Chapter 42: Moments in Time

Ichigo stood in the sky, feeling somewhat lost. He had left Yasaka with a flair of confidence and sped off into the night, hoping to find her ex-lover and have some choice words with him - words that may or may not be accentuated by his fists. But there was one glaring issue with Ichigo’s bout of possessive and protective (though mainly the former) desires:
he had no damn clue where Akihiko was.

The worst part? He couldn’t even sense the bastard. Whatever mystical method the Kitsune was using, it kept him completely obscured from Ichigo’s perception.

Ichigo scratched his chin absently. It would be incredibly embarrassing to return without doing anything, especially after the confident way he’d strode off.

Maybe I should summon Saviġuk?

Her ability to see through all things would be damn useful for tracking down Akihiko. Her supernatural sense of smell wouldn’t hurt either. Still, the idea of summoning one of his Pieces for something as petty as confronting what amounted to his wife’s former one-night stand chafed at him.

And yes, Ichigo was self-aware enough to admit he was being petty.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that there was more to Akihiko’s sudden reappearance in Kyoto than altruistic concern for Yasaka and Kunou. And Ichigo had learned long ago to trust his instincts. A lesson quite literally beaten into him by the sociopathic sword in his soul.

As if summoned by thought alone, Ichigo felt a vibration from within as Zangetsu briefly stirred awake.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, eyes scanning the city below in futile effort. “Just thinking to myself. Go back to sleep.”

There was another brief rumble. Ichigo had a strong suspicion he’d just been told off in spectacularly rude fashion.

Shaking his head, Ichigo quietly descended into the city.

As his feet touched the cobble stone, none of the Yōkai paid him any attention, it wasn’t exactly uncommon in the supernatural world for people to drop out of the sky, after all. He walked the streets of Kyoto in silence, hands stuffed in his pockets, jacket snugly hugging his broad shoulders. As ever, the Yōkai district was alive with color and noise, a far cry from the still skies he’d just descended from. The air was thick with the richness of Japanese cuisine: soy and charcoal and something sweet beneath it all. Like caramelized plum, he thought.

Traditional buildings, painted in deep reds and aged browns, lined both sides of the narrow road. The warm glow of paper lanterns, gold and amber and flickering orange, cast soft dapples of light across the bricks and wooden façades. Watery reflections trembled faintly in open barrels and gutters. And all of it was a stark contrast to the sky above, a black and blue tapestry, littered with wispy clouds and the lone waxing crescent moon.

Ichigo’s boots clicked softly against the stone path as he moved, eyes scanning each face, each alley, each shadow for any sign of Akihiko. And again, Ichigo frowned as frustrations mounted once more. Not only could he not sense the Kitsune, he didn’t even know what to sense for. All he saw were numerous other Yōkai going about their daily lives.

A cat-masked drummer in a corner shrine. A smiling merchant under lacquered banners. A drunkard, with a flailing neck longer than his body, stumbling out of a bathhouse. His crimson eyes could catch no sight of the Kitsune. And every brush of unfamiliar chakra throughout the city proved a futile answer.

And then Ichigo had an idea. What if, instead of searching for Akihiko and the signature of his soul, he looked for its absence. A hole in the spread of his senses would stand out glaringly. But even then, as he cast his senses further, over a hundred miles from the city, as every ant under every rock was made known to him, he still had no clue as to where to go.  

Briefly distracted, Ichigo noted a tanuki vendor laughing uproariously as he stirred a cauldron of spicy miso broth, his breath steaming in the air as he shouted prices to a growing crowd. Somewhere to Ichigo’s left, a string of Yōkai children squealed with delight as they chased each other through the crowd, tails and heads bobbing to the rhythm of festival drums echoing faintly from farther up the street.

He passed a stand selling grilled mochi on skewers, the smell nearly derailing him. The sweet and savory scent of the fresh mochi was tantalizing. But…

Right. I told Yasaka I’d join her and Kunou for dinner.  

“Skewers! Get yer skewers here! Sweet or spicy, rabbit or roast!” From the stall beside the mochi vendor, a red-nosed tengu barked, waving him over. Ichigo barely spared him a glance.

His pace hastened as he continued to walk away.

The street twisted again, curving slightly uphill. Still nothing. No smug fox sitting atop a roof. No Akihiko leaning against a post, arms crossed, wearing an insufferable grin. Ichigo clicked his tongue.

He was wasting time.

Still… the suspicion from earlier hadn’t faded.

There was something off about all of this. While he did acknowledge his personal discomfort with Yasaka’s ex-lover, there was that nagging sensation that he couldn’t shake. That there was something around the corner. Well, not the literal corner. Rather, an opportunity that he couldn’t afford to miss.

But time was running thin. He had maybe an hour before he really needed to head back.

And suddenly, Ichigo stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened as an epiphany dawned on him.

Time!

He had spent the last several days training with Tiamat, learning to dip into the realm of Time and allow his mind to acclimate to non-linear reality. It was a… harrowing experience. Worse, his success had been infuriatingly limited.

-----

Several Days Ago

Ichigo felt as if his eyes were on fire; a remarkable sensation, considering he was immune to flame. Yet the strain of exerting his existence into the realm of Time was near unbearable. He could barely grasp the churning facets of reality, where seconds bled into hours, into days, into eons. Past and future warped together in a single, cosmic ooze.

Was this how Tiamat saw the world? The ever-mutating, endlessly shifting threads of Time?

And yet, it was the thought of her that gave his Ego something to anchor onto in the Timelessness. Slowly, almost painfully, he tried to reconstruct her image in his mind's eye. From a memory? Or was it a vision of what was to come?

The light bent, gold rippled like water in the dark behind her. Snow drifted down, though there was no sky to hold any cloud. And… wait. Was she wearing a wedding dress? White lingerie?

Was he going to-? Were they-?

A surge of cold water pooled around him, and if he had lungs in this place without a where or when, he swore he would have flailed drowning. Oh, maybe he was drowning and didn’t even know it? Blue eyes glowed in the dark, and the vision became more real. Almost as if Tiamat were really there before him. He could almost touch her. He could almost taste –

Ow!

Did the future Tiamat just flick his forehead?

His vision gave a contemptuous snort. “Sloppy. You must focus, beloved.”

He blinked, confused, until he realized she wasn’t a memory or a premonition. She had entered the realm of Time with him.

“Time is not so easily divined,” she said sternly. “Forwards and backwards and in on its side. All is mercurial, even the past which you believe to be concrete. Time is always moving.”

Her voice changed, and he saw drops of water drip from sapphires and fall onto a dark ocean.

“You must learn to let go of the Self and see the whole of Reality. And when you've witnessed the river become a tree, assert yourself against the warp and weft threatening to drown you, only then you shall Decree.”

She reached out and with a lone, imperious finger, she shoved him down. And Ichigo crashed into the currents of Time. As he looked up sinking, he saw Tiamat looking back at him.

He saw her.

He saw her.  

𒀭𒋾𒀀𒆳

She became a dragon, the Chaos Karma who had sailed the skies of numerous worlds on wings of dread and thunder. Her cerulean scales glistening like diamonds over stars and under the Sun, her scaled pinions cutting through winds and currents.

And she became the primeval sea.

An endless storm defiantly throwing towering waves into the gaping and churning clouds above. And their answer was the countless arcs of white and blue tearing through the black storm and hurtling into the sea below. All of it screaming of a nascent world where and of things yet to be.

And she became the life-giving ocean.

The font from which sapience and sentience stemmed from. Clear and ancient depths on pristine white sands, building kingdoms of coral and grand forests of kelp. And innumerable colors bleeding into a hazy dye of every creature beneath the sea. And shells became legs, as man and beast walked the shores and out of her embrace.

And she became Tiamat.

But not his Tiamat. The same face, the same mane of white hair and the ocean shimmering in her eyes… but without the weight. Without the anger and the ancient pain. She looked so young. She laughed and smiled, stealing his breath with the sheer infectious joy in her expression. He had never seen her with such a warm and honest smile. And in that smile, he saw his mother. He heard her voice and felt her embrace. And he saw his father next to Tiamat, and in her arms, she held a newborn babe with a shock of orange hair.

Then came thunder.

An avaricious cry, and all of it -all of it- was ripped apart. Tiamat screamed, cradling him in her arms. Her eyes bled, and her voice cleaved two worlds. And then she was gone, devoured by a Red Star who stared at him staring back.

And then, he saw himself.

He saw Satan.

Blackened horns emblazoned with the fiery Crown of Wrath, and in his chest was the gaping hole where Hell burned dark. And in clawed hands, Satan held a golden skull, shifting faces and bringing with it the weight of innumerable futures. And as he peered into the empty sockets, eight pupils peered back.

We Are Waiting.

Ichigo let out a cold gasp as he shoved himself up to his feet, his chest heaving as he looked about wildly.

“Fuck.”

He was back in his bedroom.

Running a hand through his hair, he collapsed down onto his bed. Deep breaths of the Underworld air coiled about in his lungs as he shut his eyes tight and strained to make sense of the chaotic images he had seen.

There was a shift of weight next to him, and slowly Ichigo turned his neck and took in his familiar looking at him expectantly. She wasn’t wearing the white negligee. Instead, the familiar black silk robes she had become fond of wrapped around her lithe frame.

Slowly, her head tilted. “Well?”

Ichigo paused and considered. “That fucking sucked.”

Her lips twitched in amusement. “It will take time for you to accustom yourself to existing outside of causality.”

Ichigo scowled. “I need time to get used to being without time?”

There was laughter in her eyes as she leaned over and brushed her shoulder against his. “Yes.”

“I usually get the hang of these things within a few days. Why is this taking so long?”

Tiamat shook her head, and through their bond he could easily sense fondness and exasperation rising in equal measure. “Beloved, you think asserting your existence against the Weave of Time is the same as mastering a sword or a spell? That in a matter of days you’ve learned to dip into the Fourth World at will is an outstanding feat. Truly, you are a frightening child.”

His scowl deepened. “I’m not a child.”

“But you are frightening?”

“And don’t you forget it,” he huffed as he laid back down with exaggerated force. She moved across the bed and hovered over him, the tips of her hair tickling his chin and cheek.

After a moment of staring into her amused eyes, he softly said, “I saw you. All of you.”

She let out a thoughtful hum, but her lips curved delighted. “In the Timelessness, there is no true shape or form. You do not recognize with eyes, but with concepts and ideas and possibilities.”

It made sense, he thought. The realm of Time wasn’t bound to the limitations of physical space, after all. There was nothing definite to define oneself within the Fourth World, save for what one asserted about themselves.

Nevertheless…

“I saw you… as my mom, I think.”

The delight in her eyes softened, and her amusement quickly became tender. Tiamat reached down and gently brushed her fingers through his hair. Ichigo reveled in the cool pads of her fingers against his skull. “Oh, beloved. You saw Motherhood itself. How could you not see you own mother after she was so cruelly taken from you?”

“I saw the very concept of Motherhood?”

“What you saw was an aspect, not the totality. I am but one facet in the ever-shifting jewel of Motherhood in Creation. A mother’s love no knows no bounds, and so it comes in every color and every shape.”

Ichigo’s eyes softened considerably as he lightly wrapped an arm around her waist. “I really am damn lucky to have you.”

She let out a low laugh and leaned down, giving him a chaste kiss across the lips.

Running a thumb across her side, Ichigo briefly let his thoughts wander. But then, a sudden question came to his mind. “Is that what it’s like for you all the time?”

“Nay.” She shook her head gently. “When I was divested of my primordial flesh, a part of me was lost that I can never regain. I am of something in between. I can step into the Fourth World and maneuver its currents with greater ease. But I no longer sit in, nor can I compel it.”

He nodded at her words. That made sense. When the Illusion of Dreams refashioned Tiamat into a Dragon, she would have lost the bulk of her Primordial powers. Obviously, she was still very much connected to her domains, but her conceptual authority over them was greatly diminished.

“But beloved,” and Ichigo’s eyes jumped back to hers, and it was with some trepidation that he recognized the mischief in her face. “I recall myself wearing white and lace in your possible future. Were you manifesting our wedding night? Do you wish to make me your bride?”

“Hrk!” Ichigo choked. “W-well, I-I mean-”

Fuck.

Double fuck.

What was he supposed to say? Yes, he a thousand percent would not mind marrying Tiamat. He would be beyond happy if she would actually marry him, solidifying to the world that he wasn’t just another one of her many flings across the millennia. Not that he himself held any such insecurities. He knew her mind all too well. He knew for sure where he stood in her heart. But, if he asked her now, would she take it as him only asking because she asked him about it first? She’d probably be insulted.

Worse, if he said no, how angry would she be? How hurt would she be? Didn’t Tiamat also deserve to be called his wife? While he had been married off to Yasaka in an unceremonious fashion, after a full year of dating and getting to know each other, he had officially asked her for her hand. Cementing their marriage as their choice, not the impish whims of an ego-tripping ancient entity.

Not for first time did Ichigo acknowledge the unfairness inflicted upon the two astounding women his ‘fairy tale’, as Grayfia liked to call it.

The back of his neck heating with mortification, Ichigo fumbled out, “Tiamat, I woul-”

She quickly shushed him by placing a finger over his lips, and her smile curved roguishly. And yet, there was a gentle wave in her eyes as she looked down at him.  “Beloved, I jest. I know your heart better than any other, better than yourself. I do not need rings and ceremonies to know you love me. And that I love you. We are already bound together in ways no mortal ceremony could equal.”

The sheer fervor she spoke the last few words with forced Ichigo to blush. And also filled him with a wonderous sense of joy that such a phenomenal woman would so readily declare her love for him.

But then Tiamat’s eyes collapsed into serpentine slits and a dangerous purr rang from her throat.

“But your line of thinking was not wrong. If ever you decide to make me your bride, do not do so out of guilt or some other inane rationale. Do so because that is your lone desire. Otherwise, I shall not hesitate to throw you from the moon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled weakly.

“Good. Do you wish to continue your training?”

“Yes!” he proclaimed, eager to move onto another subject. Hopefully, his delving into Time would produce less provocative visions.

And yet… Ichigo’s mind went back to that one vision of Tiamat, where she held an orange haired baby with such adulation and bliss. He had never seen her smile like with such happiness before.

If he were to-?

If they had-?

Would he see his Tiamat with that smile?

-----

Ichigo recalled his training with Tiamat and closed his eyes, brows furrowed in deep concentration. And ever so slowly, the world shifted.

The murmur of Kyoto’s streets faded, replaced by a silence so deep it rang in his ears. Gradually, moment by moment, he slipped into the realm of Time, asserting his own existence against every moment that was and will be. And he became aware. Painfully aware. Of atoms trembling in their endless dance, of each one bound to infinite outcomes: places they could be, should be, must never be. He saw a million shadows, each rippling with the possibility of every step he had taken and might take.

Mirrors onto mirrors, bending inward, fracturing outward. Cause unmoored from effect. And through that chaos, like a golden thread, he felt the pull of purpose.

His eyes snapped open, though unknown to him, there was a splash of gold in Satan’s crimson eyes. But as he slipped back into the stream of linear reality and the power left him, his eyes became a stern brown once more.

Ichigo frowned heavily, he was still unable to process and understand all the things that he had seen. It was all a jumbled mess in his mind but, at the very least, the once anguished burn behind his eyes was now reduced to a dull ache. Still, he felt the need to blink the sting away.

But a moment later, he felt a surge of triumph. He might not know where Akihiko was exactly, he could now feel where he had to go for his desired meeting to take place.

His legs moved with determination, each step quick but assured. He could have teleported there, but that lingering sense of precognition told him he had to walk there physically. Allow himself to be seen.

Each stride carried Ichigo deeper into Kyoto’s heart, past stalls billowing steam and the beckoning calls of Yōkai vendors. Lanternlight cast his shadow in flickers across lacquered wood and stone, crimson and amber mingling with the blue hush of night. With every footfall, the strange tingling in his chest grew; an assurance that he was on the right path, that he was drawing closer.

It wasn’t a certainty born of logic. It pulsed deeper than thought, a rhythm in his bones. The sense of proximity swelled, warm and confident, threading a rare smile across his face. He hadn’t mastered the Fourth World, but this? This was proof he was learning to walk it. He would find Akihiko. He would confront him. And the devil within him did a little dance at the thought of protecting what was his.

He rounded a final corner, the lanterns dimmer here, the air thicker with perfume and sweet incense. The golden thread of fate tugged one last time - and Ichigo halted. His feelings of pride curdled and his expression crashed.

He stared up at the painted sign hanging from ornate posts. Crimson curtains fluttered at the entry, and soft music echoed beyond paper walls.

A brothel.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“…You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He was dead. He was so dead.

If ever Yasaka or Tiamat learned he visited a brothel, that he had willingly stepped into a den of prostitutes… his blood ran cold. They would beat his Demon ass into the ground and tear him to pieces.

And yet, that damnable supernatural urging kept insisting that he step inside. A small part of him desperately hoped he had screwed up when he had tried to divine Time. But deep inside, he knew it was a vain hope. He was near certain an encounter with Akihiko was bound to happen within the brothel.

At the gilded entranceway, a tall and beautiful Oni stood, her grey hair wrapped into elegant knots around her red horns, and a kimono in blue hues was draped loosely around her buxom figure. Her shoulders were laid bare, revealing smooth and dark purple skin, and a very generous view of her cleavage.

He gulped.

The Oni courtesan met his gaze, and her eyes widened in recognition. Ichigo cursed inwardly as he stepped forward, doing his best to keep his face as neutral as possible.

“Ichigo-dono?” she put a hand to her cheek in surprise, as she questioned.

Of course she would recognize me! Ichigo wailed internally.

As her initial shock wore down, the Oni gave a sly smile as she looked him up and down. “My, I didn’t expect someone of your esteemed station to visit our humble establishment.”

He rubbed the back of his head hesitatingly as discomfort laced through his chest. But that same mystical tingling persisted. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” he said a little stiffly.

She smiled wider. “No, I’ve not had the pleasure.” And he did not like the way she twisted the word pleasure. Not one bit. “But I had the honor of seeing you and Yasaka-hime from afar at the New Year’s festivities.”

A minor frown came over his lips. While Yasaka did hold a New Year’s Feast annually, the guest list was almost exclusive Japanese nobility and foreign dignitaries. How would a courtesan have seen him with Yasaka?

As if sensing his thoughts, she offered a polite smile and said, “I accompanied Byakuren-dono’s son to the celebrations.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. The Inu Clan-Head was a rather flirtatious woman, and given the rumors of her salacious lifestyle, it wasn’t too much of a surprise to hear that her son was being accompanied by courtesans. He wondered if Yasaka was aware there were prostitutes coming in and out of her palace?

“But Ichigo-dono,” his attention snapped back to the Oni woman whose smile took on an uncertain edge, “I must admit, your honored self has put this lowly maid in a difficult position. So openly you have come to us. I fear Yasaka-hime will burn our humble establishment down in retribution.”

That… was not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

“I’m strictly here on business. I’m meeting someone. My wife knows.”

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Yasaka did know he had gone out to meet someone. She just wasn’t aware of the particulars of where the meeting was. In Ichigo’s defense, neither did he. How was he supposed to know Fate was going to push him towards a brothel of all places?

The courtesan let out a sigh of relief. “Ah, in that case, shall I accompany you to our finest room?”

“If you would be so kind,” he said with a polite nod.

Ichigo followed the Oni matron through the perfumed entryway, his footsteps muffled against lacquered floors polished to the point of gleaming. The brothel was far more refined than he expected, less a den of depravity and more an inviting and charming place to recline. Paper lanterns swayed softly in the breeze, casting warm light on painted screens and silk tapestries. The air was thick with incense and something floral, perhaps cherry blossom?

But, as he moved past open rooms and private alcoves, Ichigo felt eyes on him. Beautiful eyes. Dozens of them.

Women of supernatural beauty lounged and glided through the halls: fox-eared enchantresses in translucent silks, willowy Yuki-onna with icy blue lips, and fur-covered lupine women draped in crimson. They whispered behind fans, smiled knowingly, or gave him long, appreciative glances. One of them even winked. Ichigo had the good sense to keep his gaze forward and his expression neutral, though a slight heat touched the tips of his ears.

He resolved to erase this memory from his mind when he left this place. If Tiamat ever found it…

He shuddered.

The matron led him up a wide set of stairs, each step creaking faintly beneath them. At the top, she opened a sliding door and gestured him inside with a bow.

The room was quiet, high-ceilinged, and sparsely decorated. A single red polished table stood at its center. The windows had been thrown wide, allowing a gentle breeze to roll in and reveal a breathtaking view of the Kyoto skyline beneath the waxing moon. Shadows from the city lights danced on the walls.

At the far end of the room, mounted on a scroll, was a large ink painting. It depicted a nude woman, serene and unashamed, wrapped in the coiled embrace of a great serpent. Its scales shimmered with silver and black, and its head hovered just above hers, their gazes locked.

Ichigo’s brow twitched.

Doing his best not to let out the undignified sigh of irritation building up, he walked over to the table and deftly sat down on a cushion.

“I will leave you to your entertainment, Ichigo-dono. Please enjoy what refreshments our modest house has to offer.”

Ichigo stared in confusion as the beautiful Oni slid the door closed with a soft thud. Entertainment? What entertainment?

But there was a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and Ichigo saw the inks of the painting shift and shimmer. And with one fluid motion, out of the scroll stepped a hauntingly beautiful woman, so unnaturally pale Ichigo thought her a vampire at first. But his eyes went to the painting she emerged from, and he quickly noted that while the woman was still drawn on the canvas, the large serpent had disappeared.

Understanding lit his eyes, and he turned his gaze back to the pale woman. Her hair was so dark, he could barely make out individual strands. Instead, they appeared to be one inky, black mass cascading down her back. Most striking of all were her slit green eyes, they almost seemed to glow against the darkness of her hair.

Odd, there was something different about this Yōkai.

But before he could say anything, she gently dropped down to all fours and gave him a deep bow, her head pressed to the ground. “Thank you for allowing this Kikyo to accompany you this evening, my lord.”

“I’m just here to meet with someone, that’s all,” Ichigo said quietly.

The Hebi-onna raised her head with a smile, giving no indication that she heard his words. She stood elegantly and moved over to sit adjacent to him at the table that now held a bottle of sake and two drinking saucers.

“Shall I pour you a cup, my lord?” Kikyo asked with a gentle smile.

Ichigo shook his head. “No thanks. Like I said, I’m just waiting for someone to arrive.”

She bowed her head in deference and settled back down under her painting. But as she sat, a koto materialized before her, and she began to pluck its string to a soft and haunting melody.

The Hebi-onna’s fingers drifted across the koto’s strings with a supernatural grace. Each note trembled, hanging in the air like a breath before fading into the next note. The melody was slow and filled with yearning, but decidedly not sad. Almost hopeful, Ichigo thought.

It was hauntingly beautiful, and it filled him with a fellow musician’s appreciation. She must have spent long hours practicing the instrument to elicit such an evocative sound.

And yet, Ichigo found himself stilling, caught in its cadence. There was power in the music, a certain energy that went beyond the vibrations of strings. But as he searched for the words to describe the mystical effect of the music, he was oddly reminded of colors running together, water drizzling over paint and mixing everything into a rainbow haze.

How very odd.

As he studied the woman, some part of him recognized she more than a mere Yōkai. There was something older about her. Ichigo briefly considered if she were descended from a powerful being. It wasn’t unusual to run into someone with a powerful ancestor in the supernatural world, after all. But if that were the case, why was she working as a courtesan in a brothel?

Everyone has their story, I guess.

“You know,” Kikyo sharply missed a note as an intruding voice broke the musical lull in the room, “for someone who was staring jealous murder at me not too long ago, rather audacious of you to sit in a brothel with a prostitute in the middle of Yasaka’s city.”

“I was looking for you,” Ichigo said without missing a beat. “And surprise, surprise, here you are.”

As he cast an annoyed glare, Ichigo found Akihiko seated lounging in the window. All six of his tails lightly fluttering in the breeze.

“Looking for me?” Akihiko’s brows shot up. “In a brothel? Does Hime know your first instinct to look for someone is to go hang out with prostitutes?”

Wait, Akihiko knew this was the first building he went inside of to look for him? But then it clicked. Ichigo now understood why his precognition pushed him towards this brothel.

“You were watching me,” Ichigo offered lightly, and Akihiko’s jaw setting hard was answer enough for Ichigo. “Please. You may have found some way to hide yourself from my senses, but I am the Sin of Wrath. I know anger when I see it. Pisses you off righteously that it’s me next to Yasaka, that she sent you away but stayed next to me. Pissed you off even more that I’d walk away from you don’t have and right into a brothel. And where did that anger lead you? Right. To. Me.”

Of course, Ichigo had no clue that Akihiko had been secretly observing him the moment he had left Yasaka’s side. And he also didn’t know that Ichigo had been utterly lost looking for him. But he wasn’t about to let Akihiko know that. So yes, he played a little misdirection. To make the Kitsune believe he had fallen for some Machiavellian trap on his part. Was it spiteful and immature? Most definitely, but the grinding anger etched onto that smug asshole’s face was worth it.

Sometimes Sirzechs’ less than scrupulous lessons paid off.

And yes, Ichigo could see it as clear as day. Unfettered hatred burning behind Akihiko’s eyes. He had done a good job masking it in front of Yasaka, or maybe his questionable love for her had kept it at bay. But in front of Ichigo? In front of Wrath incarnate? Akihiko couldn’t keep his seething jealousy and zealous hatred off his expression.

The Kitsune glowered furiously in his direction for a moment before baring his canid teeth. “You Devils really are the scum of the universe.”

He jumped off the window ledge and slowly walked over, sitting opposite of Ichigo at the red table at the center. Ichigo gave a dismissive snort and peered over his shoulder, locking eyes with the Hebi-onna pointedly ignoring the fierce tension in the room.

“Kikyo, sorry for being a bother. But if you’d be so kind as to give me and my companion some privacy, I’d greatly appreciate it,” Ichigo said with a well-mannered smile.

“Of course, please call me if you need anything, Ichigo-dono.” The koto dissolved into mist, and the courtesan gracefully walked out of the room. And as soon as the door shut behind her, Ichigo wove numerous privacy wards and barriers around them. No need for anyone to listen in to what essentially amounted to family drama. Loathe as he was to associate the word with Akihiko.

For his part, the Kitsune picked up the bottle and generously poured the alcohol into both untouched saucers.

Ichigo raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? We’re gonna become drinking buddies now?”

Akihiko gave him a sarcastic look. “Look, kid, I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. At the very least, the alcohol will blunt some the unsavoriness of all of this.”

Ichigo shot him a disbelieving stare. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make him lessen his dislike of the six-tailed fox who had put Yasaka on edge.

Catching his look, Akihiko rolled his eyes. “Fine, I hate you for being with the woman I’ve loved for over four hundred years, the mother of my child, and for usurping my place as a father for said child. And you’re just a walking bag of hate and evil. Alcohol’s not really going to help, but it’s a comforting illusion.”

And with that, Akihiko downed the contents of the saucer in one gulp, before quickly refilling his drink. Ichigo’s own drink remained untouched.

“Walking bag of hate and evil?” Ichigo repeated with a scowl.

Akihiko rolled his eyes, which only served to further vex Ichigo. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what you are. You do a good job of wearing a human face, but we both know underneath all that you’re a supernova of demonic fire.”

Ichigo’s hands clenched and his knuckles tightened. Akihiko wasn’t exactly wrong. His humanity had been forfeited long ago. He was a creature of Hell through and through the moment he had accepted Sirzechs’ offer years ago. Fire and Shadow ran rampant through his soul, even as the reflection of his soul, Zangetsu, endlessly cried for violence and mayhem. There was little resembling humanity in Ichigo now.

Letting out a breath laced with sulfur; Ichigo crossed his arms and fixed Akihiko with a harsh frown.

“Fine. Let’s cut the bullshit then. Why did you come back?”

“I meant what I said,” Akihiko said with a casual shrug. “I’m worried for Yasaka and Kunou. I want them to be safe. And I want to meet my daughter.”

Yeah, Ichigo wasn’t buying in to any of that. He may not be able to sense the fox Yōkai sitting right in front of him, but his demonic attunement could pick out the deceit as easy as a mirror caught sunlight. There was something more to Akihiko’s returned presence in Kyoto. But still, he could play along with whatever the Ktisune was planning… for now.

Letting out a sigh, and allowing his own hostility to recede a bit, Ichigo looked into Akihiko’s grey eyes. Yes, he was clearly lying. He didn’t even need supernatural senses to tell; years of personal interactions and experience told him as much. Though Ichigo had to grudgingly admit, there was some truth to what he was hearing.

It wasn’t a lie that Akihiko was here for Yasaka and Kunou, it wasn’t a lie he was worried for them. The issue Ichigo was facing was that it wasn’t the entire truth either. There was still something being unsaid on Akihiko’s part.

Ichigo reached out and picked up the drink, but after a moment of consideration, he put it backed down and instead fingered the rim of the saucer.

“Like Yasaka said, it’s up to her if you get to meet Kunou.” And, as far as Ichigo was concerned, that was solely Yasaka’s decision. No one had any right to tell his wife how she could raise her daughter. “But the reason you and I are sitting here right now is because I need reassurance that you’ll abide by whatever decision Yasaka makes. Even if you disagree with it. Especially if you disagree with it.”

Akihiko thrummed his fingers across the wooden table and dismissively said, “Yasaka will agree. I know her, there’s no chance she wouldn’t allow me and Kunou to meet.”

It was Ichigo’s turn to roll his eyes. He wasn’t going to worry over what choice Yasaka made, because he would fully support her regardless. But Akihiko’s unwarranted assurance rubbed him the wrong way. “Believe whatever you want, I still need your word.”

The fox shook his head. “I told you, I know Yasaka. She won’t refuse. Not unless someone pressures her otherwise.”

And as soon as the words fell on his ears, Ichigo’s expression went frigid. He could handle whatever jabs and mockery that were thrown in his direction, but such a blatant insult towards Yasaka?

“You demented asshole,” Ichigo said coldly. “You think Yasaka would allow anyone, including me, to ever adversely influence her mind when it comes to Kunou’s wellbeing?”

Akihiko blinked at him, and then bizarrely threw his head back with laughter. “You?! You think I’m talking about you? The confounded arrogance of youth! Yasaka wouldn’t even spare you a single thought when it comes to Kunou. Did it never occur to you why Yasaka had to send me away? You think she threw away four hundred years of companionship because she wanted to? She was forced to!”

Ichigo stared at the raving fox bewildered. “Yasaka was forced to send you away? Lucifer, do you even hear yourself? You think she’s some puppet with her strings being pulled?”

Time and again, Ichigo had seen Yasaka reign in the various Yōkai clans and put them in place, all the while managing the rest of the country. She was the furthest thing from a helpless victim.

Akihiko grunted as he took another emptied his saucer again. “You know nothing about Yasaka’s life, kiddo.”

“If you say so,” Ichigo said stiffly, the anger building beneath controlled words. “Let’s just ignore the fact I’m the one married to her.”

The Yōkai fox snorted with amusement. “Uh-huh. For how long? Less than three years? How old are you, by the way? No, really. Are you even a quarter of a century old? Because from our perspective that’s nothing.”

Akihiko shook his head as he poured himself more alcohol. “You are a child compared to us. Yasaka and I spent four centuries together. Four centuries I’ve been by her side, been watching and supporting her. I was the only one she had to rely on; I was the only one who made her smile when she lived under the tyranny of her iron hearted bitch of a mother.

“That wretched hag never saw Yasaka as a daughter, she only ever thought of her as a well-planned replacement. Yasaka wasn’t raised, she was groomed. She wasn’t given choices. She wasn’t allowed to live a life. She was told, dictated. That palace was nothing more than a gilded cage for the first half of Yasaka’s life.”

It was easy enough for Ichigo to put two and two together.  “Amaterasu? You think Yasaka sent you away because she was forced to by Amaterasu?”

“Eh, it’s more along the lines of ‘I know’,” Akihiko said with careless indifference.

Ichigo stared disbelievingly. “Fucking hell, you are delusional.”

“You wouldn’t understand our-”

“Lucifer, you really do think Yasaka is some fairy tale princess,” Ichigo said incredulously. “She’s not some child without agency; she’s not some helpless maiden that needs to be saved. She’s the Empress of Mythic Japan! Proud and powerful and majestic! Even now, as we speak, she’s thinking about a thousand different things regarding ruling over an entire country, deciding the direction for hundreds of millions of lives! For fuck’s sake, that little girl you knew grew up!”

Akihiko looked as if he had been slapped, his expression stunned and unfocused. But after a moment of dumbfounded silence, he began to shake his head and let out a low chuckle. “No, you wouldn’t get it. Of course you wouldn’t. You’re just another chain wrapped around Yasaka. You’re being used and manipulated, and you don’t even notice it. Even worse; you’re being used against my Kunou too.”

This wasn’t going anywhere, Ichigo realized. Akihiko was deranged enough into thinking that Yasaka was deeply in love with him. That she had only turned him away out of coercion from Amaterasu.

Ichigo stood up and smartly brushed himself off. “Alright, this is clearly a waste of my time. For Yasaka and Kunou’s taste, I’ll hold back on the violence I so desperately want to inflict on you. But I’m telling you right now you delusional jackass, they’re my family. And I’ll protect them from any threat.”

However, his poorly veiled threat had the opposite effect as Akihiko began to laugh rowdily. The grey-eyed fox swept one hand through his hair and wiped his eyes with the other.

“You know,” he said, still shaking with laughter. “I’ll give you this much, for such a wretched thing, you sure have a great sense of humor.”

Briefly considering blasting the fox into smithereens, instead, Ichigo settled for sending him a confused glare.

As Akihiko took a sip and continued to chuckle, he caught Ichigo’s look and returned it with a searching gaze. And the mild wonder that began to spread over the fox’s face started to unnerve Ichigo.

“Holy shit,” Akihiko breathed. “You don’t see it.”

Ichigo grimaced. “See what?”

And Akihiko laughed hard, almost uncontrollably. The sound is his booming laugh only furthered Ichigo’s ire. Maybe he really should make good on his earlier words to Yasaka and punch the smug fox’s face in?

“Oh stars, this is rich! You really don’t see it! I thought you were being purposefully obtuse earlier, but-hahaha!”

“Look asshole-,” Ichigo began, but Akihiko quickly cut him off.

“Kid, you’re evil! You’re the thing that Yasaka and Kunou need protection from! You’re literally the most dangerous thing in their lives! Honestly, can you not sense your own presence? Don’t you feel yourself press against the fabric of reality, the sheer wrongness you pervade through the world?”

The ardor in Ichigo’s mien was quickly replaced with a somber grimness.

“Honestly, you can’t not feel how badly the world rejects you. You’re anathema to life, to joy and kindness and mercy and literally all things good. You’re the villain in every story ever written! Heroes quest to kill you!”

For a moment, Ichigo didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Because deep down - buried beneath the last few years of adventure and wonder and deep bouts of love from two phenomenal women - he knew. Of course he knew. He felt it every time he took a breath and the air grew still. Every time the world flinched, every bowed head from when walked in the Underworld.

He was something that did not belong. Something the world didn’t want but had to endure because he decided otherwise. Ichigo’s jaw clenched. Not in denial, never that. But in grim acknowledgment. He knew. He just rarely admitted it.

Gone was the boy from Karakura Town. Because it wasn’t just a title, it wasn’t just a job description, it was his name now.

He was Satan.

And the universe knew it.

“Me?” Akihiko said, as he playfully pinched his own cheek. “I’m flesh and bone. But you? What happens when your skin pops? What happens when the real you comes out? No one in this city would survive you. Heck, I’m pretty sure you’d eventually kill the planet by just standing there doing nothing. Look, I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you. But I do know that you’re Lucifer’s favorite toy who was either dumb enough, or desperate enough, to take his hand.

“Kid, you may be dread and powerful, more than I could ever hope to be, but you’re also being pulled in a hundred different directions by things way older than you who’ve been planning and plotting long before either of us were born. I genuinely want what’s best for Yasaka and Kunou. And kiddo, you sure as Hell ain’t it. Pun intended.”

Ichigo rolled his jaw. He stood petrified, not out of shame or indignity, but because Akihiko wasn’t without a point. And it drove him mad. Wrath always simmered beneath his skin, and it only burned more furious as he realized he was proving Akihiko right by simply thinking.

As he opened his mouth, the vexing fox raised his hand and promptly stopped Ichigo cold. “I know what you’re going to say, you love and care for them, you’d never hurt them, blah, blah, blah. And I believe that. Well, I believe that you believe that. But me and Yasaka and Kunou? We’re family. Family tied by blood. Hime and me are from the same Clan, same species. You? You’re the outsider. The piece that doesn’t fit. And look, when it comes down to it, I’m never going to spend a weekend with my family and then head off somewhere else to wrap a Dragon King’s legs around my waist.”

The breath in Ichigo’s lungs went cold. Akihiko had hit the single largest crack in his and Yasaka’s relationship.

The Kitsune’s grin turned wicked. “I can easily say Yasaka is the only one for me. But you can’t, can you, kiddo? Because you’re a hypocrite. And the worst part is, you know that you’re a hypocrite and you don’t even care. Because you can’t care. Because that part of you was carved out and replaced with something other.”

As the cold spread, Ichigo could feel his emotions recede and the dark swell of demonic essence roil within him. Slowly, the mindset of a Demon Lord began to take over. “You talk as if you were human. As if any of us were. Immortals don’t emulate humans, it’s the opposite.”

Akihiko gave a careless shrug. “Everything is a choice, kid. And like I keep saying, Yasaka chose me. But you? Someone else did.”

And instantly Zangetsu was in his hand, it’s razor-sharp tip pressed to the hollow of Akihiko’s throat. Ichigo’s eyes burned fiercely in a crimson glow.

“How do you know that?” His voice warped slightly demonic.

Amaterasu’s forceful hand in their marriage was a secret that they had never told anyone. Only Amaterasu, Yasaka, Tiamat and himself knew how their relationship had fully unfolded. How on Earth did Akihiko glisten such a heavily protected secret? Not even Sirzechs or Grayfia knew.

The fox Yōkai’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Whoops. Wasn’t supposed to let that slip. Any chance you could forget I said that bit?”

Ichigo dug Zangetu’s infernal tip a millimeter deeper into the fox’s skin.

“Hrk! Right,” Akihiko strained hoarsely. “I guess not. Well, I’d say it was fun, but that’d be a dreadful lie. See you around, kid.”

Ichigo’s eyes widened in shock as Akihiko pushed himself forward, impaling himself onto Zangetsu’s white blade. But not a second later, his entire body blew up in a puff of smoke, and Ichigo stared sharply at the paper shikigami that floated to the ground and instantly burst into flames.

A decoy.

He had been talking with a decoy the entire time. A fake.

As he stood there in complete silence, his eyes fixed upon the embers and ash of the paper doll, a volcanic rage began building up inside of him. A furious and horrid furor that threatened to sunder the whole of the Earth.

That worthless fox!

Every fiber of Ichigo’s being wanted to tear those infuriating lips off that equally maddening face and shove them down his throat. But he took a deep breath instead and slowly exhaled a cloud of ash. No, he had promised Yasaka that Akihiko wouldn’t die by his hand. At least not tonight. More importantly, he needed to go back and let her know what had transpired between the two of them. Yasaka deserved to know of the six-tailed Kitsune’s asinine beliefs that they were tragic lovers being kept apart, with the role of the nefarious villainess being played by her divine matron.

Ichigo let out a contemptuous snort.

If anything, his wife was sure to get a good laugh out of the overtly dramatized accusations. And as for the psychological games Akihiko attempted to play with Ichigo, well, open and honest communication was the key for any marriage. It wouldn’t be the first time they had discussed their love triangle, after all.

Ichigo shook his head, exasperated and disgusted in equal measures with the preposterous fox. As he moved to leave the room and head back to Yasaka’s palace, he suddenly recalled he had technically asked for a room in a brothel… and he now had to pay the bill.

Great, now, I also have to explain to my wife why I spent money on prostitutes. Could this day get any worse?

His phone began to ring.

Of course.

“Had to go jinx myself, didn’t I?” he muttered angrily to himself.

As he took it out, he saw a phone number he vaguely recognized, but since it wasn’t saved in his contacts, he thought it must not have been anyone important. But then, he recognized the area code as Karakura Town’s.

How odd, everyone he cared about from his hometown was unquestionably saved in his contacts list. Who could it possibly be?

As he flicked the green sigil and put it to his ear, he answered, “Hello?”

“Kurosaki-kun!” And immediately Ichigo was filled with dread. “It’s so lovely hearing your voice again!”

He let out a deeply frustrated groan. “Oh no, not you.”

“Why I never!” The voice on the other end said with exaggerated hurt. “How could my favorite, one-time student say such a hurtful thing?”

Ichigo started to feel the beginnings of a headache form and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want, Hats-n-Clogs?”

“Well, my machines picked up your presence in Human World, and I thought I’d invite you over for dinner!”

Ichigo stared at his phone with some incredulity. “I feel like we’ve already had this conversation before… wait, what do you mean your machines picked up my presence?”

Urahara’s voice was tinged with smug pride as he proclaimed over the phone, “I managed to snag a sample of your energy particles and built a tracker and locator! It’s quite handy!”

Ichigo’s mouth fell agape. “Seriously? You are such a creep!”

“How rude!”

Wait… did Hats-n-Clog mention dinner?

Oh fuck! He forgot about dinner with Kunou and Yasaka! Shit, he was already treading on thin ice with his wife. She probably thinks he’s burying Akihiko’s body right about now! Not that he would mind.

“Look, I’m busy. Text me the details and I’ll get back to you.” And with that, Ichigo hung up on the eccentric shop owner and sped off to pay his bill and then meet up with what would be two very annoyed vixens.  

-----

A/N: So sorry for the delay! I greatly overestimated my time to writing speed ratio!

Omake: Xianxia Ichigo

Akihiko pointed trembling, spitting a mouthful of blood. "Junior! You dare!"

"You're courting death! Yasaka is my, Ichigo's, woman!"

"Good, good, good." And Akihiko said it like that, three times. "Destroy your cultivation and kowtow to your grandpa! Then I'll spare your nine generations! Otherwise, don't blame me for not giving you face!"

"Ptui! Asking this young master to kowtow! Who gave you the guts? You can kowtow! Your whole family can kowtow!"

"You!" Akihiko shook red with rage as he spat a fresh mouthful of blood. "Taste my Supreme Ultimate Fox Fist!"

"Courting Death! Your Fist Arts are no match for my Imperial Sovereign Immortal Tyrannical True Demonic Heavenly CEO's Sword!"

"!!!"

"Demonic Arts?" Akihiko was shocked. Never in a thousand years did he imagine that this arrogant young master who called himself a Satan would use Demonic Arts! He was in danger! "Quick! Call the ancestor!"