Bleach: Clouds are Nigh

I was never much of a cat person. I always found myself preferring dogs. They were loyal, loving, and protective. A cat, while could be each of the three, would vary based on its own instincts.

Dogs reminded me of the saying, "Treat people how you want to be treated", or something along those lines. Dogs would respond to love with love, much like a human.

A cat, however, unlike a dog, would not treat you equally, even despite your efforts. They were lazy, self-centered animals. A relationship with a cat did not exist on an equal playing field. There were levels, much like a hierarchy, where the cat existed above you.

Dogs understood what this hierarchy meant. They knew where their place was, for the most part, and acted correctly with appropriate training.

But, with that said, cats still deserved to be treated kindly, as did any living being. While exceptions could be made for the likes of criminals and inherently evil people, I believed the general consensus was to love all, even if they didn't love you back.

This was the reason I'd acted on instinct, much like a cat. It was helpless, surrounded by a crowd of hooligans—who clearly hadn't met the same conclusion I had. They watched as it scrambled on its front, unable to move itself far enough away from the incoming danger, its back legs broken.

An animal was in danger. Why hadn't anyone acted?

These questions I asked myself begged another, one slightly more concerning: What if it were me in the cat's place?

What if I was stranded on the road, helplessly trying to find my way to safety?

This cat singlehandedly opened my eyes to the world of humans. These people carried on with their day as if nothing was happening, laughing and crying their way through their life as if nothing else mattered. Could they not hear it pleading for help, or where they choosing to ignore it?

But, ironically, as much as I wished I could commend the cat and its situation for opening my eyes, it was also the same reason my eyes had ended up shut, now gazing into the monotone abyss above me.

I'd died that day, however long ago it was. Trading my life for the cat was never my intention, I only acted on impulse, hoping to save it from the flurry of cars weaving around it.

Naturally, as soon as I'd made my way onto the road, an enormous tanker swerved away, crushing me with its cargo, though sparing the cat that I'd thrown to safety.

Was this exchange fair? Was a cat's life equal to a humans? Strictly speaking, no, a cat wasn't equal to your average human. But, that also begged the question, what was it that we humans valued so much as to call us human in the first place?

Compassion. It was what allowed humans to show concern for others and seek to help—or, often times used as a means of emotional blackmail. Either way, emotions were a large part of what made humans, human, and yet, none of the humans I'd seen today displayed such qualities.

None of those people were compassionate, nor were they sympathetic. They'd have more than willingly let the cat die in the street. But why? They were fully capable of saving it, so why didn't they?

As my life seemed to flash before my eyes, thoughts running rampant, the monotone canvas plaguing what I assumed to be my eyes began moving. Unbeknownst to me, it'd been moving this entire time, white patches resembling clouds drifting across the space above me.

Death was black, as I'd expected, but there were clouds in death? Why did death even allow for such a space to exist in the first place? How could I be looking at anything right now, much less thinking?

'That's right… I can think. Why can I hear my own thoughts?'

Something was wrong. I was missing crucial pieces of an important puzzle. I shouldn't have been able to think, so what was it? Were these my final moments before death, or had I already died, passed to another realm completely?

Moments later, my vision tipped on its axle, transitioning to a bland landscape, utterly devoid of life, white-sand plastered across the ground as far as my eye could reach, small withering stumps protruding outwards, accompanied by odd boulders scattered around.

"Heaven seems a little too pure for my liking… Where's all the color?"

'What? I just spoke… How did I speak?'

I wasn't a religious person—I didn't believe in God in a religious sense, but did believe in some form of higher power. Trying to rationalize my existence through other meanings proved challenging, especially considering my subpar academic quality in school.

Sitting myself up, I glanced around at my surroundings, feeling awfully reminiscent about it all. The black sky, white sand, deathly screams I could hear in the distance, it all pointed at one place: Hell. Wasn't hell supposed to be a burning pit of hate and rage, though? This was closer to that of a painting left unfinished, still lacking any life.

However, that was what a normal person would have said. Someone not acquainted with a certain series, heavily involved with spirits, souls, and the afterlife.

"Did the author seriously perfectly replicate Hell… Cause there's no way this isn't a coincidence, right?"

Growing up, I'd always been a big fan of action. I'd read comics, play with toys, and often watch television before school in the morning. While not my favourite series, I'd invested a large chunk of my team reading and watching it. The series in question was Bleach, and this place was awfully similar to a realm of that story, Hueco Mundo.

"Everything is the same…"

Still pondering, I lifted a hand to get rid of an itch on my face, but was quickly stopped, my instincts doubting my eyes.

My hands were claw-like, sharp and razor at their edge. Similarly, jagged spikes ran up my arms, protruding and curling upwards like horns.

"What's going on? What is this…"

Unsure as to my situation, I started checking my body out. Fortunately, my legs were human, though my skin was a sickly white. My face was mostly untouched, only an odd material covering my eyes like a vizor, winding around my head like a crown, where two spikes protruding out, wrapping back around like a crown again, sticking out just near my temple.

My chest was the same pale-white as my legs, though my muscles were far more toned and defined than previously, while a large hole was located where my heart should have been.

'What the is all this? None of this makes any sense?'

I was somewhat familiar with Hueco Mundo in Bleach. It was a big part of the story for a while, serving as the realm for many of the main characters' tribulations, forced to enter an unknown territory to save their friend once again.

Hueco Mundo was a barren wasteland, home to Hollow, a race of creatures born from the anguish and grief of humans after they died, transforming them into a mindless monsters.

"Judging by my appearance… I'm a Vasto Lorde, right?" I sighed, still looking myself up and down.

A hollow of the highest level, a Vasto Lorde was the final evolution of a hollow. Once a hollow—an Adjuchas, devoured enough hollow, they would eventually evolve into a Vasto Lorde.

"I'm not a hollow, though… Besides, Bleach is a fictional story to begin with, how could I even be sitting here right now?"

Such was true, how could I have been within the fictional universe of a manga created before I was even born? Something like that simply wasn't possible. The idea that heaven and hell existed itself was a little nauseating, but a story crafted by someone as a means of entertainment? Something like that was impossible.