FicWad

Nova had lost track of how long had passed since he had awakened in Soul Society, alone and, worse, unable to teleport. He could still sense power of some sort within himself, but he couldn't use it like he had before... before he had ended up /here/; it slipped through his mental fingers like water. And that power felt different in some subtle way that he had no words to describe. It was still his, but... it wasn't as it had been.

He didn't like that, so he tried to not think about it. He disliked even more the thoughts that crept into his mind by night, after he found somewhere where he could rest for a few hours: am I dead?

So he spent his days wandering through Soul Society's districts, learning the streets and the patterns of life, trying to walk himself to exhaustion and, in the meantime, keep his mind so full of new experiences that he didn't have time to think and wonder and speculate. It still struck him as strange that there were neither food markets nor restaurants, even though he had figured out quickly that he hadn't gained the need for food after appearing here. (While his gigai could replicate any bodily function, including digestion, the... aftermath was awkward enough that he had usually avoided eating except for special occasions.) He quickly learned to avoid the worst districts after nearly being beaten up (or worse,) and that the Shinigami he had met during the war against the Bount didn't venture outside of their own part of Soul Society, Seireitei, very often, and that only Shinigami were permitted to pass through the gates.

Nova enjoyed, to an extent, the solitude. He didn't have to speak more than he needed to, which was very little indeed, and didn't search for a place to call home. He merely wandered until it grew too dark to continue, then rested. Around him, one day blended into another and the leaves that had been pale green when he first awakened darkened, then slowly turned brilliant colors, red and gold. That and the bite in the air was a warning: winter was coming to Soul Society. He should have started to look for a home for the winter, found the way back to a district he had liked. He continued wandering, instead, shivering when he walked in shadows, and around him the district numbers grew larger. One morning, he woke to find the ground shining with frost. He would remember that for years to come.

It was a cry of pain, a child's cry of pain, that got his attention a little later that morning, after the frost had burned away. He turned toward the sound-- a narrow alley was in front of him-- then, resolute, walked toward it. This was a high-numbered district, somewhere in the seventies, near the point where Nova always turned back towards Seireitei and safety, and some in the districts close to the Court of Pure Souls would argue that, in this kind of place, such things as the abuse of a child was to be expected. After all, the people who ended up out there were often little better than animals, the ones who ended up as Shinigami excepted. But, if Chad were here, he would protect the child. Chad was strong and noble and kind and the best person Nova knew. If he knew Nova had turned away, he would be disappointed.

The child-- Nova couldn't determine its gender, as the child was prepubescent and clad in a long, loose, grimy tunic-- was surprisingly small and under-fed, it seemed, even in a world where no one needed food. The child's shoulder blade, where the over-large tunic had slipped down, stood out sharply, the bruises a rainbow of colors against its too-pale skin. Above the child loomed a trio of muscular men in the shabby clothes common to the area, and the one who seemed to be their leader wielded a club. Nova's eyes narrowed as he approached them from behind; it seemed from their commentary that they were doing this for fun.

The leader went down with a single surprise blow to the back of his head. The other two, Nova knew, would be much harder to take down, but they seemed to be unarmed aside from their own bodies, fists and feet. But Nova, too, was unarmed and much less muscular than his opponents, and unused to fighting without the advantage of teleportation on top of that. White-hot rage of a sort that he'd never felt before, even while fighting Bount and, later, Hollows and Arrancar, burned in him, as did a cold current of fear. What happened if a dead person died again? He dodged the first few blows and started to back away; at least he could lead the bastards away; maybe find help or escape once he had given the child time to get to a safer place. But he didn't know the layout of the district like the brutes did, and they easily cornered him in another alley, leaving him little room to dodge. He was doomed.

Without a weapon, unable to harass the inner energy he could feel, how could he fight two men, both larger, if slower, than he was? He attempted to strike at them. It was like punching a brick wall-- they were almost as strong and tough as Chad was-- and the brute barely seemed to feel it.

He dodged another punch, then another. If they hit him hard enough, or if they thought to restrain him somehow he was more than likely doomed. It had been luck that he had knocked their leader out, but it wasn't enough. He thought, dodging. No weapon....

Rukia hadn't had a weapon when they had fought the Bount, he remembered. (Why was he thinking about her at a time like this! He barely knew her and hadn't seen her since the end of the Bount war.) A swordless Shinigami that fought with demon arts, even against Bount, who at their weakest were a hundred times more powerful than both of the brutes put together.

Nova ducked, trying to remember the chant he had heard her use for the fireball spell. What had it been? 'Mask of stone?' No. But there had been a mask, and something about wings. A hard punch connected and left Nova gasping. He could feel the potential rushing in him, familiar and alien at the same time. He ducked under another punch, breathing hard and instinctively trying to teleport, although he knew that it wouldn't work anymore. 'Mask of blood,' perhaps. That somehow seemed right. And it had been phrased as a prayer to something or someone.

A prayer. Then, maybe whatever gave the demon arts their power listened? Nova dodged another punch and nearly managed to dodge a savage kick that, had it hit square on, would probably have broken some ribs. He was starting to tire; soon, he would no longer be able to dodge. Whoever you are, you who grants the Shinigami their power, he thought, please listen, and lend me your strength so that I may protect that child./ If only he could remember it! /Mask of blood... and flesh... flutter of wings.... That seemed almost right. A low sweep knocked his legs out from under him. The larger of the two smirked and asked if Nova had any last words.

Nova raised an arm.

"Ye lord," he started, his voice little louder than a whisper. He felt the energy surge in response. "Mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of man." The words came to him as if someone was whispering them into his ear, and the rush of power to his fingertips was as loud as a waterfall; he had to raise his voice to hear himself over it. "Inferno and pandemonium. The sea barrier surges, march on to the south."

He raised his eyes to look at the two tormenters.

"Shakkahou."

The world exploded in blood-red fire, and then there was nothing.