Chance - Melinda

“What should we do? We should fall back, we can't handle it!” someone in his class shouted. All eyes were now trained on the hulking monstrosity that took out their instructor. With a flourish the hollow flung the dead Shinigami to the ground, into a pool of his own broth. When the body hit the ground, one of the female students yelped.

“Shimazu! Shimazu!! Snap out of it, we've got to get out of here!” He noticed one of his classmates had grabbed him by the shoulder and was shaking him.

“R-right.... out of here. We're gonna get out of here.” He was still spaced out.

“Come on! You sword is the only one that can open the gate! Stop messing around!” Well, that was true, wasn't it? Their swords were blanks – asauchi, a sword without a spirit –  and his was an ancestral blade passed down from generation to generation. Whatever process bequeathed a zanpakuto with the capacity to open the senkaimon had already taken place with his own sword. Of course, they could always recover their instructor's sword.

But that thing stood between them and their fallen instructor. Using Shimazu's sword made the most sense, and was the most practical. They shouldn't leave him, though, should they? He was, until recently, alive. He had friends, he had family. People cared about him. Was it right to let him sit there, surely to be eaten by that monster?

The beast stared at them, its beady yellow eyes piercing their forms. It stood impossibly still, perhaps contemplating its next course of action.

“Shimazu!!”

“No!” he snapped, coming back to his senses. “We're not going anywhere!”
“Idiot, do you want to die or not?”
“Think! What do you think would happen to us if we returned to Seireitei in this state? We'd be alive, but we'd be the laughing stock of the graduating class. To run from our mortal enemies, our tails between our legs. I'll tell you what, I'd rather be dead than be called a coward!” He said it, but did he believe it? His legs were trembling. What could they do?

Three forms, all of the same beast, charged at the group. The students sprang into action, beginning evasive maneuvers.

“It appears it can split its form into physical and non-physical forms! Treat all of them like they're the real one! Don't let it get near you!” The nagging thought I have no idea what I'm doing, I have no idea what I'm doing! echoed in his head.

“Protect Shimazu! Don't let that butterfly end up compromised! They're our ticket home!”

The group danced through the park, bobbing, weaving, and launching themselves from branch to branch as they began a life or death game of cat and mouse.

“Up ahead, form up on me! Jiro, hold its attention! Trust me!” he pointed to a small clearing surrounded by a large metal fence. The humans called it a baseball field. The group raced toward the pitcher's mound, Shimazu at the center, three of his classmates on either side of him. His hand stiffened, his pointer and middle fingers raised, the others folded inward toward his palm.

“Together!!”

The three beasts converged on Jiro, who raised his blade in defense. Two claws phased through him, and a third clutched at his exposed neck. A powerful arm gripped the young would-be Shinigami, and raised him from the ground. The hollow howled a second time, opening its great maw. It was going to eat him!

“Halt, ye black dog of Rodanini,” their voices echoed in unison, guided by Shimazu. “may horror and shame consume ye! Bakudo 4, Hainawa!” as a group, with outstretched hands, a golden cord of shimmering energy erupted, whipping around in a semicircle, its trajectory guided by Shimazu. With a shout, he pointed his fingers toward the beast, and the cord ripped through the air, winding round and round the hollow until its arms bound tightly at its side.

Jiro was pressed firmly against the hollow's chest. Seizing the opportunity, it bit into the trainee's shoulder. Jiro's cries echoed throughout the park. Shimazu and his classmates grimaced.

Don't kill him...! We're coming, Jiro!

“We have him right where we want him! Quick, while he's distracted, attack!”

Out of nowhere, a form emerged from the darkness. Wielding a small handheld blade, the figure severed the tendons in the Hollow’s legs. For a moment, it struggled to stand upright. A pitiful whinny later, and the thing fell to the ground with a resounding boom.

“Jiro!! No!”

Shimazu closed the distance between the pitcher’s mound and where the beast fell in a single step, peeling his blade from its scabbard along the way. His companions were in tow behind him, blades at the ready. His concentration faltered, allowing the beast enough leeway to break its binding. It rolled to its side, unable to stand, leaving Jiro exposed.

The boy was unconscious, drenched in blood. Was he dead? Hard to tell.

In a surprising display of coordination, the students blades slipped through the air one after the other. The beast rolled and evaded a number of the initial strikes, but their combined efforts proved too much for the beast to stave off forever. A slash across the chest, a lopped off finger, and a crack of the mask later, the would be Shinigami managed to turn the tide in their favor.

The wounds on the Hollow seemed to bubble and boil, audibly sizzling. Weakly, it stood upright once more, and seemed to contemplate whether to continue its battle with forces that have now clearly outmaneuvered and temporarily outmatched it.

It began its retreat. Shimazu would not allow it.

“Ye lord! Mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Inferno and pandemonium, the sea barrier surges, march on to the south!” This time, he relied only on his own power.

“Hadō 32: Shakkahō!”

A blast of red hot energy shot from his joined hands, tearing through the distance between himself and the retreating monster. It turned its head, anticipating some form of retaliation. A mighty leap spared it the all encompassing destruction of the blast, which collided spectacularly into one of the many trees that decorated the park. It’s illusions sprang to life, and it weaves through the trees and into the concrete jungle ahead, disappearing from sight.

It had got away, for now.

Jiro...!

He raced over to his fallen, barely living, ally. He fell to his knees, checking Jiro’s pulse. Two other students peeled him from the ground, wrapping his arms around their shoulders. They’d drag him home! While they did this, two others recovered the corpse of their dead instructor. They looked back to Shimazu, anticipating his opening of the Senkai Gate.

He’s get to that, in due time.

“Come out from the shadows!” Shimazu demanded. “ I’d like to offer my thanks to the one who came to our aid!”

On his person he had a hand carved wooden badge identifying him as one of the Seireitei’s distinguished noble families. He produced this item and held it out in his hand, offering it to the woman. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed.

“Well, it’s not a finger, but maybe it is something,” he said uneasily. He offered the item honestly, if for no other reason than to incentivize or maybe facilitate a second meeting with this woman, Serpent. “That badge bears my family name, Shimazu. I pass it along to you in the hopes that one day, we will meet again. Unfortunately, I must return home. Thank you again for your help,” he bowed deeply again. He acted composed, confident, and offered little insight into his current plight. He was terrified. He had no idea how to even begin getting home. But he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let her in on that sad fact.

A series of flash steps took him as far as he could muster. One after the other he stepped until he was far, far away from her. With such an otherwise unremarkable pool of reiatsu he had, he was sure that the likelihood of him being successfully tracked by the time he stopped to rest were low. Ideally, she would forget about him and leave him to his dread and shame. Maybe, somehow, he would cross paths with another shinigami that could take him home. Frustrated, humiliated, and sad, he held back tears as he walked now, alone.