Chapter Text
Crisp, tainted air rushed into his lungs as he gulped down the atmosphere, as though he had never taken a breath prior to this moment. This same air pricked at his skin, provoking his hairs in such a manner that caused them to stand on end. It also served another purpose; a warning. A warning which his senses had yet to recognise, still lagged by confusion. He noticed the cold next, it was seemingly seeping into his pores, chilling the very marrow of his bones... which appeared to be broken? How many? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he really didn't want to move. However, he did notice how rather odd what he presumed to be the ground felt. He was sprawled across an incredibly lubricated surface, as though it had been smothered with some sort of slick liquid. That was when the stench hit him, he recognised it all too well.
Blood.
Exhaustion prevailed no more as he snapped his eyes wide open only to freeze, staring at the scene which lay before him. The amount of red that he faced was mortifying, setting off an immeasurable amount of alarms in his brain, every instinct urging him to move, to run far, far away. But he couldn't muster the power to comply, his body and brain were practically disconnected. Paralysis dominated him.
There was more to the room than blood, although it seemed to almost coat the entirety of it. He appeared to be in some sort of warehouse, the walls lined with many shelves - their contents he didn't bother to note; crate lifting machinery donning the label “CAT” (a moderately common brand) was scattered around, disused and the place was incredibly spacious, which made the concerning amount of crimson even graver. Everything ticked the criteria for a standard warehouse, aside from the results of a possible earlier discord. Shock was evidently overcoming him, being able to analyse his surroundings was not something he would consider normal under the circumstances. However, he revelled in it, allowing himself to continue his observations while ignoring the pressing matter of his immobility. He turned his attention to himself, taking in the damage and found the strength to will his body to at least prop itself against the wall, legs simply dragging haplessly as he did so. He took an itinerary of sorts -
- Both legs broken in numerous places
- One arm fractured
- Bruised lung
- Dehydrated
- Severe blood loss
- Lower spinal cord injury
- Minor inflictions upon face
- Six broken ribs
And that was all he could tell from a quick and limited examination, he didn't grow up in a clinic without picking up at least the bare minimum in terms of health. Final consnsus? Whatever happened to him had been disastrous, and that was without taking the scenery into account. But what exactly had happened? He didn't have the time to look through his memories.
Tap, tap, tap...
The tapping of formally dressed footwear strolling across the warehouse warranted his attention. But it wasn't a stroll, no. There was purpose. Disguised by a casual facade. A malicious purpose. Headed straight for him. A beeline towards injured prey. A calm and collected predator. A heinous intent. No.
This was the muted stride of Aizen.