Chapter 11

Rain fell down and struck the land in small resounding echoes that originated from tempered steel as turbulent winds wrought havoc across the hill of swords.

A woman shivered, her mirror like eyes surveying the world around her. A thin white veil was wrapped around her, the rest of her body covered by layers of flowing blue silk that stretched down to drag over the ground. Her hair was a deep silver, her lips spread in a thin line that stood in contrast to her naturally passive and rounded face.

"What is this place?" The woman muttered to herself, raising a hand and watching as the droplets gathered on her palm.

It had been a question that had continued to plague her mind without end.

This wasn't her home.

Her path of perfection.

Her name was Kyoka Suigetsu, a Zanpakuto, the weapon of a Shinigami, but more specifically, she was the spirit that represented the sword and ideals of Aizen Sosuke, her master.

His was an ideal that sought after perfection, a tranquil world without deficiency like the clear surface of a mirror. Likewise, as his partner, and soul formed of the master's will, she was the same.

Therefore, she shivered once more as the once tranquil space she found herself in continued to change itself.

"The master is sad,"

It was a common occurrence that even she could easily understand. With the rise and fall of the wielder's emotions, the inner world in which she resides in would change like the coming of a high tide.

The rain represented that sentiment of sadness, and even if this wasn't her original master, she still wished for the world to return to tranquility. The stillness of a floating river lily was what she embodied.

Perfection was what she sought like her master.

A world where others could not bind her.

And a world where no one stood above her.

This was perfection of a certain fleeting moment where there was truly nothing that could alter and ripple the stillness of her perfect and tranquil world.

The rain dampened her hair, droplets racing down her smooth and pale skin, her senses once again alerting her of the numerous stares on her person.

Specters, all of them.

Their forms were vague with no defining details even on their faces. It could be said that in this world full of swords in which she had entered, only she possessed colour and identity.

She walked casually across the hill of swords, stopping upon a single growing tree in which a sword and sheath lay with the hazy figure of a woman leaning her back against the tree.

The specters followed her, discussing quietly amongst themselves as they watched a short distance away.

"You are?" The woman by the tree asked, her voice tired, yet regal.

She inclined her head before she spoke. "Kyoka Suigetsu," she introduced. "May I take shelter beneath this tree from the rain?"

The woman gave a curt nod before freeing some space by her side.

Voicing her thanks, she pressed down on her clothes and sat down to rest.

Thunder began to resound in the distance, and the woman leaning against the tree pursed her lips before frowning. The specters still around the tree were of similar expressions.

"I hate the rain and the thunder," the woman spoke after a moment.

She nodded. "Any Zanpakuto would as the weather represents the master's emotions."

The pitter patter of the rain echoed off across the ensuing silence before a specter of a man approached.

"You know what we are?" The man asked.

"Of course," she answered naturally with a small inflection in her voice. "You, all of you," she pointed around. "Are Zanpakuto, spirits that embody the master's ideals." Maybe, she couldn't help but think.

After all, she had never seen so many Zanpakuto spirits in the mindscape of a single individual, let alone what they would represent. As she once stated, each Zanpakuto spirit represents the ideals, or part of the soul of its wielder, and therefore, a frightening thought struck her mind. To contain so many spirits, how many faucets and identities did the wielder possess?

She shook her head as another specter approached, this time a man and a woman holding hands.

"Then why aren't we like you?" They asked. "Why do we not have identity, and are instead shrouded in this dark mist?"

Kyoka pondered silently to herself before broaching the question. "It's simple, none of you have yet to call on him. Whereas I have already been recognized by my master," she explained. "As I am now, I would still appear as a specter in front of this new wielder, but at least in here, I know who I am. Thus, my identity is not hidden in the shadows."

The specters slowly digested what they had heard before a majority began to wander away and disappear back into their specific weapons, leaving behind only the woman leaning against the tree and the male specter who now carried a red spear tucked around his arm.

The male specter smiled before rudely shoving out his own spot to sit by the tree.

She glared at him, but turned her face away when her actions were only met with a devilish smile. What a brute, she mentally insulted him.

"Say Kyo," the male specter began. "Do you-"

"Kyoka," she interrupted with a huff.

The male specter paused for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders.

"Anyways, Kyo," the male specter ignored her request. Kyoka's gaze frosted over. "Any tips to get recognized by the master? I want to fight already," the specter complained.

Kyoka didn't answer and just crossed her arms instead, earning herself an exasperated sigh from the male.

The woman leaning on the tree let out a small resigned smile before deciding to mediate between the two. "Kyoka, he didn't truly mean anything by dismissing your request, and in fact is actually behaving quite well based on his violent personality," she explained. She elaborated further by explaining that the male specter would often pick fights with the other spirits rather than talk at all.

The expression of Kyoka's face lightened, but she was still angered and it showed in her voice. "Your voice will not reach him as you are now," she said dismissively to the male specter before gaining an edge of superiority. "But I can, as I'm already a fully formed spirit. I can then allow you to transmit your thoughts if I wanted to."

"Then you'll help?" The man asked even while grinning.

She didn't answer, and instead directed her gaze up at the clouds. Thus, began the annoyance that was the male specter.

Still though, she wanted what was happening outside with the new wielder to come to an end and return to tranquility.

Because amidst the raining sky, large gears began forming, spinning in motion as torrents of fire began to brew.

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He was furious, of that there was no doubt, but Shirou still made sure to keep a level head.

His eyes were trained on the back of the intruder before him. Long blue hair fell down past the intruder's waist, his entire body armoured with sleek hollow bone plate aside from his head. From each of his elbows elongated out, were a large and sharp spike.

Harribel stood in front of the intruder, and based on the previous discussion between them, he had gleamed that the intruder's name was Grimmjow.

Harribel's eyes were cold, but he could clearly see the intention to fight within them. However, and unexpectedly, she drew back her sword and alerted Grimmjow of his presence behind him.

As Grimmjow turned around, he finally got a good view of his face.

Grimmjow had elongated canines, was his first observation, that and an unconcealed blood lust.

"Good good!" Grimmjow spoke in elation. "It doesn't matter if there are more of you, I'll crush you both!"

Harribel narrowed her eyes before speaking. "You alone will not be enough," she said before standing protectively in front of Sung-Sun and Apacci.

Grimmjow laughed as he understood the meaning of Harrible's words. It was clearly an insult, but her sentence alone conveyed the fact that she was not going to be taking part. One opponent at a time was far more convenient for him unless they were as weak as the previous two Vasto Lordes. However, based on the power the both of them were exuding, he didn't believe he would be disappointed at all.

"So, it's you," Grimmjow spoke as he got himself into a battle-ready stance facing towards Shirou. "Well, lets see how you're going to stop me."

Shirou didn't answer and instead leapt a far distance away from Harribel where she was protecting the others.

Grimmjow quickly followed.

As Grimmjow's feet gently set down on the sand, Shirou raised his hands and willed for two swords to form, the one's he was most familiar with.

A blade of the darkest black, and another of the palest white.

Kanshou and Bakuya.

"You are truly an idiot," the voice of a woman spoke in his mind. "How can you call out to them without truly knowing what they are?"

He didn't show any outward change in expression, but inwardly amidst the anger he was feeling towards Grimmjow, he was greatly confused.

"To think that that brute could be so annoying," the woman muttered to herself.

He couldn't think much on the woman's voice as the momentary distraction it had caused was enough for Grimmjow to land a blow to his face.

Spittle flew towards the ground as Grimmjow furrowed his brows. He wasn't expecting for his hit to land at all based on the strength and quick wit of his opponent. But still, he wasn't one to think while fighting. He pressed his advantage.

Shirou stabbed a blade into the ground to stop his momentum, and quickly bent backwards as sharp claws nearly stabbed into his chest.

He grunted as he willed for the formation of seven swords in the air.

Grimmjow's eyes widened as he sensed the danger. Those swords, he made them?

Shirou willed the swords to shoot down, each flying at break-neck speeds and heavily cratering the sand upon impact.

When the dust cleared, Grimmjow stood bleeding from his forearms, his arms crossed to defend himself. "You," he spoke. Breaking his own rule to never speak in combat. "You made these?" He asked, staring at the remains of the swords on the ground.

At this point he knew it was a rhetorical question, but still he wanted to hear a spoken answer. After all, it was specifically because of these swords that he was quickly able to rise in power and he didn't want to owe anyone. He fought and shed much blood to possess the bounty of swords he had acquired in the cave using his own power, and now he had just witnessed the sword's origin.

Shirou nodded before raising his blades up into a stance.

Well shit, Grimmjow cursed. If he could turn back time, he wouldn't have used those swords to fuel his evolution. His pride would not have allowed it. His strength should be gained using his own power. Unfortunately, he could do nothing to change anything.

Suddenly his eyes gleamed. If he was able to defeat this other Vasto Lorde before him, the one who created all the swords, doesn't that mean he had a right to all the swords in the area? He mulled the thoughts over in his head and realized that yes he would. For he obtained the swords using his own power.

From this single conclusion, Grimmjow's blood lust sky rocketed, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Shirou," Harribel warned in the distance, sensing the sudden rise in Grimmjow's power. Glancing down at Sung-Sun and Apacci, she made the decision to move them farther away before she continued to observe.

Not even a second after Harribel's warning, Grimmjow was on Shirou, attacking with swift kicks and devastating punches that generated shockwaves.

Shirou was weaving in-between each punch, his arms swiftly lashing out with his blades, yet in close combat both seemed to be even. Each strike he sent was blocked by one of the spiked protrusions on Grimmjow's elbows.

"Will you not call on them? The power of the swords in your hand." The voice of the woman once again resounded in Shirou's mind.

He gritted his teeth as he saw an opening and lunged forward towards Grimmjow's chest. Once again, he was blocked by the spiked protrusion from Grimmjow's elbow.

"If you truly called their names and spirit, those bladed spikes would be nothing compared the edge of your blade."

Call their names? His mind was distracted in the middle of battle, but his body moved on its own to defend against the onslaught of attacks.

Roaring, he pushed out with both Kanshou and Bakuya and broke apart Grimmjow's guard.

"Cero!" The two yelled.

Subsequently, the two were forced apart as both of their ceros collided at the center producing a large cloud of smoke.

Shirou landed with his feet on the ground, his heels digging large grooves in wake of his backwards momentum. Grimmjow on the other hand tumbled across the ground before righting himself with an arm and two of his legs spread out.

Harribel narrowed her eyes as she watched. From the looks of the exchange, it was Shirou who won out, but even though Grimmjow was injured with small burns running across his body, the pressure and blood-lust he was emitting only increased further.

Shirou stared across at Grimmjow, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow. Grimmjow was nowhere near as strong as Baraggan, but the contrast between both of them was what they represented. Baraggan was the aspect of time, while Grimmjow only seemed to embody sheer aimless destruction.

There was no way to truly defeat a person like this and expect them to change their personality so easily.

He dismissed Kanshou and Bakuya, leaving himself empty handed as Grimmjow quickly appeared at his side with his claws extended.

"Listen to the voices of those within you," The voice of the woman spoke once again as he closed his eyes to think.

Blood for blood.

Destruction for destruction.

He would face Grimmjow head on using a means the enemy understood most.

Trace On.

A connection was suddenly formed in his mind, a feint silhouette taking shape within his vision. And with that, a red spear formed within his hands.

"I was once held by the hands of a witch." The voice that spoke this time was not the woman's, instead it was gruff with the undertones of savagery hidden in between the lines.

With the red spear formed in his hands, an intense blood lust far larger than the one Grimmjow was emitting was released.

Grimmjow momentarily staggered in surprise, but none was more surprised than Harribel who had never seen Shirou ever emit any sort of blood-lust when fighting an enemy. Even when Shirou fought Baraggan, he always did so without giving anything away, but the moment that red spear came out? She involuntarily shivered as her eyes thoroughly inspected the red spear.

With a bang, the spear grated against Grimmjow's arm, the bladed edge digging into his skin.

"Damn it!" Grimmjow, pushed his arm off and twisted his body to elbow Shirou.

The bladed spike rushed towards Shirou's chest, but the red spear rose to meet it.

At this point, the blood lust was becoming palpable, the air growing heavy and a sinking fear taking root in Grimmjow's gut. Yet who was he to feel fear? He grinned, unexpectedly matching the expression on Shirou's face as he let himself be effected by the blood lust.

"I was then held by the hands of a warrior," The voice of the man continued to speak within Shirou's mind. Each word spoken was the signal for a new surge in blood lust, and an increased drive for destruction.

His hands and feet were moving on their own accord, the once hazy image of the man in his vision becoming clearer. No sooner than he realized this fact, he quickly understood that his body was mimicking the actions of the very man in his vision.

With the red spear in the man's hand, he seemed to be killing countless soldiers across an imaginary plain.

Stab.

Sweep.

Punch.

Every action the man took, his body accurately performed as he was becoming more and more in sync as time progressed.

Wounds that did not heal were starting to appear one by one on Grimmjow's body: Cuts, bruises, and even stab ones.

"I am the one who spilt blood upon the plains."

"Bastard!" Grimmjow cursed as a cut formed just over his brow. He quickly saw an opening and struck Shirou in the chest, stabbing his claws and dragging them down to gouge three deep scars. He grinned for a moment, but quickly clicked his tongue.

High speed regeneration, Grimmjow quickly noted as he ducked away from an over head sweep. He just didn't get it. Shirou's fighting style, it had completely changed along with the need for destruction that suddenly appeared in Shirou's eyes. Ever since he had switched to that red spear, the fighting style Shirou had adopted was far more similar to his own.

Brutal and savage.

Hell, all of Shirou's attacks seemed to be aimed at the center of his chest. If not for his sheer agility, he held no doubts that any other hollow would have been speared through and died by now. Adrenaline was coursing through his blood, his mind utterly blank except for the compulsion to kill. This was what true battle was like.

Live or die, he would regret nothing.

Grimmjow roared as he once again began his assault.

Blood continued to spray in small drizzles from both combatants onto the sand, the pale white becoming a pungent red.

"I am the bearer of a curse."

"The means of a sure death."

Suddenly Shirou pulled back, spun the spear in his hands, and clipped Grimmjow in the jaw, sending him flying up into the air. The sheer power put into the strike letting out a miniature shockwave at the point of impact.

Grimmjow spat out blood as he flew up in an arc before suddenly getting kicked down back towards the ground.

"Now, in this moment of violence and destruction."

Shirou's arm pulled back from where he was hovering, his eyes dead set on the prone body beneath him as the spear in his hand aligned itself with his line of sight. He cocked his arm, his muscles rippling as he strengthened his grip.

"Call my name."

"Gae Bolg!"

In that moment, the world became still as the once vague image of the man in front of Shirou's vision instantly cleared. The man turned around and spoke with a laugh. "My spear is your spear. From this day forth, we are partners."

The sky was instantly blotted in flecks of red, numerous red spears multiplying from one and showering down towards the ground like a carpet bomb. Each exploded upon impact, giving way to turbulent winds that forced Harribel back a few steps, and even caused her to shield her eyes.

This was an action she would not have done even if a cero was blasted in front of her, yet the scope of the damage produced and the backlash caused was not something to take lightly. Even some of the quart coloured trees in the area were uprooted and sent stumbling across the sky.

"Is this the true extent of your power?" Harribel muttered to herself, feeling a tad inadequate and deciding to bolster her own strength. Still, she felt somewhat happy that he was displaying this much power for the sake of Apacci and Sung-Sun, and maybe even herself. That last thought gave her pause, but she quickly thought nothing of the feeling in her chest.

She continued to watch mutely as each explosion whittled away at Grimmjow's defenses until all the spears exploded at once.

The blood lust was still present in the air, and Harribel found herself once again involuntarily shivering. If she was in Grimmjow's place, how would she have escaped? The sheer range of the attack Shirou had just used was way too large to evade it in time. Rather, she would probably do what Grimmjow had done and gather all her spiritual power into strengthening her defenses.

Up at in the air, Shirou surveyed the damage he'd done before slowly drifting towards the ground where he let out a breath of exhaustion. He didn't foresee just how much energy that one attack would expend. Although he had a vague idea about the consumption of the attack, as soon as he'd utilized it with his being resonating with the vague image of the man, the consumption suddenly skyrocketed.

He sucked in a breath, and like Harribel, decided to wait for the dust to settle down.

Breathing heavily, Grimmjow stared up at the dim lit sky of Hueco Mundo and raised a battered arm out as if to grasp the moon.

He wouldn't accept this.

He couldn't accept this!

Yet the strength and power of that destruction had been enough to overwhelm even him.

He grunted as he spat out blood, realizing that life was quickly leaving his body.

He glared at that neutral gaze in the distance as his consciousness slowly began to leave him. From there, he suddenly burst into laughter, not caring that the action only served to force more blood out of his wounds.

You bastard. His gaze seemed to convey what could not be said from his mouth, for at this point he was too exhausted to even speak. It doesn't matter how you hide it.

The crater of sand he was in continued to grow deeper and deeper, the impact of such an attack great enough to punch a hole into the Menos Forest that the sand was slowly pouring into, and he along with it.

That familiar moment of sheer blood lust and destruction.

You can't hide it from me.

Because after all, beneath that neutral mask,

Grimmjow closed his eyes as his body began to disappear beneath the sand.

You and I are the same.

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Shirou watched closely as Grimmjow's body fell into the Menos Forest, focusing intently on the ever-fading flame of life he could still feel beneath the sand. Moments later, he could feel it no more, and thus he finally turned his attention back to Harribel and the injured.

"How are they?" He asked.

Harribel laid down her blade and gently inspected both Apacci's and Sung-Sun's wounds. "We're hollows," she explained. "As long as we get enough spiritual energy, the wounds should naturally heal with our innate regeneration."

He nodded in understanding, and knelt down before laying a hand over both Sung-Sun and Apacci.

Harribel furrowed her brows, understanding what it was he intended to do. "They're Vasto Lordes now," she said. "The amount of spiritual energy they'd need to recover their wounds is quite extensive."

"They can't absorb the spiritual energy of the swords around us as they are unconscious, thus this is the best way. A direct transfer," he said as he began to circulate his spiritual energy into his palms.

Harribel's eyes softened before she spoke. "Then let me," she insisted. "I was the one who sent them here, and you have just finished a battle." She could have done it earlier, but she would of have had to give up her ability to fight and defend. This was inconceivable in the moments before as she needed to defend Sung-Sun and Apacci from any inadvertent, or misdirected attacks that came in her direction. Now with the danger gone, Shirou had beat her too it.

Not taking no for an answer, Harribel quickly placed her own hands on Apcci and Sung-Sun and administered a large amount of her own spiritual energy into the two, leaving any energy Shirou wanted to share utterly unnecessary.

The wounds on Sung-Sun and Apacci began to heal at a visible rate, the influx of spiritual energy triggering a hollow's innate high-speed regeneration. Their complexions soon returned to a rosy hue, as both their breathing became less laboured.

Harribel stood up after administering her spiritual energy. She staggered for a moment, but quickly righted herself by leaning on her blade. "You owe me one," she ended up speaking indifferently. The fight with Grimmjow should of have had been hers to avenge Sung-Sun and Apacci after all.

Even if Grimmjow was strong, she was confident that she was still stronger, yet she had conceded her right to battle after seeing the look in Shirou's eyes.

Shirou smiled. "I understand," he spoke with a nod.

Her lips pulling into a faint smile, Harribel quickly picked up both Apacci and Sung-Sun with the strength she had left, and departed toward her resting area: the place where she, Sung-Sun, Mila Rose, and Apacci regularly stayed.

Left alone, Shirou finally brought his attention on the vague image of the floating woman with her arms crossed before him.

Based on her posture, she didn't appear very happy standing next to the clear image of the man in a blue skin-tight body suit holding Gae Bolg in his hand.

The man had short and spiked blue-hair. The colour of his pupils was red, and his face was square with a narrowed chin. He also wore a pair of long silver earrings on each ear.

From the looks of things as Harribel departed, she didn't notice the two even with her keen eyes, therefore he quickly concluded that he alone was the only one who could see them.

A savage smile was over the man's face as he happily slung an arm around the floating woman's shoulder.

The woman suddenly bristled as she slapped the arm away before giving the man the cold shoulder with a resounding humph of disdain.

"Don't be like that Kyo," the man spoke. "I was just showing my appreciation for the help."

"Then do so by never bothering me again," Kyoka spoke.

Shirou who had been silently observing the two interact all along, finally voiced a question. "Who are you two?"

The two floating figures paused, before the man stepped up and slung the red spear over a shoulder. "I'm Gae Bolg," the man spoke.

Confused with the answer, Shirou didn't persist, and instead turned his attention on the woman. "Like I've stated before, I'm not so crass of a woman to chase after another man; let alone someone who hasn't earned the right. You may remember my name, but you don't know me for who I am." The woman spoke with a flourish.

The man called Gae Bolg scratched his head before speaking out. "You can just call her Kyo," he explained.

Kyoka leveled the hardest gaze she had ever given to anyone, but still deemed it beneath her to personally act. Still, "call me Kyoka," she ended up saying, thoroughly incensed that anymore people would begin to simply call her Kyo.

Shirou nodded, and didn't know what else to say afterwards. Confused as he was, Kyoka would have none of it as she hastily spoke.

"Finished with your business?" She asked, her voice calm and tranquil. It wasn't even that far of a stretch to call it perfect. "If so, then hurry and be rid of the rain."

Gae Bolg nodded. "Indeed, the rain makes it hard to do battle, and even then, victory in the rain makes everything quite dreary."

Shirou blanked. He really had no idea what these two were talking about.

It was then, sighing with exasperation that the woman gently sat herself down on the ground without wrinkling her clothes. She stared up at Shirou, motioning for him to sit across from her as she subsequently gave shooing motions at Gae Bolg who reluctantly faded away from sight. After all, even if he was a tad uncultured, even he could understand that he was in Kyoka's debt as she had helped him manifest before his master.

With Gae Bolg gone, and Kyoka sitting across from him, Shirou waited patiently for Kyoka to speak.

She didn't do anything at first, other than keenly stare at him with a discerning eye, but she eventually sighed before leaning forward on her elbows before speaking. The motion itself could be described as elegant, and even then, it did little to express just how perfect it was. For she was a spirit that reflected the perfection Aizen sought in his own soul.

"I am what is called a Zanpakuto spirit," she spoke slowly so as not to confuse any words she was about to say. "Now you better listen closely, because I won't be repeating the words I say again, and don't think I don't know that you're still absently thinking about that hollow that went to the human world."

Shirou just scratched his head sheepishly.

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At least eight or so nights had passed since Silent had left Hueco Mundo to explore the human world, and she was just about ready to briefly return, but something unexpected had come up.

For the past few days, the boy, Ishida, had thought it his responsibility to instruct her on how to use her bow. And thus, she had complied as she thought the matter to be highly interesting. From the basic stances, to the higher levels of aiming, all were things her body seemed to have already been trained in. In fact, her vast improvements greatly shocked Ishida who was loath to admit anything about it.

These days, he now seemed to wear a conflicted sort of expression on his face. His hands constantly clenching into fists when he thought she wasn't looking. Furthermore, he now continued to train until his hands bled from excessive use. Still, he was making leaps and bound in his own training, and somehow, she felt happy for him. It wasn't just because his face seemed to remind her of someone, but she was just genuinely happy to see someone who's treated her well improve though his own efforts. Regardless though, his goal seemed to be to surpass her arrows in fire power, or at least be able to match them. In which case if he couldn't, he had once said that he would match the power of her arrows with sheer quantity.

On another note, the unexpected situation occurred when she decided to tail him secretly on the last day before she decided to leave to report back to her friends at Hueco Mundo.

It was particularly involving an orange-haired youth that Ishida was quietly watching from afar. He wore a white buttoned polo with short rolled-up sleeves, and a pair of dark blue denim jeans. In his hands was a small satchel that he carried by hanging the handle of the bag over one of his shoulders.

She couldn't see his face from her vantage point on top of one the roofs of the many houses in the area, but his silhouette alone was enough to send the equivalent of a bolt of lightning smashing into her.

She had quickly retreated back into the forest Ishida was having her stay at the time, trying to get her emotions sorted out before doing anything reckless.

And thus, was her current predicament. Should she return, or sate the growing need and longing within her?

Eight or so days wasn't exactly long for hollows, she reasoned, letting her compulsions win through. Besides, she didn't think she would make that big of a deal even if she stayed for a month.

She nodded her head. Regardless of anything, she needed to make sure that she returned with answers.

Therefore, after practicing with Ishida again on the following day, she quickly began tailing him once more in hopes of running into that orange-haired youth.

What she didn't seem to understand at that moment however, was the attention she was bringing to herself every time she left the reiatsu suppressant properties of the forest Ishida used for training. Particularly, the black cat that immediately put aside what it was doing previously to quickly vanish in the direction of a particular candy shop.

But that was a matter she could care less about.

Her hopes of the day were not in vain as Ishida once again decided to observe that orange-haired youth. However, this time when Ishida left, she decided not to follow him, and instead remained to observe the orange-haired youth.

She could feel her blood pulsing, her mouth suddenly going dry as she leapt from building to building, sometimes street lights. All the same, her attention was always on the back of the youth, watching as he bickered with the raven-haired girl walking by his side.

The girl was wearing the same buttoned polo the youth was wearing, but it was more of a targeted design towards females as a red bow-knot-ribbon was tied around the collar. Different from the youth wearing jeans, the girl wore a skirt.

Oddly, there were moments where the two seemed to quite down, and the girl would look in her direction holding a blinking device, although each time she would simply duck out of sight.

Other than that, the youth and the girl walked to the front of a small building, half clinic and half house.

She quietly made her way to stand on the roof, the feeling of dejavu she felt upon seeing the home still yet to leave.

Slowly, she lowered her head to glance into the window at the front of the house, watching quietly as the girl the youth was bickering with made her way to seclude herself inside the youth's closet? For some reason, she felt that fact alone was a tad weird, but ever since she'd come to the human world, a lot of things didn't make much sense.

As for the youth, he wasn't in the room at the moment.

Nodding her head, she decided to continue her observations in the following day.

She jumped down onto the ground in front of the house before taking a few steps away.

By now, Ishida should have arrived back at the forest, and would probably begin looking for her if she didn't return soon. As much as she might enjoy watching him run around the town looking for her, she still didn't feel like troubling Ishida who had been nothing but courteous towards her. After all, he even bought her a change of clothes to wear after mentioning that a lady shouldn't wear such revealing clothing. Therefore, she was wearing a white T-shirt with a flaming skull depicted at the center, and jeans that fit perfectly around her legs.

Walking away, she paused briefly for a moment and turned her attention back on the clinic, frowning, before she left in a hurry, feeling as if something was twisting her gut.

In her haste, she didn't hear the choked gasp and the shattering of glass as she left.

Nor did she slow down when the clinic's door was roughly kicked open and a desperate pair of eyes lingered in the direction of her departure.