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In the far eastern reaches of the Hueco Mundo Wastelands, there is a grandiose, yet mysterious castle that dwarfs everything in sight. It is an impressive citadel that rises high into the sky, so much that it appears to touch the clouds above. Its central-most spire is so tall that it is clearly visible from the top of Seireitei’s Senzaikyu tower, right in the heart of the city. No one knows when the castle first appeared or who built it. To this day, it remains one of the Seven Great Enigmas of the World, a popular gossip topic amongst the residents of Rukongai despite its status as a symbol of evil in Seireitei.
By day, the castle is pitch-black and reflects no light at all; a towering abyss in the harsh gray wastelands. By night, hundreds of thousands of runes etched into every stone of the castle come to life, turning the structure into an awe-inspiring sight, blooming white and beautiful as the moon in the night that it is so named for. Every rampart, every tower, every bridge and every spire in the building glitters with millions of tiny lights, as if the castle is bathed in shimmering ribbons of diamond dust. Even Seireitei, for all its lovely sekkiseki stone and burnished orange shingle roofs, pales in comparison to the majestic nocturnal beauty of this mysterious castle.
This is Las Noches, the Palace of the Night, and home to some of the most powerful Hollows in Hueco Mundo.
Five hundred years ago, Hueco Mundo was ruled by King Barragan, a deadly Hollow with the power of decay in his hands. His reign was marked by daily bloodshed and unparalleled violence, the king seeking endless entertainment by sending his minions out to capture other Hollows and having them brought to the castle so that he could throw them into the dueling pit and watch them tear each other apart. The last one left standing would have the dubious honor of becoming part of King Barragan’s personal guard. Lesser Hollows feared for their lives and spent the long days and nights in hiding, hoping to never be found and subjected to the nightmarish sport of fighting for the right to survive. None dared to stand against such a mighty ruler, one who could disintegrate you with a wave of his bony hand.
That is, none except for a strange orange-haired Arrancar who happened to wander into their midst, along with his equally strange companions…
A scout reports that an unknown group of exceptionally powerful Hollows has entered the castle. Barragan reclines on his throne and waits for them to show themselves. Have they come to swear fealty to him or else to overthrow him and end his reign of blood? If it’s the former, he will gladly welcome more warriors into his vast army. All the better to slay Shinigami with. If it’s the latter, however, he will simply rot them to nothingness. Let them rue the day they dared to challenge him to anything.
Barragan picks up four reiatsu signatures rapidly approaching the throne room. The first is powerful and bright, akin to a charging bull with no restraints. The second is quiet and cold, the presence honed to a razor edge of precision. Though they are both strong in their own right, it is the other two that catches his attention the most.
One presence burns like a beacon, strong and brilliant, yet tempered, bearing down on the surroundings with gravitational force. Strangely enough, it seems to be split between two bodies, as if the crushing pressure produced by its presence alone is too much for a single body to bear. But it is the last presence that makes Barragan’s non-existent blood run cold, for it is strong, the embodiment of a falling star that sears the earth and tears it asunder, and like a lightning clap to the senses, it scorches him.
The King of Hueco Mundo barely scrapes his dignity back together in time to watch with bated breath as the enormous double doors at the other end break open, admitting five humanoid Hollows into the throne room. All have broken masks—something that even Barragan has never encountered before in all his years of existence. Perhaps that is the key to their power?
They come to a stop just a few steps in, and time seems to still as both sides study each other with varying degrees of intensity.
Barragan immediately seeks out the most dangerous of the lot, the one whose very presence feels like it will incinerate him if he gets too close. Clearly a male Hollow, he is tall and lean, with pale skin and long orange hair that glows in the light. It’s the eyes that get him though; glowing gold on black, they seem to stare straight through him, and for the first time in a long time, Barragan is afraid.
Unnerved, he switches his gaze to the Hollow’s companions. A scruffy, dark-haired man dressed in gray furs yawns into one hand, a tiny green-haired slip of a girl with an eyepatch skipping along by his side. The duo is the owner of the second-most powerful presence in the group. If he hadn’t sensed their reiatsu, he wouldn’t have thought that such a laidback-looking Hollow was capable of putting up a decent fight. A fourth Hollow, the one that projects a serious and silent air, is paper-white and stick-thin, with a head of spiky black hair that falls just below his chin, half of it obscured beneath a horned helmet that clings to the left side of his face. He certainly seems more dangerous than the scruffy man, but Barragan is confident that at his level, he could win against that one. And last but not least, there is a buxom female Hollow in their midst, one finger absently twirling a lock of luscious green hair. She has a horned animal skull mask sitting atop her head. Nothing about her casual stride and curvy body outwardly screams that she’s a threat, but you don’t fall in with a group like that and not have something nasty up your sleeve.
The orange-haired one breaks the tense silence, “Greetings, King Barragan. We have come to seize your throne and end the reign of terror that you have long impinged upon this land of ours.”
“Then I have nothing to say to you,” Barragan spits, standing from his seat. He throws a hand out, commanding his vast army to come forth and consume the intruders. They may be powerful, but what he lacks in quality he makes up for with quantity. They are but a group of five, what can they do against an army of thousands?
A lot, apparently.
The King of Hueco Mundo is quickly reminded that these Hollows are far more powerful than the average one when all but his top-most officers are swiftly and mercilessly decimated, whole swathes of Adjuchas falling prey to an impossibly fast barrage of Ceros fired from the scruffy man’s fingers, the green-eyed man a blur of white and black mowing through his enemies like a sickle through fields of wheat, the rest handily bulldozed by the ferocious woman whose lethal punches and kicks rip through multiple bodies with a single strike. All the while, the orange-haired one doesn’t lift a single finger to help them, his eerie gaze locked upon Barragan in an unblinking, soulless stare.
If Barragan was afraid before, he’s absolutely terrified now.
Even his best officers are dispatched as if they are little more than flies before a storm. Barragan shakes in rage where he stands. His entire army, gone. An army that he’s spent centuries building up is gone. Destroyed in a handful of minutes by Hollows so powerful that they should not be allowed to exist in his territory any longer.
Barragan doesn’t intend to pull any punches now. He will rot them to nothingness for this slight upon his pride as the king. He hefts his battle axe in one hand, ready to smite these intruders into oblivion.
He stills as the edge of a blade black as the night comes to rest against the edge of his neck, poised to lop his skull off at the slightest provocation. “Surrender,” the orange-haired one demands, coldly glaring down at him.
“You dare ask your king to kneel before you?” Barragan growls, glaring back. “Such insolence. You are naught but a whelp who needs to be taught to respect his betters!”
“I have no king, nor any such ‘betters’,” the Hollow declares. “Since you so staunchly refuse to desist, I am afraid that this is where we must part ways.”
And he proceeds to chop Barragan’s skeletal body to pieces so fast that the king doesn’t even have time to scream before he disintegrates into a pile of ash on the floor. His mighty battle axe drops with a loud thud, its keen edge splitting straight through the stone and wedging it partway into the floor. The Arrancar sheathes his blade and motions for his companions to move on. King Barragan is officially dead.
Now to find someone suitable to occupy the throne…
Both Starrk and Nelliel have asked in the past why Ichigo doesn’t intend to take the throne for himself. He is the most powerful Hollow of all, the most powerful Arrancar, the title of King of Hueco Mundo is well-suited to him.
“I have no interest in being king,” Ichigo says, each and every time they ask. And that is that.
As they traverse the castle, they eventually come upon the dueling pit. The latest bloodbath is winding to a close, two last opponents lunging viciously at each other with the intent to kill. Claws gouging, jaws clamping, and teeth shredding through flesh and bone. In the end, the panther Adjuchas comes out on top, howling his hard-earned victory to the open sky. After devouring his last adversary, he glows white and bright and transforms into a Vasto Lorde.
Ichigo approaches him, unfazed by the copious amounts of blood splattered on the newly-evolved Hollow. The panther eyes him suspiciously as he leaps out of the pit, landing on all fours in front of them.
“Congratulations on your triumph,” Ichigo tells him. “What do you desire most in this world?”
The panther bares his teeth in a grin and says, “To be the king.”
“Excellent, the position has just been vacated,” Ichigo responds. “It is yours if you want it.” The Hollow stares at him in shock.
“Wait, vacated? You beat Barragan?” he demands, looking both spooked and terribly excited.
Ichigo inclines his head minutely. “He is no more, yes.”
The panther throws his head back and laughs raucously, “You magnificent bastard, you! So that old fogey’s gone and kicked the bucket, eh? Tell me your name!”
“I am known as Ichigo. And you are?”
The Vasto Lorde looks him straight in the eyes, bloodlust and violence shining behind a wide grin that’s all teeth, and says, “The name’s Grimmjow. Remember it, Ichigo.”
The orange-haired Arrancar doesn’t rise to the bait, to the panther’s ire. He continues calmly, “Well, Grimmjow, do you desire the power to rule?”
Grimmjow scowls, “Didn’t I just say that I wanted to be the king?”
“Indeed. If it is strength that you covet, then tear your mask off with your own two hands and show me what you are capable of,” Ichigo commands. He waves his companions away, who move a good distance away to watch.
Grimmjow is exhausted from his earlier fight to the death, but elation and adrenaline still pump hot through his body. He looks between the five Arrancars, how all of them have broken masks and yet ooze power like that’s what they were born to be, and breaks off his own mask without another moment’s hesitation.
Five hundred years ago, King Barragan met his end at the hands of a strange Arrancar who did not wish to be the king himself. This Arrancar sought to make another King in his stead, and so cultivated the strength of a Hollow born from the mindless violence of King Barragan’s dueling pit. This Hollow, Grimmjow, did not wish to take the throne without first proving his strength, so he fought with the strange Arrancar for three days and three nights before he was at last defeated. The Arrancar did not desire the throne, thus Grimmjow became King Grimmjow, of the Hueco Mundo Wastelands. Two of the Arrancar’s companions stayed at Las Noches to help him, while the Arrancar himself and his remaining vagabond companions returned to their aimless travel across the world. From time to time, the Arrancar would drop by to test the strength of the new King, who has yet to defeat him to this day. Because of this, though King Grimmjow may refer to himself as the King of Hueco Mundo, behind closed doors he knows who is the true ruler of this land and considers himself the Emperor’s Regent instead.
And that is the story of how Ichigo became known as the Samayou Ten’nou; El Emperador Errante; The Wandering Emperor.
It doesn’t take long for the Captain-Commander to appear at the door, one hand clutching his gnarled wooden cane. Yoruichi excuses herself from the room, leaving Kisuke to make his report alone.
“Urahara Kisuke,” the elderly Shinigami rumbles. “I am glad to see that you are indeed alive and well. However, you are five weeks past your mission deadline. Explain yourself; I will accept no excuses. Begin from the moment you sent Sarugaki-fukutaichou away from the scene of battle.” No one in Seireitei could ever look at the Captain of the First Division and think of a frail old man. This man is power incarnate, tempered by hundreds of years spent as the leader of the Shinigami, and the steely look that he pins on Kisuke now is no less terrifying than the first time he had to face it.
“Yes, sir.” Kisuke sits on the medical bed in seiza, both hands firmly planted in his lap. “I made the decision to send Hiyori-san for help because the strength of the Vasto Lorde was vastly outside of the expected power parameters. It had several Adjuchas-class allies, one with a reiatsu bomb ability that killed half of my squad in an ambush using corpses from the Eleventh Division. They blocked off our escape route back to the barrier and forced us to retreat to the Forest of Menos—”
He talks about the battle that left his entire squad dead, falling unconscious, waking up and realizing that a Hollow had saved him. About spending seven days imprisoned in a cave, the death of another Shinigami in the forest, the fight with the Vasto Lorde, how he’d passed out after being bitten. About the mark that is now permanently part of his skin, as well as his soul. He keeps the verbal report as short and succinct as he can, knowing that he can write out all the details in an official report later.
Yamamoto stays silent throughout, only appearing faintly troubled when Kisuke explains about the Arrancar-class Hollows.
When Kisuke finishes, he bows his head and waits. He will not get off lightly, he knows, because not only are the deaths of his people on his shoulders, he is only alive due to the whim of a powerful Hollow, who has given him a mark of possession. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get thrown into Muken or executed.
“Urahara Kisuke.” The loud thud of the Captain Commander’s cane against the floor almost makes him flinch. “Do you swear, upon your position as the Captain of the Twelfth Division, that everything that you have said to me is completely true?”
“Yes, sir. I swear upon my honor as the Captain of the Twelfth Division, that everything I have reported is true to the best of my knowledge,” Kisuke confirms, straightening up.
Yamamoto strokes his beard. “I see. I want a full report on everything that happened on my desk within two days,” he demands. “You are suspended from active duty until further notice while Central 46 decides what to do with you. Sarugaki-fukutaichou will be acting as Interim Captain in the meantime.”
“Understood.” Kisuke bows again, his fingers tightening on the bed sheet beneath him.
The elderly Shinigami turns around to leave. He pauses at the door. “The Shinigami Research and Development Institute will remain open to you. Do as you will with it,” he says. Kisuke’s head whips up and he watches the Captain Commander leave in shock. He’s still allowed in his laboratory? Well, Yamamoto had only said he was suspended from active duty, meaning his duties as the Captain of the Twelfth Division. The Twelfth Division is now more research-based thanks to his leadership, but it’s still currently a separate unit from the SRDI.
Kisuke slumps on the bed in relief, half-sobbing, half-laughing into one hand.
He doesn’t have to leave.
Grimmjow senses him before he sees him. He leaps to his feet in anticipation, already craving the blood singing through his veins, adrenaline pumping double-time, the feeling of every muscle moving to his command whenever he fights the most powerful Hollow in existence. The hushed whispers echoing through the hallways of Las Noches confirm what he already knows: Ichigo has returned. He grins when the ornate double doors fly open, admitting one of the only Hollows capable of besting him in battle.
“About time, Emperor Ichigo," he mocks, dragging out the sound of the title. “I thought the Wandering Emperor would never set foot in here again!”
Ichigo doesn’t even spare him a glance as he looks around the chamber, presumably searching for someone. “Where is Nelliel?” he inquires monotonously.
The blue-haired Arrancar snarls and launches himself at the other Hollow. “Don’t ignore me, you bast—!” He abruptly freezes and loses his momentum mid-leap, causing him to slam face first into the marble pillar that Ichigo is (conveniently) standing beside. He slides to the ground, momentarily dazed, then jumps back up as if nothing happened. His nose twitches as he sniffs the air around Ichigo, and he frowns. “You smell like a Shinigami,” he accuses, narrowing his eyes at the orange-haired Arrancar.
“And?” Ichigo replies tonelessly.
Grimmjow leans closer to him, his frown deepening. Behind them, Ulquiorra comes through the doors, having also sensed Ichigo’s presence from his usual perch atop Las Noches’ many spires. “It has been quite some time, Lord Ichigo,” he says. “I trust you are well?”
“I have found someone interesting in my latest journey,” Ichigo responds just as Grimmjow’s eyes widen in shock, fury, and betrayal, and he shouts, “You didn’t.”
Everyone pauses and blinks at each other. Both Ichigo and Ulquiorra turn to the horrified king. “What?” they ask in unison.
“Ichigo, tell me you didn’t fucking Mark a Shinigami,” Grimmjow growls, his eyes flashing with molten fury.
Ulquiorra raises a brow a millimeter higher. “Is this true, Lord Ichigo?”
“Yes,” Ichigo confirms. “I intend to Court him.”
Grimmjow slams his fist into the pillar. “Why? Shinigami are our enemies!” he yells wildly. Ulquiorra looks as blank as ever, but the slightest downward turn of his lips means that he, too, is in disbelief about Ichigo’s choice of Courtship Partner. He may not say it in words, but he is clearly waiting for an explanation.
“This one is special. He is mine,” Ichigo says. He pulls his robe to the side, exposing the mark over his left pectoral. Grimmjow gapes at it, while Ulquiorra leans in for a closer look, a faint curiosity shining in otherwise dead green eyes.
“You really Marked one,” the blue-haired Arrancar repeats, incredulous. “What the actual fuck, Ichigo? Have you gone senile in the seventy years I haven’t seen you?”
“I do not like what you are implying, Grimmjow,” Ichigo says as he drops his robe back over his chest.
“I ain’t implying jackshit! You—” the King of Hueco Mundo jabs a finger at the orange-haired Arrancar’s chest, “—want to Court a Shinigami. They are literally our enemies! They kill us and we kill them, not take them as Courtship Partners! How do you know that this ‘oh so special one’ won’t betray you for his Shinigami buddies?”
“I saved his life. He owes me,” Ichigo explains, waving Grimmjow’s hand away from him. “And he is special. He is the only soul that I have come across that smells like home to me.”
“Smells like—what? Home? Hueco Mundo is your home, dumbass!” Grimmjow snaps, ready to tear his hair out in frustration. Never mind that he’s been the King of Hueco Mundo for five centuries already, dealing with Ichigo almost always makes him still feel like that newborn Arrancar who didn’t know what to do with all the power that he suddenly gained in a short amount of time.
“If I may cut in, Lord Ichigo,” Ulquiorra smoothly interrupts, “but Grimmjow does make a surprisingly good point: Shinigami are our natural enemies. We should not assume that your intended Courtship Partner will follow the same rules as we do.”
“Oh, fuck you, Ulquiorra! I can be smart when I want to!” Grimmjow gives him a rude gesture that no one knows where he learned, but it gets the point across anyway. The older Arrancar retaliates by slapping him over the head with one of his enormous wings, sending him crashing into the floor with a yowl.
“Maybe so,” Ichigo acknowledges. “But I have Marked him. He is now bound to me, as I am to him.”
Ulquiorra makes a noise, which could be taken as either an affirmative or a dismissal. “You intend to initiate the first phase now?” he asks.
Ichigo nods. “It is why I have come to seek Nelliel for advice,” he says.
Grimmjow vibrates with rage as he leaps up from the floor, and unleashes it the only way he knows how: with violence. “Fight me!” he howls, launching a punch at the orange-haired Arrancar.
Ichigo casually fends off his increasingly furious attacks while he continues his conversation with Ulquiorra. “Very well, I will fetch her for you,” the dark-haired Arrancar offers, turning to exit the throne room. “This time of night, she can usually be found in the Third Courtyard.”
“Make haste, I wish to start the Courting as soon as possible.” Ichigo catches one of Grimmjow’s fists and flips him over his shoulder and into the wall.
Ulquiorra leaves without another word, leaving just Grimmjow and Ichigo in the room. The panther Arrancar spits out a glob of blood to the side, grinning. It’s been far too long since he’s had a good fight with someone other than Ulquiorra or Nelliel. Starrk is even less prone to showing up than Ichigo, so who knows how long it’ll be till he gets a fight like this again. He intends to make the most of his time with Ichigo.
Of course, their impromptu little spar is disrupted not ten minutes later when Nelliel sails through the open doors and tackles Ichigo off his feet, squealing, “Ichigooooo~! It’s been sooo long!”
“Nelliel.” Ichigo pats her on top of the skull mask. “You are well?”
“Of course, Ichigo! No problems here!” she says cheerfully, sitting back. Then she tilts her head to the side, her nose twitching, smile devolving into a curious frown. She shoves her face into Ichigo’s chest, sniffing deeply. She looks back up at Ichigo, bug-eyed. “Ichigo, you Marked someone?!”
“Yes. I would like your input on what gifts will be the most appropriate,” Ichigo replies.
“Oi, Nel! Stop butting in to our fight!” Grimmjow barks, stalking over to them with every intention of hauling the female Arrancar off his opponent. Nelliel sticks her tongue out at him playfully and backflips off before Grimmjow can take a swipe at her.
“Congratulations, Ichigo~!” she hums, dropping onto the blue-haired Arrancar’s back and trying to pull him into a headlock. Grimmjow tries to smash her nose in with a headbutt, which she narrowly avoids by pulling on him so that he flies over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Oh, that wasn’t nice, Grimmjow!” she chirps, waving her finger in a ‘tsk tsk’ motion. She pushes Ichigo towards the doors. “Shall we, Ichigo?”
“Wait, I ain’t done with him yet!” Grimmjow bellows at their retreating backs. “Come back here!”
Nelliel tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Make me~!” she taunts.
“Traitors, the both of you! Traitors!” he screams, chasing after them.
“Oh, come on, you should be happy, Grimmjow! Ichigo finally found someone worthy to Court,” Nelliel says, pouting when she’s forced to let go of Ichigo in order to dodge Grimmjow’s incoming kick.
“Not when he’s trying to Court a Shinigami!”
“Eh? Wait, what? Ichigo!” Nelliel turns to demand an explanation from the Arrancar. "Why a Shinigami?"
"He is special," Ichigo repeats, a thin layer of annoyance offsetting his default monotone. "He is mine—mine to protect, mine to Mark, mine to Court as I please. I will hear no complaint about this.”
Nelliel makes an 'ohhhhh' sound like she understands something about his declaration that Grimmjow doesn't. "Ichigo, you like that Shinigami, don't you?" she says slyly, an unholy glint shining in her light mauve eyes.
The Wandering Emperor just looks at her, slightly uncertain. "Like? This has nothing to do with such a vague feeling. He is simply one whose company I enjoy.”
The green-haired Arrancar smiles at him indulgently. “Oh, Ichigo, that means you like him,” she sighs.
Grimmjow stomps over to them, stewing. “Cut the crap! Can’t you see the problem here?” he snarls, grabbing the front of Ichigo’s robe and hauling him close. “You’re a Hollow! Shinigami and Hollows don’t go together, fool! Those fuckers pander to the weak-willed pieces of shit that they call their government, and you want to Court one of them. Are you trying to make us look—”
“Grimmjow.”
The King of Hueco Mundo chokes as Ichigo slams him into the nearest wall, a single clawed hand curled around his neck in an iron grip. Ichigo’s eyes are bright gold with unrestrained rage, the crimson triangles on his pale cheeks standing out in stark relief against his skin. Nelliel doesn’t stop him, well aware that the other Arrancar has crossed a line and must therefore suffer the consequences.
“If you do not cease insulting my Courtship Partner, make no mistake, I will lay your head at my feet,” Ichigo warns, piercing Grimmjow with a smoldering glare. His other hand rests atop the black hilt of his zanpakutou, just in case his threat isn’t clear enough.
Oh, Grimmjow understands alright. He certainly doesn’t like it, but he’s not in the position to argue at the moment, so he slumps in Ichigo’s grip and bares his throat in submission. It absolutely grates at him to submit to anyone (he’s the King, damn it!). Between his pride and his life though, he’ll take the latter, even if it means showing his weakness. Can’t be the king if he’s dead, you know?
Ichigo takes his apology for what it is and lets him go. “Come, Nelliel,” he commands, stalking down the hallway, his ragged robe flaring out behind him as he walks despite the lack of wind. Nelliel follows after him, careful not to spare a glance at the blue-haired Arrancar sitting on the floor, glaring at his hands. Grimmjow was wrong to challenge Ichigo’s choice of Courtship Partner, and that was that. They are Hollows, they don’t need pity or sympathy.
Grimmjow will pick himself up and carry on, as always. Nothing more, nothing less.
There’s a dead Hollow on his doorstep.
Kisuke stares at it, then slides the door shut and counts to ten. Opens it again, and it’s still there. It’s small, about the size of a child aged seven or under. Shaped like a deer, with underdeveloped antlers. A ragged line cuts through its throat, but with no blood. Kisuke nudges it with the tip of his sandal to make sure it’s actually dead and not just playing pretend.
It doesn’t move, doesn’t twitch, doesn’t even breathe. Okay, definitely dead.
The blonde quickly looks both ways to make sure no one is watching, then brings it inside so he can dispose of it. He looks down at the cold corpse on the floor, at a loss for words.
How is he supposed to explain this?