—standing barefoot in my stepfather's backyard, trying to summon the courage to believe in anything at all.
But this time…
The words answered.
"As above, so below—
Within and without—
By the elements of fire, water, earth, wind, and spirit…
I call forth your power to bind this evil…"
The rods pulsed.
Each point lit with a different color—fiery red, deep blue, earthen gold, emerald green, pure white.
My voice rose.
"Pierce the cosmic divide—"
Lightning spiraled upward, weaving into a dome.
"Lightning Prison!"
The pentagram ignited.
Arcs folded inward—
tightening, closing, compressing—
until Hiro was swallowed in a sphere of multi-colored electricity, every tendril and blade pinned in place, his parasitic mouth thrashing in impotent hunger.
His scream vibrated through the barrier, distorted and furious.
And still—
He could not move.
"Impressive…" Rukia whispered.
"If you say so, you weakened him considerably and we eliminated his power source. I doubt this would have done anything otherwise."
I looked down at her. Her violet eyes reflected the shifting colors of the prison, wide with awe in a way I'd never seen directed at me.
"It's… a unique fusion," she murmured, studying the rods. "Human ritual magic aligned with spiritual power… The structure resembles Western Branch kido, but the form—this is something else entirely."
Her eyes flicked up to me, suspicion mixing with admiration.
"Where did you learn this?"
I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious.
"My stepfather was Wiccan. Taught me old rituals growing up. I… always liked the structure of it. The symbolism. Didn't think it would ever amount to more than meditation practice but—"
I gestured at the lightning sphere.
"Turns out it all fits together when you have actual power in your hands."
Rukia approached the barrier cautiously, Shirayuki angled defensively as she inspected Hiro's immobilized form.
"We need to contact Soul Society immediately," she said, returning to her commanding tone—but not all of it hid the pride in her expression. "A Reishi Parasite using human spiritual systems as camouflage for hunting..."
I gave a lopsided smile.
"Guess it's poetic. He used human spiritual practice to feed on people… and human spiritual practice is what nailed him to the floor."
Rukia's lips twitched as she pulled out her soul phone.
"Captain Ukitake will be interested in this capture," she said softly, glancing my way again. "Very interested."
She made the call, her small fingers dancing across the screen—
while Hiro writhed, powerless, inside a cage built from my childhood and my reiryoku.
And for the first time since meeting her…
I felt like someone who could actually stand beside her.
The moment the Lightning Prison snapped shut around Hiro, I felt the whole structure lock—like gears catching, lightning welding itself into place. He began to thrash inside the sphere, the arcs contracting with every movement, each one shrinking his world a little tighter.
Secure.
He wasn't getting out…
At least… that's what I hoped.
Then he started laughing.
Not human laughter—wet, ragged, corrupted.
Like broken glass being stirred in a bucket.
Rukia froze mid-step.
"I swear, if he starts monologging—" I said automatically, blade still humming at my side.
But Hiro had already turned his ruined face toward her. Through the lightning he looked like a ghost submerged underwater, features warped and rippling.
"Oh, Lieutenant Kuchiki," he crooned, mock sympathy dripping from every syllable. "So much pain in that tiny heart of yours. So many delicious insecurities."
Rukia's fingers tightened on Shirayuki.
My gut twisted.
Hiro's serpentine mouth split wider, tendrils slithering against the barrier like tongues tasting the air.
"When my tendrils pierced you… mmm… I drank more than reiryoku. I tasted your truths. Your shame."
"Shut your mouth," Rukia warned, voice low, shoulders tensed like a bowstring.
"Oh?" Hiro hissed. "You don't want Orion to hear?"
My stomach dropped.
Rukia didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Hiro sensed the opening and lunged.
"Did he know," Hiro rasped, "that you once stood on the execution platform? That you accepted your death because you believed you deserved it?"
Rukia flinched.
Not physically—
emotionally.
Like the words were a blade slipping beneath her ribs.
My breath caught in my throat. Not knowing what to say.
Hiro pressed harder.
"You still believe it," he whispered, almost lovingly. "Even after being pardoned. Even after being adopted into the noble Kuchiki line. You see yourself as an ill-fitting ornament. A stain they tolerate. A criminal in silks."
Rukia's jaw tightened, shoulders trembling.
I felt something hot burn in my chest—anger, maybe. Or protectiveness… both?
"Rukia," I said softly.
She didn't look at me.
Hiro wasn't done.
"And now…"
His voice curdled into a cruel grin.
"You're bedding a married man."
The temperature around us dropped sharply—ice crackling across the asphalt.
My breath fogged.
It was fury emanating off of Rukia—barely contained.
Hiro savored it.
"You tell yourself it's temporary. A mistake. A stolen intimacy you don't deserve. You call yourself his… what? Mistress? Replacement? Fantasy?" His laughter slithered through the lightning. "When all you truly feel is unworthy."
Rukia's shoulders stiffened like she'd been struck, an almost imperceptible tremble washed over her.
My heartbeat hammered loud enough to drown out everything else.
Hiro leaned toward the lightning wall, face smeared with hunger.
"He deserves someone better," he whispered in her voice. "Someone whole. Someone lawful. Not a murderer. Not a criminal. Not—"
"Enough!"
My voice cracked like thunder.
"Not another word, you worthless piece of shit!"
Hiro shuddered as the Lightning Prison tightened.
Rukia turned away—just slightly—but it was enough to see the shine at the corner of her eye. Not tears. Just… the threat of them. The humiliation. The raw exposure. The feeling of being dissected in front of someone she cared about.
Her voice, when it came, was so quiet I barely heard it.
"He's trying to bait me."
I stepped closer—not touching her, not crowding, just… there.
"You didn't attack him," I said. "That says everything. You're better than his stupid tactics."
"I…"
She swallowed.
"I don't want you to think—"
Hiro interrupted with a hiss.
"Oh he thinks plenty. He thinks about how your power terrifies him. He thinks about how small you are. How vulnerable. How—"
"Shut UP!"
My voice cracked the air.
Lightning burst from the rods, arcing violently across the sphere. Hiro spasmed, shrieking as the tendrils tried—and failed—to push through.
Rukia stared at me then, really stared.
And her expression…
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't shame.
It was something fragile. Something that hurt to look at.
I breathed out slowly.
"Hey," I said, voice low. "Whatever he stole from you? Whatever he thinks he saw?"
I shook my head.
"He doesn't understand you. And he doesn't get to define what you deserve. Don't let him psy-op you with these mind games."
Her eyes glistened—not broken, not weak, just… honest.
Hiro snarled inside the cage, furious his gambit hadn't worked. Furious that the thing he'd exposed hadn't shattered either of us.
"Rukia," I murmured, meeting her gaze, "I'm still here."
She blinked.
One slow, trembling blink.
Then she nodded—sharp, decisive.
A warrior again.
"I know," she whispered.
And for the first time since the fight began, we stood—not as soldier and liability, or lieutenant and observer, or ice queen and uncertain human—
But as two people, side by side, refusing to let a monster weaponize their fears.
The tension didn't vanish.
But we owned it, together.
Hiro wasn't finished.
The moment Rukia steadied herself—just barely—he lunged again, pressing his twisted face against the lightning sphere like some starving creature clawing at glass.
"Oh, but we're not done, Lieutenant," he crooned. "We haven't even touched the real rot inside you."
Rukia's jaw tightened, but she held her ground.
Hiro's voice lowered to a venomous whisper.
"You're terrified, aren't you? Terrified of what Byakuya would say if he saw you clinging to a human father with a wife and children. Terrified he'd strip you of your name, your place, your family—again."
Rukia's fingers twitched.
Hiro drank the reaction greedily.
"And what would Orion's precious little wife think?"
His mouth stretched unnaturally wide.
"That her safe, stable, loyal husband is sneaking around with a Soul Reaper tramp wearing her daughter's clothes?"
Rukia inhaled sharply.
Hiro pushed harder, voice cracking with delighted cruelty.
"Slut. Mistress. Home-wrecking whore."
I didn't think.
I reacted.
Lightning surged up my arms like a geyser, my hand snapped into a fist and the dome collapsed inward—folding into itself, spiraling tight until the sphere wasn't a sphere at all but a skin-tight net of lightning wrapped around Hiro's entire body.
He hit the pavement with a sickening crack as the net pinned him down.
"NO MORE!"
Electricity shrieked through the rods, sparks flying wildly, cracking asphalt, splitting chunks of concrete. The energy was tighter than it had any business being—far too tight, far too volatile, but I didn't care.
Not when he used those words.
Not when he used them on her.
Not when he dragged her deepest scars into the open like trophies.
Hiro spasmed under the net, barely able to breathe, let alone speak. It felt cruel — part of me enjoyed that.
Rukia stared at him with a frostbitten fury I had never seen before. A fury born not from anger—
but from pain.
"Don't you dare," she hissed at him, voice shaking at the edges. "Don't you dare compare me to—. Don't you dare speak about Orion's family. You know nothing of honor. Or regret. Or what it costs to love someone you believe you shouldn't."
Her chest trembled.
Shirayuki's tip hovered an inch above the ground.
"And even if I… even if I question myself…"
Her voice cracked.
"I am not—"
The lightning snapped again, sending a wave of sparks scattering across the alley.
Hiro writhed, but couldn't speak—my grip on the net tightened instinctively, rage boiling beneath my skin until I wasn't sure if I was controlling the lightning anymore or if it was controlling me.
I forced myself to turn away from him.
To look at her.
Rukia was standing perfectly still, shoulders squared, face composed—but her eyes…
Her eyes were shattered glass.
"Rukia…" My voice came out rough. "You don't… you don't really think that about yourself, do you?"
She didn't answer at first.
Just stood there.
Silent.
Rigid.
Like if she moved even an inch, she would splinter apart.
And it made something in me twist into a sick, painful knot.
Because I knew those thoughts.
I'd lived in those kind of thoughts.
I knew exactly how they sounded.
Her silence wasn't denial.
It was confirmation.
And the realization damn near broke me.
"Rukia," I said again, softer this time.
Her chin dipped just barely, like she couldn't hold the weight of the words anymore.
And when she finally looked at me—
There was nothing but raw, naked truth in her eyes.
Truth she'd never meant for me to see.
Rukia didn't meet my eyes when she dialed the Soul Society.
Her voice was steady—perfect lieutenant cadence—but her fingers trembled around the soul phone. She pushed Hiro's venomous words deep down where she hid all the things she didn't want anyone to see. I recognized the look. I'd worn it my whole life.
She finished the report, tucked the phone away, and exhaled slowly.
The lightning prison crackled behind us, the parasite pinned and hissing through clenched teeth. He couldn't speak anymore—my tightening net had seen to that—but even muted, his presence felt foul, like rancid breath on the back of my neck.
I let my weapon dissipate back into my body and Rukia sheathed her blade.
Rukia's violet eyes drifted to the binding—at the rods, the sigils, the soft hum of the circle.
"You used your stepfather's traditions," she said quietly. "Your… human magic. And it actually shaped reiryoku."
There was awe in her voice. And pride. But something softer, too—something bruised. She was looking for something—anything to change the subject.
I cleared my throat. "Yeah. Wicca was… well, it was the way I was taught. Circles, intent, the four elements, symbolism. Nothing really worked back then. Not like this. Kinda glad I wasn't raised in a traditional household."
Lightning crawled lazily over my knuckles at the thought, almost sheepish. "But the structure? The ritual? My mom and stepdad thought it shaped energy. I just… finally have the energy for it."
Rukia nodded slowly. "The Western Branch uses structured invocation… runic geometry… sigil-based kido. What you did—it isn't far off."
She looked at me again, and this time she really saw me. Not the human liability she had to protect. Not the awkward, guilt-soaked mess she'd stumbled into on day one. Something new. Someone rising.
But behind the pride was the hurt Hiro had carved open in her.
The things he'd said.
The things she feared were true.
She tried to hide it, but I could see the war in her eyes—the conflict, the shame, the way she held herself just a little too rigid.
I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her.
No words. No explanations. Just warmth against the cold that monster had tried to leave inside her.
At first her body stayed stiff, her pride refusing to break even under the weight of freshly exposed wounds. But then… slowly… she softened against me, her forehead pressing lightly into my chest.
"Orion," she murmured, voice small but steady. "He… saw things. Things I didn't want anyone to see."
"I know."
My voice cracked more than I wanted it to.
A long silence settled between us, broken only by the low hiss of the parasite pinned to the ground.
I finally said, gently, "You don't have to explain any of it to me right now. Not one word."
I tightened the lightning prison another inch just to hear Hiro's breath hitch. "And you definitely don't have to listen to anything that thing said."
Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping just enough to betray how shaken she truly was. Rukia Kuchiki—noble, soldier, survivor—rarely let herself lean on anyone. The fact that she was leaning on me lit a fire in my chest that burned hotter than any lightning I could summon.
After a moment, she straightened, composing her expression even though I could still see the vulnerability flickering underneath.
"Captain Ukitake will want to see this capture," she said, returning to duty like it was armor.
She paused.
Then her eyes softened again, shimmering faintly.
"And your stepfather's teachings… I underestimated them. And you."
I shrugged lightly, trying not to show how much her words hit me.
I managed a small smile. "Who would've thought Wicca would be useful in a life-or-death sword fight with a soul-eating professor demon?"
Rukia almost smiled back. Almost.
Her eyes traced the pentagram of rods again. "You're full of surprises, Orion. More than I realized."
"And I'm not done yet," I said, surprising even myself with the playful confidence in my voice.
She blinked, caught off guard.
I hadn't meant it as flirting.
I meant she hadn't seen everything I'd been working on—the techniques I'd been shaping alone in the dark, the discipline her presence had forced me to build, the person I was slowly choosing to become.
For myself.
For her.
For both our futures—whatever the hell they turned out to be.
But now wasn't the time to say any of that.
The siren-shiver ripple of approaching Soul Society reinforcements cut through the air.
Rukia squared her shoulders, calm returning to her features.
She was Rukia Kuchiki again—warrior, lieutenant, noble.
But I'd held the version of her that lived behind all of that.
And I wasn't letting Hiro's poison define her—not today.
Not ever.