Lessons Are Best Learned Alive [Zatoshi Kizukara]

[Munemasa Iroka]

It was late at night, and this was about the time humans were mostly at home with their families or alone, whichever fate they were lucky to possess, with supper in their bellies and thoughts of sleep in their heads. Many of them were even likely to be asleep at this time, it being the later half of the 10th hour, post meridiem. There would be people on the streets, but they would be more the exception than the rule: those whose work required them out and about this late, those whose business had stretched long enough to see them still out, and so on. Traffic was rather free, but dancing in the middle of the road would still be a foolish thing to do. Dancing in the middle of the road was never wise, in any case.



Speaking of roads, there seemed to be some curious activity going on along a particular stretch which, some distance from the city proper, was often unoccupied. It led to a section of the city of Tokyo which sat on the outskirts of the sprawling metro, which was usually deserted, no matter the time of the day. Whether due to the fact that 'accidents' seemed to happen there often, or people mysteriously disappeared, or some weird things happened there from time to time, the place had a bad reputation, and was often avoided, maybe except by stupid kids who were trying a dare.



Fortunately, this night, there were no kids, because the stupidity of youth might have persuaded them to attempt to find out what had left three long gashes on the abandoned road leading to that even more abandoned part of town. And the gashes were only the start of what would be a series of even more perplexing phenomena. Strange grooves in the road, patches of melted asphalt, smoking holes, and other things that would be clear signs to those who were aware of these things, that a battle had been fought here recently, and had most likely moved further into the abandoned district. And if one traveled further down the road, they would surely see a flash or two in the distance.

Presently, though, all seemed quiet. It was not quiet because the fight was over, but because there was merely a lull in the battle. Said lull existed, because one of the combatants was unwilling to continue the battle, and was hiding in the hopes that the other combatant would go away. Quite unlikely, but perhaps fate could decide to smile on the unwilling combatant, and whether due to frustration, boredom or something else, the more aggressive opponent would leave. The unwilling combatant was the Shinigami known as Munemasa Iroka.

Huddled up silently in the corner of an abandoned building halfway through its construction, the Shinigami waited silently for the other presence in the area to get tired and leave. It was a hollow, almost twice as big as a horse, and four-footed indeed it was, although despite its structure, it had no hooves. It was a giant goat, or at least it looked like one, though its white mask with rows upon rows of sharp teeth, as well as crossed eyes with black sclerae and yellow irides, gave it away as anything but a herbivore. Also, it had, at the end of each foot, three long and wicked claws. It was covered in shaggy black fur, with white stripes, and its horns spiraled away from the mask from which they protruded.

Iroka felt insulted. Of all the things that seemed to be likely to kill her, it had to be this ridiculous-looking goat. She had come to Tokyo on a simple mission, or so it had seemed at first. During a mission to Earth, some members of the 12th had mistakenly left behind some equipment. Tiny, but important. Since the Yonbantai was the division that did the stuff no one else wanted to do, the job was given to the 4th. After all, they had to make themselves useful, hadn't they? And so Iroka had taken the coordinates of the equipment, come to Tokyo, and retrieved it. Easy as pie.

Except for the goat. Shortly after the young Shinigami had retrieved what she had come for, a large black wound appeared in the night sky. It would have been invisible, but for the gouge through which the stars refused to shine. And from this interdimensional wound had come the hollow. Whether it was by chance or some predetermined matter, it had almost immediately taken notice of Iroka, and so had begun the battle, which soon evolved into a chase. Iroka, having realized that despite the hollow's noticing of her, its senses were rather poor, had decided to attempt to hide from it, in order for it to go away, as she wasn't sure she could kill it.

Didn't seem like the creature was taking the memo.


Zatoshi Kizukara

[Zatoshi Kizukara]

Zatoshi was in a particularly bad mood when the clacker went off. Occupying the ERT team room was soul crushingly boring at the best of times. It was a twelve-hour shift just waiting for the clacker to go off and squad 12 to send a scroll when most of the time the scroll never came. When it did, he was mid-sip of a coffee and nearly spilled it on his shihakkusho, sitting up with a scowl as he pulled the rolled parchment out of the vacuum tube.

His brows knit together as he read over the coordinates and the situation report. A squad 4 member being assailed by a hollow of notable signature. It wasn’t even a squad 3 expedition, but rather a ‘favor’ asked by them, with all of their capable members out of position to help.

Well, at least it was something. He rolled up the scroll and tucked it into his pocket to be submitted later with his after-action report. This was something he could take care of himself. He had a certain level of internal anger he was glad to convert to external action right now. That and he had enough of an understanding with his zanpakuto to know that if he really wanted to cut loose it was better if no one was around. Satsujin was an evil bastard by his account, but the catharsis he provided when Zatoshi unsheathed him was exactly what Zatoshi could use right now. However ill-advised it might have been to lean into a ‘deal with the devil’, that was Zatoshi’s intention.

When he proceeded through the senkaimon he already had a destination in mind. There was an abandoned freight yard not far from the hollow signature localization. Zatoshi knew it well, the hotspot of activity that the road was. Emerging into the human world was always its own pleasure for Zatoshi. It smelled different - the night air of the world of the living as compared to the seireitei. The acrid scent of the city grappling with the odor of the grass and trees. This world was steeped in conflict down to the very core. It had no shortage of requirement for someone like him, and it was nice to be needed.

With a few flash steps Zatoshi made his way to a lamp post that was near Munemasa’s reported location in the sitrep. He could feel the hollow close, as well as her spiritual pressure. He looped a thumb under the cord that bound his sword into its sheath, pressing until the tension felt as though just a little more would rip the bindings apart.

“Munemasa!” He called out in the night, “My name is Zatoshi Kizukara. I’m with squad three. I’m here to cover your withdrawal.” He hoped that the hollow would make itself known even more than he hoped that the squad four member would make her way to him. Whatever had been eating at him, he desperately desired to let it eat at something else through his sword arm.

[Munemasa Iroka]

Things were not looking very good, in Iroka's opinion. The only reason the hollow wasn't digging her out of her hiding place was because there was probably only one thing it was worse at than she was, and that was sensing. But with the way the goat had been going for the past few minutes, it seemed that the hollow would eventually, by some streak of good fortune, excise her from her hiding place. As the creature's claws could make short work of concrete, it seemed to believe that a good method of outing her was by bringing the building down on her head , in the hopes she would run out before she was crushed.

As she listened to the sound of the creature tearing the iron and concrete that made up the walls of the building, Iroka was already contemplating how best to die. It seemed that it would be more honorable to get crushed by the building, instead of being fed on by that ridiculous-looking goat. The goat was probably faster than she was, so if she fled her hiding spot, it would run her down. Then again, there was something else she could try. If the goat was absolutely useless when it came to sensing, she would wait for it to begin digging at the area of the building furthest from her, then she would attempt to make a break for it.

It seemed, however, that this was not to be the case. A singular voice called out her name in the dead of night. It almost seemed to have a surreal poetic feel to it, except for one thing. Calling her by her surname, although conventionally alright, especially if he was of higher rank than she was, made her feel old. Like some middle-aged office lady. It would be nice if she could get to reach middle age, she thought, realizing with gratitude that the caller might give her the chance to possibly live longer than this night. But even though she had help, she could not still be careless.

The goat hollow, for its part, was not pleased that someone had come to disturb its hunt. Either that, or it was rather delighted, and its way of expressing its delight was by giving off an ear-grating bleat. Zatoshi would first hear that infuriating sound, and then the large black goat would burst out of a wall, charging through the obstruction and in the direction of the one who had made the call. Since the Shinigami was perched on a lamp post, the goat hollow charged straight for the pole, aiming to upend it with its horns, as well as the Shinigami who stood on it. Then there would be slashing and scratching and trampling and crumpling, or so it hoped. It screamed again as it impacted the post with earth-shattering force.

Iroka, for her part, had been filled with some degree of misgivings, as she was able to more calmly assess her situation. This man was a member of Division 3. On the one hand, she was quite grateful that he had shown up to help her. On the other hand, Division 3 was considered by her to be problematic, like the 11th Division, since the more combat-oriented Divisions seemed inclined to bully the 4th Division grunts, a thing made more obvious by the lack of any high-ranking members of the squad. But of recent, she had begun to see that some of the Third's folk were decent. Their captain was, after all. Maybe this fellow was too. Carefully, she peeked out from her hiding place, watching as the screaming goat charged the lamp post.


Zatoshi Kizukara