Chapter Text
He was running, the heat blasting at his back. The air stank of the foul odours of burning, death, decay and destruction all mixed together; the smell of war. The rubble was uneven under foot, attempting to trip him. But he couldn't stop or he would die. A flash of blue light whizzed past his head missing by a mere hair. An explosion was heard in the distance and the massive shockwave vibrated through the ground sending rubble and debris flying and knocking him off his feet. He flew with the mess before slamming into a wall and promptly destroying it. He lay in the mess, unable to feel his lower body. Everything hurt; it was as though his nerves themselves were caught in an excruciating fire. He slowly pulled himself up so that his head poked up slightly through the rubble. What he saw almost made him fall back down again. The once proud city lay in ruins; scattered and burning. It had been his home, the place where he had lived, worked, played and loved. But it was gone; unsalvageable.
A burning fire ignited in his eyes. He was not going to surrender and die, that just was not how he did things. Many had fallen but he himself would stay strong and be victorious, no matter what it took to achieve the victory which seemed just out of reach.
He heard the loud marching feet far away as the enemy searched for survivors. It was only a matter of time before the ones pursuing him found him. He needed a plan and fast. His brain quickly ran through scenario after scenario in the space of 30 seconds, each idea getting rejected.
Crash! "Aarrgghh!"
He was pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of a woman screaming. The voice was familiar, though it had been a long time since he had heard it. Before he realised what he was doing he was up and running, numb to the pain shooting along his spine and sending pins and needles to his legs and feet. He reached the edge of another battlefield within the larger battlefield. What he saw made his blood cold.
On the ground against the wall a woman was slumped, semi-conscious with blood oozing from a large gash along her hairline. Her once beautiful and well kept blonde hair hung mattered and limp around her shoulders and face. She lifted her face slightly to lock eyes with him one last time. Her bright blue eyes were dulled by pain. Her colourless lips formed words that he couldn't quite make out before they closed again.
He was rooted to the spot just staring at one of the only friends he had and time seemed to move slowly.
A black haired head rose from the wreckage of a building, his eyes looking at the blonde on the ground, a sadistic smirk adorning his face. His right wrist was slightly extended in front of him holding casually an exquisite piece of wood before muttering two words.
"Avada Kedavra"
The area lit up in green light, illuminating the area in a sickly green light. The blonde dropped forward, unable to dodge, dead before she hit the ground.
He couldn't believe it. He had killed her. The one single word, so familiar on his tongue, ripped past his parched throat, his anguished cry disturbing the night air.
"MATSUMOTO!"
The black haired man lazily looked over before drawing his piece of wood again. But he had no chance to use it because the other man had drawn his sword and was rushing forward. Pure hatred and loathing shone in his eyes. Hatred for the man in front of him, hatred for the people who killed the people he cared about, hatred for the war, hatred for himself for feeling so insignificant and helpless, but most of all, hatred and loathing for the man who started it all – Sosuke Aizen.
With the hatred running hot in his blood he fought hard, constantly moving, landing blow after blow. He knew he was running while he was fighting, fighting so many people at once. They were everywhere, attacking from every direction, but he didn't notice because the one he wanted to fight was no longer there, the black hair long gone from his sight.
Slowly he moved towards an unknown location, his brain telling him that it was a safe place, a place where he could work out a plan of action. He backed up against large doors and all his instincts screamed at him to run in, that he had arrived at his destination. Following his head, he wrenched open the heavy doors with ease and then slammed them shut. Quickly he set about placing as many wards and protective spells and barriers around the doors he knew until he felt certain that they would hold, if only for a little while. He turned around and was surprised to find himself in the immense library, undisrupted by the fighting. He knew it should be impossible, but the place looked exactly the same as when he had last been here, before the war, 25 impossibly long years ago. He could almost imagine somebody sitting in one of the many comfy chairs around the place, reading a book or talking quietly with a friend. But he didn't have time for that now.
He walked forward unsure of what to do. He felt like he walked around aimlessly for what seemed like forever before he reached a bookshelf, one that he himself had visited many, many times before. One book called out to him, calling his name as though calling a long lost friend. He gently lifted the book out of its place and looked down at the well worn violet bindings. He knew this book, and as soon as he realised that, a plan started to form. He hastily sat down at a table and read. He read faster than he had in his whole life, finishing the book as quickly as he could. However, he didn't know how long he had been reading for, and he didn't know how much longer the doors would hold, so he started the preparations for what would be the most complicated spell he had ever attempted in his whole life.
Half an hour later the doors of the library were demolished, open for the world to enter. A black haired man entered the doorway as his troops rushed in to find the last surviving threat to the perfect world that was being created. He had eluded capture more times than thought possible for one man, but this time they would have him. He was cornered with nowhere left to run and then all their troubles would be fixed. The man stood silently waiting for his troops to return with the evasive man. Instead, however, all that came forward was a man of lowly rank, hesitantly walking forwards; a book clutched tightly with clenched fingers.
"G-General Potter, he has once again escaped capture. All we could find was this book on the ground. I'm sorry sir." The man handed the book over and General Potter looked at the small violet covered book. His blood began to boil as he read the title of the book:
'Advanced Magic Book 8: Time Travel'
He looked at the book a second longer before throwing the offending item with an enraged roar.
In another time, a young man stepped out of a bright tear in the very fabric of time and space itself to find himself in a dimly lit alley way, with crates and boxes piled high, long forgotten. He could make out just down the street a pub with the name 'The Leaky Cauldron'.
Burning pain encompassed his whole being as he slipped down the wall, tire and exhausted. Thoughts ran wildly in his foggy mind, but one thought was the most predominant, I'm the last one, he thought, I'm the last Shinigami, everyone else is dead. Everyone...
And with that last thought silent tears made muddy tracks down his pale face as he finally gave into the blissful darkness. He collapsed onto the ground behind the large boxes, his head of once white – now brown from dirt and mud – hair landed on the ground as Hitsugaya Toushirou fell into welcoming unconsciousness.