Work Text:
Fingers curled into ebony hair, and Kenpachi growled deep in his throat at the soft sobs against his bare shoulder. Her body was soft, broken and delicate, but he gripped her with a lover’s passion – unwilling to let her go.
“I don’t want-“
“Hush.”
The sobs died out to soft, ragged breathing. Kenpachi gentled his hold and pulled her head away from his shoulder to look into sapphire eyes, stark against her pale face.
“Will you remember for me?” She whispered, the blood smeared across her mouth and chin so dark that no light could reach it.
Kenpachi remained stoic, not a hint of emotion showing through as he replied: “Always.”
With a final sigh, she kissed his lips, smearing blood across them in a parody of a smile, before falling back, limp and lifeless in his arms.
The flurries of snow danced across the open square, glittering and pure as the bodies around them froze and turned to stone upon the earth.
Kenpachi held her until ice had formed on his lips, still reluctant to release his hold. He turned his face to the sky and sneered in anger and frustration, lips parting as he murmured into the great wide nothingness:
”… Every fucking time…”
He trudged through the snow, hunger eating his veins like acid. His massive sword dragged behind him, a tail and a trail of his path since the last village, so may miles ago. His chest was covered in chain mail and studded leather, his pants a collection of furred hides and layers of wool to keep away the ice.
Not that dead needed to worry about such things.
For lifetimes beyond the eternal sunset, he had ‘lived’ and fought… and died. Carnage and slaughter were his credo. Merciless death, his gift. A wandering Berserker that filled the books of legend to scare both adults and children alike.
“His face holds but a single scar across one eye, but his body is a tapestry of death. A long dark mane like a wolf and the cold eyes of a snake. He kills without pity and prefers the blood of children over any wine. Don’t even whisper his name, lest he visit in the night an cleave our very home in two!”
Such were the whispered conversations in the stone houses and straw hovels that the human vermin called ‘homes’.
The blizzard had come out of nowhere, battering his massive form with gale force winds – winds that would have flayed the skin from a lesser man. But then, he wasn’t really a man anymore. He was dead. Cold. Living, yet unalive.
A vampire.
Kenpachi allowed one of his razor-sharp fangs to sink into his bottom lip, greedily tonguing the welling blood that coated his mouth. A taste… a need.
Through the veil of white, his predators’ eyes spotted a glimmer of warm light in the distance.
“A town?” He grunted to himself, legs beginning to pump faster through the snow. A town meant shelter, and hopefully a few warm, beating hearts for him to feast upon until the storm died down.
He didn’t want to be stuck out here for much longer – a storm like this had caught him nearly four hundred years ago, and he had remained frozen solid to the permafrost until the spring. It was the most boring and mind destroying time of his life. He was certain that was the exact point his sanity had begun to drift, even beginning to see mirages’ of his long dead family, playing and dancing in the fresh powder.
But that was a memory for another time.
Entering the outskirts of the town, Kenpachi the Berserker trod lightly, avoiding the tell-tale crunch of snow as he neared a small stone hut filled with firelight. Raising his sword to the well-made door, he slashed down, shattering wood and creating a wide entrance. `
The humans inside scrambled like ants, with the largest male foolishly rushing forward to attack. Kenpachi grabbed him by the throat, lifting him into the air and up to his mouth. He bit down on the salty flesh of the mans neck, tearing it out and swallowing the steaming hot blood that poured forth.
He heard their thundering heartbeats even over the sounds of their screams as the rest of the family watched on with horror, desperately scrabbling for any way to escape – but unable to turn away. After gulping down the fresh blood, Kenpachi threw the man aside like a ragdoll and advanced on the remaining four humans, teeth bared in a beastly grin as he descended on his feast.
The sun rose slowly over the glittering blanket of snow, lighting up a town smothered in a blanket of white diamond dust. Only the single trail of dark, bloody, trodden snow from house to house disturbed the idyllic peace of the small village.
Nothing else moved. No windows were opened, no children’s voices playing could be heard.
The day sped quickly to night, signalling the first motions that could be seen from the shadows: A large, bloody hand gripping a door frame to hoist an even larger body into the darkened street.
Kenpachi stretched and yawned widely, picking up a handful after handful of snow to clean of his face, hands and armour to the best of his ability. He didn’t want to stink his prey away, after all. Glancing up, he decided to continue his heading east, towards the large stone manor perched precariously atop the cliffs in the distance.
Though he had gorged himself on the occupants of the village the previous night – revelling in their screams for mercy and howls of horror at his hunger – no help had come down from the supposed ‘leaders’ he assumed were in the manor. He had been looking forward to baiting them into a fight – getting their men-at-arms in his reach for a richer feast of warrior blood. But no-one had come.
With a frustrated huff, he shouldered his heavy sword and began the long trudge up the hillside to bring the fight to them.
“Ma’am, there is a … man? At the front gate.”
The servant, primly dressed in a crisp black suit bowed as he reported the strange occurrence to the lady of the house. The woman stood from her settee, pulling a light green shawl around her shoulders as she addressed the man.
“A man?” She hummed, already well aware that it was most likely the barbarian involved with the slaughter in the valley the previous night. She had heard every fateful cry from her viewing platform, anger humming in her veins as she watched her livestock massacred by a rogue wolf masquerading as a man. She had her reasons for not interfering – but never had she struggled more with her resolve than to stay put that night.
“Yes ma’am. He’s demanding we send him our ‘our best fighters’ or he will ‘cut his way inside until he finds them’. Rather uncouth.” The servant sniffed his opinion.
The woman hummed again in consideration and moved towards the door to her rooms.
“Well, let’s not keep him waiting, shall we?”
Kenpachi’ s breath didn’t steam in the cool night air – there was no heat in his undead body to escape. He had little patience and had decided to count to one hundred after his declaration at their gate, before following through with storming the manor alone.
He made it to thirty seven before he decided counting was stupid.
With a huge roar of anger that echoed off the stone parapet, he lifted his sword and brought it crashing down against the iron studded wooden gates. The wood creaked and shuddered but held. Kenpachi lifted his sword again.
CRUNCH!
The blade sliced cleanly through two panels – an unbelievable feat of strength that only he could pull off. He chuckled darkly and pulled his sword free, taking a step back to allow himself room to swing again.
“Would you mind… not?”
The voice that floated down from above his head made his freeze. He could swear his dead heart made a single, painful beat. With eyes full of hope, dread, pain and obsession, he raised his head to look at the stunning woman peering down at him from the stone parapet.
”… Yachiru…!” He whispered, his sword dropping to his side.
The woman above him frowned daintily and raised a distinguished eyebrow.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. My name is Unohana. Retsu Unohana – I am the Lady of the Manor, and I would appreciate it if you refrained from destroying my front door.”
Kenpachi allowed the sight of her to sate his hunger – sharper and more focussed than any blood thirst could ever be. But he had played this game before, and he knew the next steps he had to take… the path he had to follow.
“Why should I?” He called up, his voice deep and gravelly, the curl of his lip revealing one glinting fang. Even from here, he could hear her small gasp – recognition? Or perhaps something more? When she didn’t answer his question, he pushed on, stepping further away from the gate to see her better – and to be seen by her.
“I came here lookin’ for a fight! If you’re not gonna give me one, then why shouldn’t I take whatever spoils might lie inside these walls?”
Retsu swallowed at the suggestive tone in his voice, feeling a warmth beneath her skin that hadn’t been there for time beyond memory. She was undead for goodness’ sake! She could control her own libido! No matter how much her instincts were screaming at her that this man was known to her, was something to her.
His voice… she thought, unable to stop her fingers from trembling and reaching for a weapon. His face… that scar… who is he?
“I see no reason why I should simply let you plunder, solely because I refuse to rise to your challenge.” Retsu replied stiffly, trying to bolster her shaken composure with the anger she felt over her massacred herd of humans. “Especially since you have devastated my food supply in the village below.”
“Your food supply?” Kenpachi asked, feigning obliviousness, and failing with a slowly creeping grin. “Why, I had no idea. Who are ya gonna eat now?”
The not-so subtle gleam in his eye made Retsu swallow again, her own hunger sharpening. However, she couldn’t let this arrogant, feral beast of a fellow vampire get to her – at least, not in front of her human house and staff.
“I’ll pray you to keep a civil tongue in your head, berserker, lest it be bitten off.” Her words were a cold threat, but Kenpachi’s eyes gleamed and he licked his lips with that very tongue, wanting nothing more than to feel her teeth and fangs on him. Retsu turned from the parapet while he was distracted and spoke quickly with her servants and her master of the guard.
“I will go to the gate and speak with him,” she held up a hand to silence their immediate protests, “my instincts tell me he won’t hurt me – and if we do nothing, he will break the gate and enter with bloodlust and war on his mind. We are strong, yes – but you are not immortal warriors like him. He will break our ranks and slaughter us if a parley cannot be reached.” She didn’t need to add that amongst them all, she was the strongest, immortal and the most gifted swordsperson – if anyone could protect them all, she could.
A few moments later, Kenpachi grunted in surprise when the gates creaked open, and his eyes widened in pleasure when Retsu stepped out into the snow, a delicate silver sword tied to her waist. He lowered his own blade, and pierced the snow with it, leaving himself unarmed as he advanced on her.
Retsu paused and held out a small hand to stop him. “That’s far enough.” Her voice was quiet and firm, but Kenpachi could detect the slight tremble.
“Do you remember me?” He aske quietly, a rumble across the snow that none but she would hear.
Her eyes narrowed and memories flickered like shards of glass behind them.
“Why would I remember a man – a vampire - I’ve never met?”
There was as silence between them, and Kenpachi sighed heftily, walking forward again, this time holding out one arm and stripping it of its coverings.
“Here,” he gruffed, coming closer, “bite this – then everything-“
“Come no closer!” Retsu’s voice sounded angry and hungry, she gripped the hilt of the sword at her hip. Kenpachi’s brows pulled together at her expression, and at the creak of bowstrings being pulled taught from behind her, aimed for his heart. He shook his head and stilled, reaching out his one bare arm and wrist towards her.
“You need to taste this… to taste me. Once you do, you’ll hate the amount of time we’ve already wasted. You’ll remember me. Remember yourself.” He gritted his teeth impatiently and hissed out, “Please, Yachiru.”
Time stilled as gentle, beautiful snowflakes began to drift down around them, a glittering tapestry that closed out the world.
“And what am I supposed to remember, other that who you are?” She asked softly, fingers releasing the hilt of her sword. “A name I don’t own?”
He growled, ignoring the danger and using his uncanny speed, he leapt at her.
Retsu gasped, and tried to more away, but his arms wrapped around her, holding her against firm, broad chest tightly as he leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You’d remember us, for one thing.”
Before she could wrap her head around those words, the shouts of archers and soldiers rang in her ears, urging her to fight, to run – but Kenpachi was too quick. In a surreal moment of clarity, when the cacophony around them seemed to swell, he pulled her head away, tilted her chin up with a crooked finger and swooped down to capture her lips in a fierce kiss.
Retsu moaned into the kiss unconsciously, her fingers clenching and unclenching where they were trapped against him. Her mind roiled at the pleasure, the strange familiarity and the unbridled yearning that welled from deep within her at this barbarian’s forceful embrace. As he continued to explore her mouth in front of her gobsmacked guards, she tasted him, and wanted more.
Kenpachi jerked when razor sharp fangs pierced his lower lip, and a familiar tongue began to lap up the sweet blood that flowed. She bit me! He thought, elated, and groaned deep in his throat, adjusting his hold to allow her to thhow her arms around his neck in response.
At that, the servants and guards stilled their protests and chest beating antics, ogling the elegant woman and the armoured berserker kissing passionately in the freshly fallen snow.
She tastes of salted chestnuts… Her scent is intoxicating… As always… Kenpachi thought, devouring her mouth in response to her equally passionate kiss. The blood flowed from his mouth to hers, and with it, the memories and the truth…
They were known as the First Family – a noble husband and wife so brutal in the slaughter of their enemies that rumours swirled around them, that they must be surviving on the blood of their victims.
Proud and arrogant, they were not as secure as they thought in their power, and when a vengeful assassin entered their castle and slit the throat of their child, their rage was beyond human. They killed so many that night that it was said the Devil himself blessed them with the immortality to forever hunt their enemies, and sup on their blood.
However, gifts from darkness are not as they appear – and when they awoke in horror the next morning, they understood fully. For their hubris, their sins, and their insatiable bloodlust, they had been cursed.
Night walkers – Vampires. Forever killing to survive, and never again to be blessed with a child of their own.
They took solace in the fact that they still had one another, holding tight to the love and passion that they cared about more than life or death itself.
But even that, the Devil would take from them.
Not even a year later, convinced that they were forever beyond the reach of death, the couple were cornered, and out of options. As they prepared to say their farewells to one another, the woman pushed him away and sacrificed herself to allow him to live.
Seeing his wife fall, so soon after his child, the man went on a rampage the likes of which had never been seen – decimating the army that had been sent against them and earning him the title of ‘Berserker’.
Travelling alone for years, he yearned for death, but couldn’t waste his wife’s final gift, deciding to take what wanted, when he wanted, and to allow himself to plunder and pillage and kill exactly as he felt. He became the monster he was cursed as.
And it was there, in a small human village he found her. His Yachiru Unohana.
When he kissed her, and his blood filled her mouth that night, her memories and truth had come flooding forward:
The Devils final Curse.
For their love was too strong, that the Devil yearned to tear it apart, and fated her to die and reincarnate, over and over again – a natural born vampire hiding in world of humans. She would only remember her true self once she had tasted her love and seen their shared past in his blood.
He had performed this ritual four previous times.
And each time, within days… she was doomed to die yet again.
They broke apart finally, gasping, crying, their love so strong that the snowfall itself seemed to pause for their first words.
His face softened, “My Yachiru.”
“Kenpachi!“ She sobbed, smiling so beautifully for him.
His gentle, knowing smile broke her heart – for within that kiss, the countdown to their parting had already begun.