Like a Tiger Treading on the Flowers

So anyways, I came across this picture of Kenpachi where he was a hollow! And by hollow, I mean he looked the way his inner hollow would look. So this sprung from my mind.

Summery: Kenpachi is a viazard, but nobody knows it. After his fight with Ichigo, the hollow part of him starts to make itself know.

WARNINGS!!! Lemon, smut, violence, rape. Yes, Hollow Kenpachi does rape Ichigo. They have a very twisted relationship.

Inner Hollow: Part 1/2

The Shinigami always whisper amongst themselves when I am near, bodies tense with fear. I could practically smell their tension. I hear what they say about me, I just don’t care.

How could a monster like me- without knowing my zanpakuto’s name let along bankai- manage to become one of the 13 Gotei captains. My power is the obvious answer. All these weaklings around me would suffocate if I took off my eye patch. But they don’t even register in my mind. I don’t care about any weak pussies who don’t know how to fight.

How I got to be this strong… when I died my first death I was shackled to the real world because of my mother, Yachiru. The one I named my pink-haired brat after. I was tied to her, frowning as she cried her tears and wept over my grave. Soon it grew to be agonizing, the place where my soul chain connected to my body itched fiercely and the chain itself was dissolving. And then one night it started to chew on itself faster and faster and I felt this emptiness inside of me.

That was when I first discovered my Shinigami powers, going inside my inner world where it was dark and swirling, shadows chasing around me and eating each other. “Find your power…” A voice hissed into my ear. “Find your power or be destroyed.”

I knew about power. It was what distinguished the meek from the strong, the lamb from the lion. The eaten from the eater. I tried to catch the shadows in my hands, but they slipped away from me like slimy eels. Power. Red flared in my vision and I reached for it, allowing it to surround me, and surrounding it.

The real world came rushing back to me and I gasped at the strength I felt trembling in my body, scrambling to escape its confinement. I felt something over my face and I touched it gingerly…it was rough, like stone, with sharp jagged teeth that nearly cut my finger. I panicked, yanking at it and instinctively reaching for my side, grabbing the sword I found there and bringing it to my face, crushing the mask that covered me.

Panting, the mask crumbled and fell off my face. The thing that had been pressing at the back of my mind suffocating me eased off. I fell to my knees and looked down at the sword I had grabbed from my side. The edge was serrated, like it was meant for hacking and creating damage rather than a swift kill. The handle fit perfectly in my large hand, the hilt resting comfortably against the web of my thumb.

That was the first time I met a Shinigami as well. He had come flashing out of nowhere, ignoring me as his eyes moved over our surroundings before finally landing on me. He frowned when he caught sight of my sword, and the lack of uniform. He must have come to some conclusion because he stepped forward.

“It’s time for you to move on.” He lifted his sword and I raised mine, scowling at him. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “I am sending you to Soul Society.”

I didn’t understand then, but I did later. He tapped my head with the butt of his sword and then I was falling, my body light and at ease. Something was catching me, carrying me now, and all I saw were the black wings of a butterfly. When I woke up I was lying on the ground with my sword still at my side, gazing up at the blue sky. I had always thought that nothingness was what waited for me, and for a second I thought I was in hell. Rickety houses and dirty streets, the endless thirst and hunger consumed me as I wandered from village to village without purpose.

I fought for the first time in the Zaraki district. I didn’t start that one, three men came at me with the intention of stealing what meager things I had. I killed them all. And for a moment, the thirst lingering in the hollow part in my heart was satisfied. The blood dripping from my zanpakuto, covering my face and chest made me elated and for the first time since I arrived in Soul Society, I felt like I had found some meaning.

I don’t know how much time passed as I painted the ground red with blood, but the tickling in my chest began again. Not the thirst, but the hollowness in my chest that first lead me to my powers, I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there. I was fighting against 20 men, skilled fighters that wanted to bring me down. I was losing, not yet experienced in this kind of match but still loving it. That was when //he// first called out to me. My zanpakuto. His power touched mine, dragging me into my inner world.

That was when I met my zanpakuto for the second time, and the first time that I saw the other me. Where my hair was dark, his was white, his skin so pale it put bones to shame. Black eyes glittered with gold irises and a malicious smirk rested on his lips. I recognized that part of myself, even crueler than my own blood thirsty intentions, the part of myself that screamed to feast on the flesh of our enemies.

The image that my zanpakuto manifested itself as was shifty, like the colors of an opal. Just when I thought I could put a name to what I was seeing, it shifted into something else. Beautiful and grotesque, it was no wonder that the name of the zanpakuto itself escaped me. I fought myself, our zanpakutos scraping together and biting, neither of us willing to back down. Exhilarating.

When I finally came back to my body, that is to say, my spiritual body in Soul Society, the men I had been fighting were dead, ripped to pieces. Blood coated my entire body and the taste of iron lingered heavily in my mouth and coated my throat. I loved it. But hated that my consciousness wasn’t the one to do it, that I didn’t get to see it happen, feel their bodies break underneath my zanpakuto.

That was when I started ignoring my zanpakuto, and thus my other self. My inner hollow. It became easier as time passed and I won all of my fights so easily. Perhaps because it and I were so alike to begin with. I fooled myself into believing that if I didn’t acknowledge it, I wouldn’t have to experience it again.

Maybe I even actually forgot. Until him.

In Seireitei I sense him, my lieutenant on my shoulder, chirping happily about one thing or another as I sought him out. Tendrils of his power crept away from his control, brushing against my reiatsu even though he didn’t notice.

When I saw him, it wasn’t what I expected. Average height, limbs long and sinewy as he moved, a shock of orange hair that I was certain Yachiru would try and eat at one point. And his eyes. Before I got close enough to see their brown depths, I felt them- smoldering everywhere he looked with a heat that would melt the strongest metal. His face suited him, furrowed eyebrows and pointy nose, lips that seemed perfect for both snarling and pouting. Beautiful, beautiful, boy.

I was disappointed at the first blow, but he learned so quickly, even as we fought. I felt a hint of remorse as my zanpakuto pierced through his body, those burning eyes widening as blood dripped out of his mouth. I wanted to lean forward and savor him, but something held me back- the ashy taste of regret overpowering my senses.

And then I felt his reiatsu rise yet again, growing stronger. I turned around to see him standing, power licking the air around him as he held is zanpakuto in front of him. If I had thought his eyes were burning before, it was nothing compared to the icy-hotness radiating from his now.

In the back of my mind I heard my zanpakuto screaming at me, startling me enough to distract me from the fight, and thus allowing this orange-haired ryoka, this Kurosaki Ichigo, to cut me, to break my zanpakuto. My mind wandered as the blood leaked from my wounds, and I heard phantom laughter. I remembered now. What it was like to not have a name. I lifted my broken sword and stared at it. Perhaps I wasn’t allowing my hollow to take over by rejecting my sword, but my zanpakuto was suffering too.

“Will you tell me your name now?”

No answer. I didn’t really expect one. I fell into my mind again, vaguely aware that Yachiru was screaming my name.

I should count myself lucky that he didn’t take over my broken body as I went there. We didn’t fight, not that I was aware of. But I didn’t remember much, it was like I was hovering over some distant battle field, unable to see or describe it.

Kurosaki Ichigo. His name chewed at my soul, made me remember him in my dreams. He made me ache in a way I had forgotten. I was half asleep, thinking about the orange-haired teen with my hand resting on my belly. Thinking about those eyes, and those lips… My hand subconsciously pushed underneath the loose pants I wore and touched my penis, already half hard. Up, down. A simple motion that made the hollowness in my heart fill momentarily with pleasure as I thought of the blood that had trickled out of his mouth and his body so close to mine.

I wondered what it would be like to have him under me, my tongue in his mouth and hands on his hips. Would he scream and fight me as I filled him? Or would he whimper and lean into my touch?

My hand sped up and I let out a slight grunt as I came. I raised my hand to wipe it on my sheets when I noticed that it was white. Not white with come, but //white//.

I stared at it for a second, noticing that the white reached up both of my arms and part way across my chest, but it was receding rapidly. Perhaps my entire body had looked like that a minute ago, but now it was just my hands, and then nothing.

Although //he// might have been here a second ago, I remembered everything.

I fell asleep, my entire body relaxed. I was distantly aware of a soft inhalation and exhalation that mirrored mine, a chest rising and falling as mine rose and fell.

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I was getting hungrier. But it wasn’t my desire to eat that fueled my hunger, but rather //his// wants. I have been a separate part of him for so long, kept locked in this prison of the mind with only the wisps of Hitogoroshi to keep me company. I think Hitogoroshi is hurt that Kenpachi has ignored us for so long, but I’m more pissed that I’ve been kept from fighting for so long.

His own desire for death and destruction slacked my hunger. As long as he kept winning, kept spilling blood, I was satisfied. Then something changed. //He// changed something in us.

I saw him through our eyes. That bright orange hair that burned like the sun stayed branded in our mind. The smell of his blood consumed our senses, the sight of his brown eyes like a drug addiction.

We both wondered what it would feel like to him under our body, bending and writhing. I didn’t care if Ichigo wanted it too. He will be ours, we will possess him, dominate him, fuck him until he doesn’t know his own name.

Hitogoroshi wants it too. Wants to face Zangetsu and crush him. Wants to have Ichigo defeated beneath us.

It’s only a matter of time before our minds become one once again. And when that happens, there will be blood.

LINE

Hitogoroshi: murderer in Japanese, I think this would be the name of Kenpachi’s zanpakuto.


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