Yukino

[Instigator of Underwear]

Name: Yukino Asahina

Gender: Female
Rank -
*Division: 2nd
*Seat:

Personality:
As unusual as she appears, the same could be said for the awkward personally that she was born with and eventually molded into. In few words, its actually quite simple to describe the exterior of such a person as Yukino. Quiet, settle, and bluntly honest. To match with her idle appearance, her personally too carries an invisible sense. No bangs or booms to make the girl stand out, rather it simply adds traits to pass her further into the background of people. The ‘silent little girl’ stereotype actually fits quite well by means of a stereotype. Very little do words actually pass through her lips. Instead, Yukino finds herself relying on non-verbal communication surrounded by things like nods and shrugs verses any yes’ or noes. Quietly letting the world go on around her is the usual sense that one would get. The world could end yet Yukino wouldn’t turn a blind eye toward it. After all, it’s none of her business even if the world should end.

Her definitions are also as sharp as a knife and as straight forward as an airplane track. Very little is there ever gray lines for her to trip of. Should it not be her place, then she would know it and know it well. Amongst one of her greatest pet peeves is simply when people step upon business that is not their own. Much to her self satisfactory though, avoiding other people as well as their business is clear enough of a line for her. Which brings upon reason after reason as to why she naturally seems to detest the presence of other people. Instead, idle times and silent areas suit her better then large crowds. Very rarely does Yukino drop the face of reality either; in fact, spitting in the face of reality is a far better sentence for it. Bound by the harsh laws of reality, the one thing Yukino has very plainly learned is to abide by the rules of die. Reality does not stretch or give chances. One mistake, and its might as well the end of the game for the player in one. Quite a straight forward mind set, if one would say. One could say though, that her mind set is simply a childish ignorance. Oblivious to the world other then the harsh cruelty and blood shed, her inability to see any fluff or emotion often brings controversy into weather she’s doing well or simply being a fool in her actions. To the right side of her mind, though, she is simply doing either as told or as logic should provide. Her straight forwardness is often comprehended as cold and too ‘up-tight’ instead of as being the right decision or wrong.

And though of course comes the good and that bad. Enemies are very easily told as the enemy, and thus must be eliminated. Comrades are merely comrades, and no more. One this very topic is the one which she cheats on the most. An enemy is someone who may cause harm to either herself, her objective, or the general public. So if they are neither, then they are neither friend nor foe, thus untouchable by her. Turning her back upon an ‘enemy’ is indirectly Yukino’s opinion being stated in the fact that she see’s no point in confronting the said enemy, thus she will not because it is not her business. Yet even when her back is turned, her eyes are wide. As some call it, the ‘judgment call’ is rendered as her deciding opinion. It takes no more then a split second for her to decide, for should she linger, it gives far too much time for her opinion to wonder beyond its boundaries thus making it null and void. In the moment of her judgment call, it could very well determine weather she strike, fight, fall, or kill.

Aside from enemies, there are friends. Awkwardly enough, Yukino holds no place in her heart for ‘comrades’, and instead, leaves it blank for allies. There are no such friends, merely temporary alliances that one must make on joint assignments and missions. Thus making her dislike for joint assignments far more then solo missions. Being the fact that she cannot simply deploy her trust on someone whom she had never met before, there is little power within her capabilities to create the outcome. Verses being alone, its far easier to control the outcome to your will. Thus also falling into her to-the-point personality. Jokes and mind games may as well go die somewhere. Her need for clean and neatness probably also falls into her dislike of crowds and other people relating it to being some what of a ‘control freak’. Though it’s been taught before to her in the matter that now, she is indeed a bit of a control freak.

Anger is very easily the one emotion that she could detest the most. One glance at Yukino and its clear as day that she cares little for anything. Stepping aside and allowing quarrels to commence is a long lived habit that she has no intention to fix anytime soon. Yet the most disgusting part of life would be anger. The anger that she rarely ever feels accompanied by just about another feeling besides indifference is possibly the most hated one on her list. As she see’s, love and anger are the two most abused emotions on the list. Very little would anyone find them being able to get under her skin to the point where it maybe called ‘anger’. Many a times, she refers to mild things such as that to be a mild irritation that doesn’t deserve to be called ‘anger’. Her indifference toward any feeling is specifically what narrows her closed mind even further. Though on the contrary, she chooses to hold the closed mind space as her own keeping it locked tight and tucking the key away safely.

The final cherry atop her head is certainly the most deliberate trait she is to carry. Tucked beneath the rough sand paper of an exterior, is the utterly shy little girl with flushed cheeks and a wishy-washy worried glance. Yes indeed, perhaps if you scratched off the rust, the shiny metal would be hidden; a diamond among the rough. A very timid girl rests in her heart while a neither timid nor outgoing one rests in her face. Why then, which may Yukino claim to be herself? Merely both, one is wrapped beneath the other.


Appearance:


Slim and petite looking, one would think that this stick of a girl is certainly not ready to pick up a sword and swing it. Her slim limbs and petite features give off the exact same impression on the fellow shinigami whom she meet on the day to day basis. Frail, fragile, and as breakable as glass are the three things that come into mind first. Of course, her weak appearing build is not the full chapter of the story. Her short stunted height often leaves wonder in her age weather she be younger or older. Not quite as tall as the general public, many cease to wonder what this girl is doing as a shinigami. Her young child-like build leaves her lingering and forever frozen in the same early teenage state no more then that of a 13 year old. The flat chest of a distinct female body leaves her at loose in that portion and also leaving out any womanly curves that would perhaps belong to a better aged female. On first glance, all the stated are the first things that anyone would run by as a thought. And on second, the opinion maybe quickly changed.

Her small agile build is the one gift blessed upon Yukino dousing her with a lightweight figure. Her petite frame allows the quickest of snaps and motions from succinct lashes to quick getaways as well as graceful leaps and dainty strikes. As if an automatic function, her footsteps are a mere nothingness in the place of any possible rough crunches. Each light step is no more then the tap of a feather fluttering noiselessly to the ground. Each noiseless action brings her ever more dependent on speed and any essence of surprise mingled with power and the little strength she can produce. Beneath the first glance of a frail sickly girl is the actual brick wall of a child that’s as resilient as a cockroach. Her strong arms caked in nothing but muscle and flesh are amongst the toughest of her figure followed by her powerful legs for kicks and jumps. Though slim and small, her build is quite easily thick with strength and power that carries her with an awkward silence in which she doesn’t quite excel in. On a normal basis, she is merely like the wind in the air and the essence of scents breezing through. Nothing stands out particularly about this very plain and silent child. Her existence, carried with no pride, no emotion, and very little of anything is only supported aloft by a still silence that now represents her presence.

From head to toe, not even her child-like face produces any shocking specialties or dashing statistics. She is merely another face in the crowd. In fact, though, her young face is untouched by age nor scar carried with the youngest and most innocent of appeals. Not a scratch is on the milky pale flesh of her face as if her pale blue eyes has never laid sight upon bloodshed and terror. The ever so faint blue of her eyes, mingled often in such a dim shade to match with that of a shade of colorless gray, may as well be as innocent as any child could get. Yet all the same, the mindless blank look in the pale colors of her eyes may state another fact that she had seen her fair share of events. One could say that she was born with the facial expression that she bares, for rarely does she ever bother with a smile or a frown sticking with a traditional straight forward look. Though many a times, Yukino finds her vision blurred by the light strands of white that linger in her face. The contradictory essence of her child like appeal verses the dim old-lady like expression can be debatable, but her long strands of white simply add too the oddity. Caught between white and faint gray, whatever color her hair decides to be is settled with no more. Often though, she considers it white, for otherwise she see’s the strands as otherwise reconsidering her decision as to what shade it really is. The gleaming fine strands drop to her waist dropping straight and simple with no curls nor waves. Her light bangs part across her eyes to her right crossing over the pale blue of her eyes shielding just about a third of her face from light. Though often curling it all back and away is necessary otherwise she’d see nothing but white. To aid with that handicap, a small set of two pins are snapped into to the strands combing them back and holding them down above her vision. The cross-hatch pattern nipped in her hair now finds itself with a permanent residence other then when she sleeps.

The standard shinigami attire is bore across her back only with her own personally modifications and adjustments just for the sake of her personal taste. The jet black hakama still bares the same shady black bound with no more color then it started with. The wide sleeves are cropped at the shoulders leaving her slim ones bare until her forearms. Once again the cropped sleeves continue being now bound onto her forearm with a thick band of faint lavender to hold it in place, as well as being sung to the main body of her hakama, like wise appearing attached. The slightly slimmer sleeve is almost always rolled back just for convenience sake and buttoned to one side as well just to keep out of her way. The sharp collar gives meaning to ‘sharp’ as it drops below her collar bone only to shoot back up in a sharp ‘v’ like shape unlike that of a standard hakama. The pure white obi is twisted to one side tied on her left verses the traditional in-front bow. The material hangs easily to her left side grazing by her knees due to her unusually short height. Traveling from up to down, a thick belled chocker is snapped around her neck bared with its clear glass bell. For no reason particular, it’s simply a liking of Yukino to bare small trinkets here and there, which is among the one things that she considers a hobby. In place of the standard straw sandals which more shinigami wear, Yukino instead wears a small set of tight slipper-like shoes bound specifically to meet the small size of her feet. In any which case, she need never worry about them falling off or causing trouble during any situation unlike straw sandals which she finds awkwardly irritating and insecure.

Beneath the darkened black cloth that lays upon her pale flesh, is a single noticeable scar. Whereas it is tucked under the safety of her hakama, some might bring to notice the very tip of the heavy gash which runs from the tip of her left shoulder, carrying onto her left waist. Hardly does she ever acknowledge its existence, not only because most do not catch whiff of the ugly scar, but merely because it as a sign of her prior failures as a shinigami. Unlike most, Yukino does not carry the scar with pride as a symbol of battle and victory. She carries it as a curse, an unholy curse from Hades which is borne across her flesh.



Zanpakutô Spirit:

Tall, gallant, and with the powerful essence of an elder, lingers Setsugekka. The mere silhouette is enough to tell a tall tale, for the bird shaped spirit stands at a mighty challengeable height of a three story building. The massive span of wings whips across its distance at an unnamable span with each powerful beat. Each mighty wing is littered with elegant feather after feather caking the entire form with a flurry of snow like plumage. A sharp acute beak was bestowed to the phoenix-like bird upon its small petite head. Supported by the long feathery neck, the very head and beak have their attention stolen by the captivating eyes of Setsugekka. The dim swirl of blue and faint purple dance upon the bridge of gray like traces of glitter within the massive eyes. Though as light as they may seem, it’s needless to say that Yukino too holds a fear to the striking glare as well would anyone else could they even see the towering bird. One glance is like being pierced multiple times over and stapled in place by Setsugekka’s harsh yet firm stare.

Massive dark legs and talons extend from the short ruffle of feathers raising Setsugekka’s height even further to the sky. The leathery flesh bares a deep blue doused with a hint of smothering gray to create an impeccably hazy blue. Each powerful tree trunk like leg is marked as the darkest feature of Setsugekka that isn’t smothered with feathers. Long streaks of tail feathers flow like multiple ribbons and roll like water with each fluent motion. No one tail stands alone as Setsugekka possesses multiple features of so, each sprouting with feathers, though with on distinct tail longer and far more noticeable then the others. Its single proudest feature is the magnificence of each and every detail etched into the line of its features. Amongst the features of her tail is the long weaving spade-shaped feather which is planted proudly at the tip. The plumage is by far the most elegant of features which Setsugekka bares. Each flap of her power wings is said to send a trail of angelic dust rushing from behind as if a path build wherever the elegance goes. The plumage set upon Setsugekka’s raw flesh and skin is first off appearing to be no more then the average feathers that are patched upon a bird. Its powerful phoenix-like appeal though leaves a different thought behind with the razor knife-like features. One touch and on occasion after occasion, Yukino has found herself a fountain of blood after a mere stroke across the multiple blades that seem to ride Setsugekka. Though beautiful, the rose always bares thorns.

Like a pile of shining glitter, the description fits it quite well in matters of color and appearance. An impeccable spray of glittery snow and ice shed from Setsugekka skin and feathers instead of any plumage of a standard pigeon. Drenched in a faint shade of blue mingled with gray, multiple shades seem to litter across the single creature spanning from pale lavender, to gray, to faint blue. Different patches of colors shroud Setsugekka giving off a single message of frost and cold. The undercoat of each knife-like feather seems to bare more gray then any other as the tips are highlights with a pale lavender on the verge of blue. A white coat is caped around Setsugekka regardless of feathers and any other features of the bird. Its icy heavy blue-gray beak mismatches the ever so light pastel shades which are layered over the white of its feathers. The pale blue takes its hold over areas of white mainly the scarce tail feathers and patches beneath the neck and at its powerful legs.

Much like to that of Yukino, one might be able to state what a silent creature Setsugekka is. Little notes or voices emanate from the massive bird earning itself a rather cold exterior which Yukino hardly ever considers something to mingle with. But even more so, Setsugekka is to actually be considered ‘as cold as ice’. Never shall she betray a hint of emotion or weakness let alone any help to the needing. Sympathy is an unknown emotion to the spirit as well as any angry or much laughing joy. Her joy is only kept much like Yukino’s. A silent joy, one that would never leave her lips, and one that is silently appreciated to oneself. Very little will Setsugekka ever utter a word toward Yukino. Weather it be advice, good luck, or any words what so ever, it seems that words rarely ever exit its succinct beak. Instead comes gestures and what Setsugekka renders to be the only way she is allowed to communicate to Yukino, least it be too obvious and not a challenge to Yukino. The few words that are spoken bare the highest value and importance to both of the pair rendering such moments as one to remember. Thrice has Setsugekka uttered words of importance to the ear of Yukino. Once as Yukino dared to hold her chest high and ask for aid of her, as it whispered its name to the mislead child that it saw. Second as her wielder dared venture in a second time seeking knowledge that the child so foolishly desired and sat for hours in counting awaiting its reply; then she had passed across her piece of knowledge of the frozen frosts. Third had been quite the most daring if she did recall correctly. The petite child had become a fountain of blood as she gripped razor shard of her feather refusing to leave before her call was answered. The determined snap of her eyes and glow of her glare was flooded with power as her firm grip dug the flesh of her palm deeper into agony. So third, Setsugekka’s musical voice had granted Yukino with a third answer.

Within the inner world of Yukino is also the home of Setsugekka, thus serving both purposes. As one might suspect, the icy exterior of Setsugekka is also reflected into the cold barren lands of her inner world as well. Yet the oddity never ceases even as one ventures as deep as to the inner world of the shinigami. Bashed by harsh weather, crumbled from age, and battered from the raving winds is merely one half of the torn space. As far as the eye can see stretches a seemingly endless stretch of ice and snow piled lump after lump, acre after acre. Jagged boulders and stone sit scattered across the barren territory baring a sense of cold and death. Massive curves of mountains loom in the distance frowning upon the lands that they rule. The snow caped mountains allow the shrieks and howls of gushing wind to rave through the icescape as if dying women were screaming for their lives. A thin river twists and turns through the barren space crossing the dead spades of grass that have withered brown and black. A rough break begins as the river starts like an endless pit even though it meets only as deep as up to her ankles. The ever changing river may find itself twisting once again, or perhaps rolling back, but as time changes, it has never found itself quite the same. All the same, not a single creature seems to stir within the grasp of the ice.

Yet as she turns her head and field of visions, a new scenery sprouts to fill ones heart with nothing but glee and serenity. As if a splitting image of the barren lands of ice, sits a massive crowd of plains after plains, fields of color after color, flower after flower, and green specks after pink spades. The opposing field could even appear to match an unreal world, a world that belongs in a fairy tail, and a world that is certainly not fit for Yukino. The stretch of green and colors is of course, specked with the colors of the rainbow. Each impeccable blade of grass twitches to and fro as the unusually calm swish of wind travels its lethargic way through with no hurry and no worry. Petite birds find themselves ever so attracted to the sheer serenity flying and buzzing of all colors and shades. Yet of it all comes a single catch. Like a broken clock, time seems to move, stop, rewind, and move again. Never has the time of its space continued pass a single point. Birds stop flapping, only to hang in mid air, frozen in time and space, until the clock ticks again allowing the birds to continue the same path that they have flown for the past several decades. The grass sways in the same repeated pattern much like the wind, always the never, and never changing. To stop at a point in time, and repeat the same swish, the same chirp, and the same glide through time.

At the middle of the chaos and the peace stands a single tree. Though they are one world, perhaps Yukino could one day consider them two. For the two are separated by the lone tree sitting amidst the events flying all around. Both worlds seem to crash to a stop meeting each other so abruptly at the center of the single world. The frozen blades of grass suddenly melt into a lush blade of green, the flourishing birds suddenly drop to stone upon the ground, and the entwining river veers well away from the Grand Divide. Amidst it all still sits the tree. The tree, always changing, never the same, sits like a statue massively baring its sheer size and height. And like the two different landscapes, the tree is as well torn between the two different paths. Even as it is deliberately one world, different halves prove to be quite different in almost every aspect. On one side the tree stands with glory, filled and seated with birds of all kinds and their lush colorful spirits. The green leaves pour out as if a river, though they never seem to drop nor hit the ground. And yet on the other side stands a tree that may be called no more then dead. Its lifeless appearance is exactly what it is; lifeless. The near black and crooked branches hang with brittle weak endurance daring to snap and fall to the ground below at any moment. Trickles tattered brown ash-like leaves smother into nothingness as they break to the ground shattering like glass.

And on either sides of the lands and tree sits two chairs. To one side, seated upon the barren waste land of ice and snow sits a chair of harsh bark and branches entwined with leaves and twigs alike. As if composed of souly branches and wood altogether, the rough rigged chair is littered with stones and what appears to be no more then shards of glass scattered at the feet of the chair. The heavy chair bares hardly any legs, rather composed of stubby branches and almost a block as a seat instead of a flat surface supported by legs. Yet on the opposite side sits yet another chair also directly beneath the shade of the tree. Sitting upon its cushion of wonder and lush blades of impeccable grass is much to what appears to be a rocking chair. Rocking back and forth, its pure white color glints in the fake-appearing sun as it sits idly repeating time along with the rest of that half. Toy building blocks are instead scattered at its wooden feet marked with the traditional letters of the alphabet. A small rag doll too sits at the foot of the chair with beaded eyes and yarn for hair. The small variety encircle the rocking chair as it rocks back and forth as does the shards of glass and stones that accompany the chair of branch and twigs.

And above the very domains and ice and snow, pass the endless fields of gold and green, is the peaks of the mountains, and the very home to Setsugekka. Its home above the clouds renders it actually quite homeless. No real land claims itself to be its home, rather, Setsugekka considers herself the supreme ruler of the mountains and the sky above.

Though it may or may not be known to Yukino herself, the inner world and the home of Setsugekka is by far amongst the traits that represents her life to its fullest. The endless fields are her endless opportunities, the repetitive events in the fields of lush green is the very happiness that she found cut short with little memories to reply, the harsh snow and ice is the shell which protects her most inner thoughts, and of course, the mountains are the very barrier that are the walls of her mind. The clock ticks on as the near frozen river twists and turns as a sign of her uncertainty, the snow, ice fall, and blizzards never seem to cease as is the constant debate mentally in her thoughts, the time rewinds and beings again in the lush blades of green as she repeated the same moments of happiness refusing to move on, and quite so, if she should ever think hard enough, its quite clear that in the end, she is merely a foolish child that knows of such a weakness, but she merely hides the justice to do itself in. In denial, some call it. For it is a realization that she had made quite some time ago.


Sealed Zanpakutô :

One word used to describe Yukino’s zanpaktou is as follows; bland. But only upon first glance, indeed. Of the zanpaktou within Soul Society, its easy to say that Yukino’s is not the brightest and most colorful of them all...once again, upon first glance. On first glance, it appears no more then a bland heap of metal and sheath mixed into a zanpaktou that she calls her own. The dull haze of a gray shade is the tone that masks the sheath compatible to the blue-gray of Setsugekka’s legs and talons alike. Yet on closer inspection, the dull highlights along the sheath are very easily described to be like the feathers upon the wings of a bird. The long streaks of faint blue run along the sheath not exactly stripes yet not exactly clear lines either. Much like feathers, the same designs are repeated over and over again fluffing upon the sheath giving it the only sense of uniqueness. Though as a whole, it is quite a dull an bland weapon, but when shone under the rays of the sun, each ray of light glints into the feathery designs sending a flare of glittery silver across the formerly bland tone of the sheath. Just for the beauty of decoration and trinkets, a thick strap of white is tied to the sheath nearly bordering to the tsuba.

Following a more traditional appeal of a zanpaktou now, the tsuba sits in the shape of a six pedaled Narcissus, a winter flower. The flat copper tone displaces the shine of the sheath matched only with the line of silvery glint rimming the edges. Each of the six petals are divided into categories of three, one group behind and another in front. Even spacing is placed between each petal making the first group of three an impeccable circle of three, and the second filling in the empty spaces left by the first set. A thin border is lined in the second row of three etched with the tiniest of details like bits of plumage to the copper of the guard. Aside from the sheath and the guard, Yukino’s zanpaktou then takes a casual taste of things. The butt of the hilt mimics the details upon the guard beaming with tiny etches flowing from the very bottom to the tips. Moving along the long hilt comes the cloth wrapped around the usually stiff handle which is doused a casual blue nearly matching the sheath. As for color balance, the hilt matches the sheath quite well. Yet again for her like of trinkets, two clear glass-like bells jingle idly at the hilt of her zanpaktou bound only with a thin ribbon of white. Like a charm, beads and small trinkets alike are found strung onto the ends of the two ribbon-ends resulting as both weights and decoration. Cross hatches are sewn into the hilt of her zanpaktou in clearly visible white on the dark haze of blue. The thick thread used beams like the run quite clear when compared to the dark exterior.

Height proves to be a common factor leading to her current habits. And amongst those habits is the one which makes Yukino strap her zanpaktou at an angle across her back waist. Two clips hang at either hands of her zanpaktou, hilt and tip, joined together by a single band of ocean blue. The shade balanced between a hazy blue and a thick gray plays hand and hand with the hazy ash of the sheath. A mingle of chain instead of cloth runs several inches at each end only then running into cloth and attached with a ring of silver. A circular dial sits in the center of the strap allowing Yukino to further adjust the length, assuming that she ever gets any taller. Tilted at an angle that is almost horizontal to the ground, many a times one might find Yukino toiling with the position which she holds it in. Though the angle almost always dances between diagonally across her back and horizontally tilted at an angle across her waist. On a standard average though, it simply sits on a slanted angle almost horizontally across her back.



Shikai Description:

Elegant strings of lavender-blue, a blade of glass, and bells of crystal, the shikai which presents Setsugekka is a proud gleaming weapon. Unlike a variety of zanpaktou, Setsugekka does not undergo a massive change in appearance. The general outline of a blade, guard, and hilt are each present as if no change even occurred after the dramatic moment. Yet quite clearly, a difference is present. A blade of clear crystal-like material gleams in the light with its icy blue exterior. As if like glass, seeing clear through the blade is a trait that is added to the change in appearance. Though like tinted glass, the image seeping through isn’t the clearest of reflections. The traditional metallic gray lingers in the glassy presence still though changing sharply to a blue-white glass at the sharp slicing portion of the blade. The tsuba no longer bares its bland copper-orange and instead mimics the blade taking on a clear crystal window. All but the metallic pieces that connect the two bare such a color, as the metallic pieces remain the same metallic gray.

No changes in the hilt are made leaving it to bare its usual cross hatch of white on blue. The same glass-like bells remain untouched, with only the change of the ribbon present. Like two tails upon a bird, identical strings dangle from the hilt as if extensions of the former ribbon. The lavender-blue shade may perhaps pass as white for its pale exterior regardless of the lavender-blue undertone. Each string mirrors the other, each baring beady trinkets upon the ends as well as the continued ribbon whilst in its sealed form upon the end extending no more then two inches acting as yet another decoration still. Though there are distinctly two separate strings, the thick rope-like strings are double bound first entwined as two, and then linked into one upon the ends by the beady trinkets. And joining the string to the hilt are the same two glass-like bells still jingling with each motion. Each string now extends her arm span out drifting behind as if the tail feathers to a bird.

Shikai Abilities:


The very basis of Yukino’s greatest companion is ice and snow. The hazes of ice and snow are pronounced to be her more favorable tactics, aside from Hakuda or other forms of close range combat. Of her three basis of tactics, the first being ice, the second takes a hold on reitsu. More distinctly, her reitsu and shikai abilities into one. Very importantly, as if it bares a life of its own, the natural instinct of Setsugekka tells her that there is never always a source of water nor ice about. And thus, the very core of Yukino’s zanpaktou acts no more then a storage for the breezy energy in taking her reitsu as the days drag, and the nights pass. The more reitsu is encased to the core of her zanpaktou, the more capacity it will further have in combat, rendering her a source of power before draining the drops of her own core reitsu dry. Though it is her reitsu, thus taking it from her anyway. Any water source, be it the moisture in the air, rain water, snow, or anywhere where water may be extracted, it too maybe used as a source. This being the third of her three basis, the pre-storing of reitsu within her zanpaktou.

Though for the literal skill whilst in shikai, her reitsu plays a key role in weather she floats or sinks; namely now she has earned quite a strength in manipulation of reitsu. With a wave of her ice, on first look, the strike is over and a second round is in need. Yet all the same, the second round is already in action. The consistent flow of reitsu keeps her ice well fueled to keep from shattering like glass, though the amount of circulation varies depending upon Yukino herself. Thus as the ice makes contact with a target, nine out of ten chances, it would shatter after the full blown impact is decanted weather it can or cannot withstand the rest of the impact. Namely for a single reason, Yukino chooses to allow the reitsu to escape from the ice, allowing it to shatter with ease.

Anything that makes contact with her ice, weather it be once, twice, a scratch, or with no blood drawn at all, in a time span of 15 seconds in counting, the ice is sure to reform around the limb or item which it made contact with, save for any flames or impalpable beings. Upon touch or impact, the portions of ice that made contact have branded the target labeling it as the target through the duration of the brawl. The equal amount of how much made contact would begin its cling to the target, and further expanding through the power of Yukino’s zanpaktou and shikai. So long as a shard remains, then a shard shall cling, and expand, if commanded. If not, then it may very well and easily be chipped off unnoticed altogether. Removing the ice comes in a variety of ways. Burning or melting it altogether is by far the most efficient, or merely beating the ice to shards to bits to the point where they are indefinably too small for Yukino to further control will also gain the same result. Being shriveled or burned to a crisp by a wild burst of reitsu results as well, beating off the shards altogether. Though all the same, there’s no command that issues the reformation of her ice, rather, it is an automatic function weather she wants or not. The only control she may cast over it is cutting the flow of reitsu feeding it, thus ending the expansion altogether.

Nadare No Ikkatsu [Howl of the Avalanche] – Very plain and simple, there is no complexity behind her first and foremost technique. Though as usual, it requires the raw concentration and power of her reitsu to be considered anything effective. Across the thin blade of her zanpaktou directly as the blade reaps into sleek sharpness, reitsu is gathered from the core like a rally point traveling from the guard of her zanpaktou to the very tip of its blade. With a very simple flick, the layers of reitsu are peeled off without a moments wait, rendering it air-born in a wide spread arc formation. As her reitsu is near an equivalent of her ice, the end result is reitsu and ice mingled into a single solid-appearing arc. Spanning from her arm span to twice her arm span, one finds that it varies in comparison to the amount of reitsu mustered prior to the long distance strike. In many forms, how ever, Yukino is unable to shape it otherwise out of the arc formation without the use of a medium of some sort. The clear limitations to this technique in particular is reitsu-wise, how much of it she can control.

Fainaru Jajjimento [Final Judgment] – From the by to by, one would consider this far less of an offensive technique and more of a defensive technique. Yet again the very basis revolves around her reitsu, now making Yukino rather a whizz in the reitsu department. The very first steps begin as a clear boundary is marked as if highlighted clearly to the eye and to the touch as well. The boundary is marked as a massive cross with its erotic designs patched to and fro across the magnificent feature. The wide display of lights is lit with Yukino as the core, allowing it to spread under the influence of her reitsu. Once again, though, the limitations are marked by her reitsu. The defensive technique only follows one logic, and that is to freeze, and stop movement. Anything upon the range of the cross, weather it be above, below, or directly on it, would freeze from the ground up the second her command says so. The closer you are to the cross, the faster her specks of ice spread, though only clinging to the target and not the full extent of the boundary. Though the process is evidently slow, so long as the target remains within the range of the cross, new ice will form in place of the old should the target weasel out of the growing ice. Many times, the freezing begins in large portions from the feet and up, until the target is incased in a pure tower of ice, end in the end, suffocating them.

The boundaries of the cross are limited to the amount of reitsu she has to spare, reaching a maximum of 8 meters by 5 meters, length and width-wise. Though being that the shape is that of a cross, the empty corners are not counted into the total square meters that it covers. Specifically, the regeneration of her ice does not apply whilst effected by Final Judgment, be it that the cost of reitsu is simply too much. Escaping takes no more then a simple leave from the boundary; the second one leaves the boundary, that limb, or body part, would be untouched by the effects of her Final Judgment; though any remaining limbs will have to find their own way out. The lasting time period in which Final Judgments starts and ends is a sequence of an 8 minute maximum.

Kousetsu Genkyoku [Snow Song] – One word very easily describes her final trio of her strikes. The most deathening of them all, Kousetsu Genkyoku is fit into the word “blizzard”. Like a walking, stomping, blizzard of ice and snow, bundled shards of ice mingled with snow bind together lifted with reitsu and reitsu alone. The mass of ice may be seen as no more then a mess, though as the seconds tick, a distinct shape is molded into the thick mass of ice and snow. The end result is her prized masterpiece; a near life-sized tower of Setsugekka. The mighty figure stands like a pure white phoenix; tall, gallant, and with its chest puffed out, it appears solid enough to touch the sleek figure. Yet in the reality of things, the figure is no more then a mass of ice and reitsu built together to create the appearance of Setsugekka. The towering figure could easily stand at part to that of a two story house, or perhaps even more. An actual size is undetermined, since really, Yukino’s never taken the time to measure the thing before it crashed into its target. No tricks lay behind Kousetsu Genkyoku, for all it does is crash upon a target smothering it with shards of glass-like ice rendering the end result a frozen bloody mess.

As a price to pay, the physical and mental strain is also a whip-lash on the part of Yukino. If not virtually weighted down by tons, then she may as well be upon her knees with only her zanpaktou for support. The time span in which the near solid figure is able to be retained is a mere 60 seconds before a definite crash and rotting of the figure on the spot. Though the purpose is to merely end at a collision course to the target, little distance is ever made save for the sweeping head first dash it makes for the target. In the process of the strike, Yukino is left stationary to retain the concentration required to maintain the massive figure. A fissure in her concentration, weather it be purposely or incidentally, the mighty figure takes its fall as its source of power is zapped from it. Though the ice and snow remains, the figure no longer does and results as an avalanche of the remains.


Release: Shimiru, Setsugekka [Freeze Over, Setsugekka]

Bankai:



History/Background:

Roleplay Sample:
The Living World, the sky, the sweet sensation of being free; they were all such a distant dream. So why? The sky was always hanging above ones head, weather it be blue, black, or pink. The Living World too was at the finger tips of any shinigami, to the point where you did not want to see humans anymore. The sweet sensation of being free? Well that, she must say, was what you got whilst you were anywhere but within an enclosed room of walls and papers. Really then, she wasn’t all that free. Not while you were within one of the greatest Divisions of Soul Society, if she did consider so herself. You were sure as hell free there, unless someone decided to step on Taicho’s toes. But not when you are ordered to remain in Soul Society, namely the 2nd, and to aid with any and all situations and papers and hell that rained off combat zones.

There she sat, arms across her chest, and leaning against the soft fluff of the sofa-like chair. The walls might have been closing in one her, since each time she looked up the office seemed to only get smaller then the time before. And was it just her, or was the neat pile of papers before her also growing? Sure, it was all Taicho’s work, but was it intimidating to imagine Mr. Bitch Ninja’s reaction when someone reports that “Fatty-Fuku didn’t do his work”? Just a tad bit. Fatty-Fuku, was the perfect name for him. Oh it was a little bit rude and very disrespectful to her direct superior, but she didn’t consider a superior a superior until she saw the worth rollin’ off him or her. And really, all she saw Fatty-Fuku do was eat and pick his nose. The 2nd Division simply could not be represented by such a foul being as him. Thank the lord for Soi Fon-Taicho, since she pretty much balanced out the contrast of personalities and work.

She reached forward, out of her thoughts, and gave the first stack a little tuck. Several papers had become scattered from the rest with their white edges out of order. It stood out, she must say, so naturally, she gave it a little tuck, and good as new. Perfectionist-much? Just a little. The stuffy room once again seemed to shrink as she rose to her feet. White strands scattered like a ripple behind her as she glided her way across the room and to the neatly set desk. Impeccable as always, she admired with a smile-less glance. The almost-as-tall-as-her stack of paper was plopped onto Soi Fon’s desk, and again, she gave a little nudge to the papers which had come loose. 234257 down, 5981327 more to go. Those numbers were quite realistic, actually. Her nimble fingers worked the sheets back into place, careful not to displace anything that was already on the desk prior to the stack of white after white, aka papers. Glorious!

Her head whipped to the side suddenly as the two rice paper doors clattered open. Like an automatic reaction, she turned fluidly toward the sliding doors, and found it empty. Awkwardddddd. Her head tilted to one side, before she slipped from the desk to the door slipping it closed. He turned back only to see a figure standing in the middle of the office. Oh crap.

[Instigator of Underwear]

Bankai:

Bankai Incantation:

As during shikai, the two bells mounted to the hilt of her zanpaktou ring once, the bells chime a second time during the process of her Bankai. Twice will the bells ring, once each, with the two braided ribbon of her shikai encircling her, zanpaktou held outward vertically with the blade to the sky, and then finally, as the second bell chimes, it falls clockwise 90 degrees, as the second bell chimes. Now with the blade vertically in front of her, does she whisper the common command for the release of Bankai. “Bankai, Junpaku Setsugekka.” [Lit. trans; Pure White Snow]

Bankai Name:

Junpaku Setsugekka [Pure White Snow]

Bankai Appearance:
[X]

The very exterior of her pale figure changes, as if to adjust to the new appeal of her Bankai. Though her zanpaktou itself sees little to no changes. The same figure is retained from shikai as it is to Bankai. The same icey exterior of her blade, clear like glass, as well as the tsuba and the silk of the hilt. The only notable change, if anything, is more clear then the light of day. The originally two strands of braid that extend from the hilt of her zanpaktou are mingled to one, and along them, six flower buds bloom. However, each bud seems to be that of ice and crystal, clear and sleek, to the point of being able to see ones own reflection upon its surface. Each are at a near foot in diameter, though somewhat smaller then that, and neatly closed as a bud.

Still mounted atop the braid of her zanpaktou, the braid itself hovers in a wide circle, buds each distribute evenly in distance from one another, and with Yukino herself as the center. As soon as the quick formation is set, each of the bubs lop from the braid one by one, hovering in space as a neat circle around her. The first stage of her Bankai is set.

Although her zanpaktou itself changes little, the majority of the alterations commence upon Yukino herself. Her attire, however still clad in black, shifts into that of a traditional Chinese dress code. On sight, it still remains quite similar to her usual shinigami attire, minus a white Haori embalmed with the symbol of the 2nd Division, which she would have long since discarded before awakening her bankai. The original low cut collar raises to her neck, snug almost to her chin, bordered with a line of white, which then slices diagonally to her left, cuffing at the end of the cloth to meet her bare skin. Several pins line the bordered white, cutting across her shoulder area as if to keep the bordered white together. Her sleeves as well, no longer long and floppy of hakama sleeves, and instead, skin tight, in traditional Chinese, bound to her skin and dropping to her very finger tips. Cloth that should be covering her petite shoulders is still missing, similar to her standard shinigami attire, ever still leaving both her shoulders bare. The bottom of her hakama shrinks at the leg to her ankle, thinning down to be cuffed with a dark black band tight around her ankle. As to prevent any floppy articles of clothing to scatter in her movement.

The snow white obi around her waist is replaced by a simple band, no longer any bow that is tied, and now just a simple thickened white band that is pinned around her waist. A good portion of her lower abdomen is covered by the sash alone, only to be enforced by a thread of black iron male that circumferences her waist atop the sash. Her slippered feet remain untouched by the other changes, still a satin black shade that fits the shape of her petite feet impeccably. As if to make up for the loss of her belled collar, instead, two pairs of bells hang from the very rim of her sleeve, pinned tightly in place, and a stale glassy white tone. Clear like crystal, they hang with the small beads within them, jingling as she moves, with two to each sleeve. Traveling further upward, a small patch of her flesh is left unprotected as the cloth leaves a purposeful bare area, bordered more with white, at her very collar bone. Even further to her accessories would be yet another bell asset, this time tied into her hair, threaded in with a brilliant scarlet ribbon, fine of silk and tied into a single lock of her hair upon her left side. A final accessory, per se, would then be the sapphire crescent embalmed into her flesh, printed flat to the center of her forehead. In the mean time, she makes no effort to hide the new bodily mark, as her white strands part purposefully to leave it in plain sight.

Moving onto non physical changes, many have marked they way to her. Of the first is the set of six glassy buds balanced in a ring around her, each a passive technique, followed by the pair of miraculously small wings planted to her outer side of both her ankles. If anything, she’d prefer naming them as a quick form of transportation, and yet aggressive technique, as each prove similar to the feathers along the braided ribbon of her zanpaktou, razor like knives, yet still with the alternate of allowing Yukino to stay aloft in the sky. Tinted a light blue, a faint grow of teal along with specks of ice and snow trickle endlessly from the exterior of each wing. Reaching no further then one foot from her ankle, they are, per se, a physical representation of Setsugekka. And in theory, should she manage to kick a target with either foot, it’s save to presume that the razored wings will not escape clean of blood and flesh.

And finally, the last touch to her Bankai, three pairs of feathered spokes rear from her right shoulder, followed by two of smaller size behind the first. Each are typically represented as a feather of Setsugekka, a gradient of lavender, blue, and white, tips a ghostly pale lavender, and a shard of blade printed at the very bottoms, three of the identical feather spoke above her right shoulder, in the impression of a wing. One half of a wing, anyway. Each span the size of, why, one of Setsugekka’s feathers, fearful in length, toppling at a good yard to one meter, followed by two on a smaller scan, shrunken down to a mere foot, rearing the three feathered wing. Neither are quite connected to her flesh, but rather, hover above her shoulder in the impression.


Bankai Abilities|Techniques:


Of course, the general basis of her abilities don’t vary quite too much. In fact, they don’t change the slightest bit. The same bare element of ice and snow are under the span of her abilities, baring the same aftermath of ice of that of her shikai. Simply put, once struck by her ice, within 15 seconds of counting, they contacted item is still a target, as the ice rebuilds around it, unless or until it’s shattered to unnamable pieces. Or of course, flushed away one way or another, weather it be by heat of some other factor that goes unnamed by the thousands. As for her Bankai, quite frankly, the listen only increases, named by more passive techniques.

The simplest passive technique would easily be the long two wings, one each on each ankle. With an easy rush of reitsu, its only use is to enhance her speed for a single moment. Generally speaking, it’s less of a technique then is it a physical gain through Bankai. With a short title, typically, she names the physical trait “Jump Step”; the heightened physical speed and power of her jumps through the support from her feet and heels. As a side effect from the Jump Step, through time and overusage, it eventually strains the support in her ankels, going as far as to damage the muscle and tendons, which would evnetually render her unable to support her own wait, and in turn, unable to stand. Only through extensive use and abuse of the Jump Step, though, would this side effect take place. In turn, a fair amount of reitsu is consumed depending on the intensity of the heightened jump.

The very first, though not a technique, concerns the sapphire crescent tattooed to her forehead like a sin. Evidently, the small crescent moons serves more then simply adding a nice touch to her young appearance. If anything, it’s the extra space to store reitsu over the course of time. Many atimes, and very purposefully, she’ll find herself heightened a technique beyond what’s necessary. And so, a portion of that reitsu used is shaved from the technique, and stored into the endless cavern known as the shard of the moon imprinted on her forehead. Of course, that does mean over all, she has far less reitsu at her disposal if she’s so stingy as to save portions of it from her strikes. And yet on the counter part, the storage of reitsu can roar from its chains on cue. Specifically to give an extra charge to a specific technique. If anything, it’s quite the cats’ game to add and subtract energy used from her techniques, as if that’s the case, none of the techniques she uses would be quite constant as to their limitations. A strike used once, if she so decided that she’d like to shave off a shred of reitsu from the strike, then so be it, and its destructive power will be noticeably reduced. Or perhaps, she’s in need of an extra punch, and decides heave open the doors and let loose some extra power to a strike. On the contrary, its destructive power will be increased.

Once again, however, on the dark side of the moon, toying with her reitsu to such a scale is quite an exhausting thing, and requires the concentration of a rock. She’d find herself very much worn out should this process be repeated too often in a short time span. Over time, the effects are less noticeable, and yet, follows with more side effects. Having inconsistent levels and gauges of techniques is quite a jog for her memory, that is, to recall the original basis of her techniques using muscle memory that is soon to be nonexistent. In which case, many atimes, Yukino finds herself wasting unnecessary energy in a variety of her techniques, leading to a quicker down fall.

Karasukiboshi [Three Stars Constellation]-

Now, the three feathered blades that spoke from the very back of her right shoulder are more then for shows. Rather, they are three near puppet like figures that are at the control of her finger tips. As the name suggests, each is like the star of a constellation. Arrangeable in different patterns, different shapes, for different outcomes, they prove to be a hefty technique. Behind the ravels of each arrangement, though, is the same luminous symbol. Individually, each of the three constellations mean little, however, when wrapped in a triangle per se, from each corner of the constellations spouts the symbolic seal, and once completed, and successfully a physical and tangible shield. As of yet, Yukino has little creativity with other uses of Karasukiboshi. Initially, should one of the constellations be knocked from its position, whatever formation it is in, is shattered with no time lag.

Tenrei Gokan [Heavenly Five Senses] –

A passive technique, starting the second she ushers her Bankai to begin, and ends only as her bankai fades. Frankly, it’s near the first noticeable change that occurs. The appearance of several glassy flower buds, six in counting, and each encircling her. Obviously, they do not retain that very same position, and instead, for the most part do not surround her. Many atimes, they simply hover behind her, close enough to be in tangible reach, yet far enough to avoid becoming a physical nuisance.

As the name suggests, the gist is this passive technique is none other then the common five sense of man. One glassy bud corresponds with one of the five senses. Then, one may ask, why there are six crystalline buds, whilst there are only five human senses? Why, because in truth, creatures of the spiritual world have six senses. Adding that of spiritual awareness, of course. As the glassy buds are as stated, still buds, it is safe to assume that once they open, the true toll of Tenrei Goken takes place. In combat, the toll of Tenrei Gokan is only viewed once blood of the target has been shed. If, and only if, the blade of her zanpaktou draws the blood of a target, it triggers the very first stage of Tenrei Goken. And at that, enough blood must leak to her face of her zanpaktou. At the very area of the gash of blood drawn by her, upon the target, a flower of ice shall unfold itself and settle neatly atop the torn flesh. Of course, it takes little to no effort to brush it off, simply giving the flower a flick is enough to shatter the little being and crush each of its six petals. But alas, that will not reverse the effects to take place.

One cut, one flower, one chime of a bell, one sense. The simple process goes as so. As blood is drawn and a flower unfolded, to correspond, one of the glassy buds unfolds as well, blooming per se, only not into a flower, but into a sleek bell, clear as glass and cold as ice, for it to chime once. And as the bell chimes, one sense of the target is so called ‘ceased from them’. Not literally, of course, as rather, it merely creates the sense that one of the targets six senses has been taken. One cut of blood only corresponds to one bell and one sense. Evidently, a total of six bloody strikes are required for the full extent of Tenrei Gokan to take place.

The first bell to bloom upon the first slice, is that of smell. The most settle effect of the six bells. Merely that, the sweet cold of the misty air is all a target shall breathe through their lungs, creating a rather suffocating sense. The second to chime, would be that of taste. The bitter taste of the chill shall seemingly fill the targets lungs, cold, sharp, jabbing, as if short of breath. Although a physiological illusion, who knows if the weak minded ones may already fall dead before the third chime. The third to chime, however, is then sight. The thick mist, heavy domain of white, and seemingly intangible thickness of snow, once again, fends the illusion of blindness. The fourth to chime is that of sound, and now literally, said target can hear the endless chime on bells, sounding one after another, all at once, at different paces, ringing, ringing, and ringing. The fifth chime now, is that of touch. Soon to be numbed by the cold, that is, hands to shake and grip to loosen by the pure chill of her storm. And finally, the sixth and final to chime, is that of Spirit. To cease the spirit is to finally cast away the life, no? Of course.

Once each of the six bells have unfolded and chimed, all it leaves it for the finale to take place. At the feet of the target, blooms a final flower. It’s glassy pedals large and oversized, touch like leather yet sharp like a knife, its cold touch allows ice to freeze the target from the legs and up, every second with the glassy pedals closing closer and closer about the target. Until, that is, the encasement comes to an end, and the pedals inclose around the frozen solid target. Death is to part.

Of course, death isn’t a 100%. As many atimes, it is a physiological shock, attempting to snap a target into such a state of mind. Calling the sixth bell chime the one that brings death is a mere factor that for one, sounds very intriguing, and secondly, to intimidate the said target. Once the seventh flower encases the target, the bells that once hovered around her shatter to an end, their parts played, and no longer useable until the next spring. In a sense, Tenkei Gokan can only be used once throughout the duration of her bankai. On another note, each relevant bell or flower of Tenkei Gokan can simply be shattered to cease its effects. Of course, they’re aren’t that of true glass and takes more effort then “simply”. One crushing strike, though, is well enough to shatter one of the bells to oblivion.

Difuinu Sutorikka [Divine Striker] –

The most powerful of her techniques, or so, she assumes and always places as so. And yet, it is the simplest. Once again requiring her three constellations, the same shield like symbolic seal is stained into place, with the constellations at the center. Although this time about, they do not spread in an even triangle, flat in a 2D appeal. Instead, the three narrow into the form of a cannon, almost, bases touching and thinner tips near enclosed into a triangular prism. With an opening, of course, and facing the direction of the target. At its base, is the symbolic seal, and at the nose, yet another symbolic seal, smaller, and on a 2D scaled circle. At the very nose of the triangular prism, s the beginning of her most destructive strike. A physical ball of reitsu, that is, scaled small on first sight is lobbed to the nose of the prism, and around it, is yet another 2D flat-like circle. Ahead of it, is alas, one more.

Though it is a pain stakingly slow process, the results are all she’d ever wish for. Complete and utter destruction. Noticeably, the small ball no longer remains small. Its size increases, massively at that, until it is reasonably near the size of a common basketball. And then finally, the cannon is launched. Assuming that the very tip of her blade is the trigger, that when touching the wide 2D symbolic seal at the base of the triangular prism, fires the cannon. Without further ado, it takes little to no time for it to go off, compared in contrast to the ‘loading time’. Like a beam, or in fact a cannon, Divine Striker lashes through the air, its quick progress to be noted, followed by the fact that most commonly, this is the critical moment in which she most often drains the reitsu she had gathered to the crescent of her forehead dry to give the cannon a single extra punch. Anything caught in the path of her Divine Strike, why, do not expect it to come out unharmed or in anything other then ashes. Though not to that extreme, as it tears through buildings and objects, rather then desinigrating physical objects, which results in a field of ruins that its course lashed through. However, the range isn’t a factor to mention, as naturally, Divine Striker is more used as a massive field destruction method, as to remove as many targets as possible within the vicinity. After the course of several dozen meters, does the cannon thin, and then finally, break.

Once again, Divine Striker is a ‘one-time-use-card’ in battle. In fact, it casually drains nearly every drop of reitsu from her bones and being. Which usually, ends as the decider of weather she wins or loses terribly. Once the Divine Striker is fired, there is little to no chance, that there will be any second change for Yukino. All is over once she fires the technique. And yet, due to its painfully slow pre-fire time lag, it doesn’t take much for a tactical opponent, nor a fast one, to separate her from her zanpaktou, or simply cut down Yukino altogether, to end the process of the strike. As well as the fact that Divine Striker is quite on the long range division of combat. It is certainly not useful in close range combat, nor a speedy battle. Despite its wide circumference, long range obliteration of multiple enemies, or the utter defeat of an immobile target, are its only good uses.

History:

Life never pertained much of a reason for this lonesome child. Never once did she question it though, because the abnormal life she led was good enough for her. She needn’t hold anything more but the hand of her father in her petite grip, and in her other hand, the palm of her mother.

Her eyes were opened for the very first time with what else but two widely known detectives at her side. To the world, they were seen to be the perfect partners. Like pieces of a puzzle, there was little to nothing that a pair could not do; especially this pair. Tateki Asahina, and Hanabi Asahina, once again known to Japan as their hidden knives, yet to the still young Yukino, they were mother, and father, and nothing else. Yet upon giving the laborious birth to Yukino, the result ended as her mother’s health shattered. The unnamable pieces scattered across the floor and could not be put back together again. Merely days after her birth, Yukino was taken into the care of a nanny instead of the warm arms of her flesh and blood parents. Many times, her father picked up the pieces left behind by her mother, and her mother picked up her own pieces in poor attempts to regain her health.

The years toiled by, and of course, her memories of such a childhood were scarce. She never did grow to meet the sickly eyes of her mother and instead, only saw the glorious serene eyes of blue that belonged to the woman whom she was proud to whimper to. In second place was her father, though constantly away, he too held a tiny position of her infant heart. Retirement was never an option for her young parents who needed to retain their careers to generate enough income to feed and provide dippers for her messy self. The time they spent away from work and with her was soon to be patched as she stepped for the first time into preschool. Her Japanese heritage lead to a very neat learning environment designed to milk every drop of intelligence from her four year old self. Throughout the long days being exchanged from teacher to teacher, she never did notice the disappearance of her parents who worked vigorously throughout the day whilst she was in school. They merely appeared on time, not a second too late, to retrieve her from the school, only to repeat the same routine once again. The days rolled by as she innocently made her way through life. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months.

And in that 5th month of learning, one thing was quite clear about Yukino; she did not interact with the other children very well. The small private class was of course, private, with only a small bundle of students to consider a class. The classroom itself shrunk in size compared to standard classrooms as a result of the small number of students. And everyday in one of the four corners would sit a stack of blocks. Each colorful square box sat upon the one beneath it stacked as high as the blocks would allow. And at the feet of the blocks would be a single chair in which Yukino stood upon to stack the final block to her towers. Day in and day out; the routine never changed. But of course, never once did her parents hear a word of this. Weather they could attend any meetings or not, time was of the essence, and the more dire of issues would be addressed above all else. Yet one could clearly see that there were little problems with it. She did not cause a ruckus, she did not avoid the other children, nor did she show any disliking toward her young solitude. And in the eventual case, nor did the teachers take note of it any further.

Her young schooling years continued as traditional stages of kindergarten and grade school commenced. Even as her chubby face and wobbly stance eroded, her personality, how ever, did not. Despite the fact that she was able to escape her preschool years unharmed, a public elementary school too a different toll upon the now very unaccustomed child. Unlike other children, the ability to interact with others was lost along with any stranger-friendly thoughts she had ever had. And outsider was an outsider; there was no two ways to it. This distinct feature revealed itself clearly during her 2nd grade year. All was not well during 1st grade either, for the first steps toward an aggressive life took place with her violent follow-the-rules appeal. Nothing could get past Yukino, the Rule-Nazi. That meant no taking an extra cookie during snack times; and also no cutting in the line for the slide. Secluded from the rest of the children specifically for those traits, her inability to interact with others took its first toll payment in her 2nd elementary year. Pushing and shoving her way through the crowd of students, she first found herself with her arms crossed, a frown on her face, and high pitched voice raised to chastise the students who has apparently touched the wet slide. That, though, was the beginning to her ruckus school days.

The elementary says sped by with the same placid scenery. It was always her, long white hair hanging in a ponytail, chin propped on her hand, elbow on the table, and pale blue eyes gleaming out the window. It was always her, laying on her back upon the roof for a glimpse of the sky, during the lunch periods. Junior Highschool is Japan did not change the essence of her appeal. Like a piece of the background, she was not part of the class, but rather, she was the unnoticed background images that were tucked into the corners out of view from the others. But that didn’t change a thing, because when she returned home, there was always the warm embrace of her mother and father to greet her. Perhaps their early smothering had rendered her forever within the span of their arms. Never would she leave them, or even stray too far at that. That would be her handicap, though, now, and forever. For by the time she turned 12, her indifferent personality and aggression against the general public was a raw magnet to bloody violence. School was surely not a safe place; not with Yukino there. What an overstatement. The only truth that laid beneath the spazz of rumors was her indifference outlook on other students, whilst all the glory of life was in the presence of her parents. And that truth stood, until days after her 12th birthday.

Her light footsteps echoed down the empty street tapping in an impeccable pace. A smile was worn on her face, pale as it was, it was a smile still. Though surely not a smile of joy, but merely a smile to reassure herself of the coming time. Her privileges as a 12 year old seemed bright; nearly as bright as the moon that was hung in the sky. She’d reach the embrace of her dear mother if she only turned several more blocks. The ruthless children at school would be away and out of her mind altogether; she needn’t think of them again. Several cars roared down the main street casting repeated shadows of yellow and gray across the dimly lit walls that bordered the narrow street. The street lights hung above her head casting its ugly yellow-orange gleam. It was a disgusting color, really. Another roar of a car fumed from behind her as she jolted from the surprise. Her white strands plastered her face as she craned her head around, weary, through the blanket of the night. Merely a car, she reassured herself. And it was. The glares of both head lights drenched her in that sickening yellow-orange tone. Yukino stepped off to one side nearly hugging the wall of the street now, her pace not slowing. Why does she recall this event so vividly? Merely a car, no? Shamefully, it is the one memory that will go on forever, and ever, and on, and on. For then next comes the one memory that she cannot seem to slow down. One that moves along side the speed of light, one that she cannot tone down the terrors of. Many things happened at once; too many things happened at once. She could not see, she could not breath, she could not feet the tips of her fingers or see the cold breath through her lips in the cold. But in the stead of them all, she could feel terror. She could feel terror as strong arms locked from her behind. She could feel shock as she struggled futilely against the broad arms and shoulders. She could hear her screams, yet she could not, as another hand shot up to her face snapping her lips shut. She could feel her kicking make impact, but with no veil. She could feel the sting of cold metal across her neck. And then she could feel her feet leave the ground. And last of all, she could then feel the soft cushion of seats within a car, smell the light taint of cigars, and taste the disgust and foil of death itself.

Hours, yes…hours passed, right? Or perhaps days passed, and perhaps she was merely losing track of time. No, for reality only let a single hour tick by. And within that hour, she once again felt herself lifted off her feet and shoved violently by some brute one way or another. Her face met the cold cement-like floor as she found herself unable to reach out with her hands. The blindfold over her pale eyes was stripped off giving her the gift of sight once more, but this time, she didn’t want to see. The night rolled over spinning into day before her eyes blinked open from the harsh treatment the night before. She jolted up and conscious, only to meet four walls that seemed to shrink in upon her little world. Her first reaction was just like anyone else’s. Both arms flew up, or didn’t, because all she felt was the ugly strain upon her wrists finding them tied firmly behind her back. The second attempt was to rise, no matter how futile that was. Both feet were bound together as well. Scooting her away across the sooty floor, she pressed her face to the hard metal of the door. No voices on the other side, then again, it was a metal door, she wouldn’t be able to hear anyway. Third attempt; she gave a single yell, a familiar cry. ‘Is anyone there’ she called, oddly without any shrieking mingled into her tone. More of irritation, because she was 12, on top of the world, and nothing would go wrong, no? Ah, her spoiled lifestyle would bring an end to her. And if perhaps time could be replayed, this is the one moment that she would have altered. The memory flickered like an old tape. Yes.


Her cheek left the cold metal as she peered up this time. Rays of light were scattered through the tiny yet impossibly high window allowing the day to show itself. What use was that? Absolutely nothing. A patch of red stained the metallic door, rendering her now aware of the bloody gash across her head either from her fall or from the struggle prior. But of course, her parents were the greatest detectives of their time, right? So she’d be rescued from this scandal in no time. Or so she thought. Such a poor illusion, she’d think upon looking back. Such a terrible child she was. And more so, how dependent was she upon her parents? Very. Because before she knew it, time slowed just for her, prolonging the illusion in which she believed, chipping away at the hope she saw, and casting away the light that shone through the window. Trays of food were passed to her in small portions, obviously to keep her alive. Only then did she realize one key thing. This was no scandal, nor was it a horrible joke. Perhaps she had known it from the beginning, that she had been kidnapped. And perhaps for the three days that she remained locked in the same room, she had denied it thinking the single lie that her mother and father would swoop in to rescue her. And now, it was time for terror to sink. Saturated in nothing but terror, the unaccustomed child shrank from the world. The only world she knew of now was the small box of a room that would be hers, until the Gods finally decided to save her.

The heavy stomp of feet shook her from her hinges as the door threw itself open. It was off time; it was not any of the two meals she knew of. It was because someone was here for her. Treated as a rag doll, she was yanked to her feet. The rope across her leg was torn to threads as one of the two men struck a single time which a dagger of some sort. Half of her was free. The two left, and the door closed before she could even take a step. And then came yet another moment in which time spread just for her. As if she was watching things from the speed of light, she hear, saw, and touched all as if it was no more then three seconds of her life. Three, long, terrible, seconds.

Screaming.
Yelling.
Gun shots.

…

Silence.

The doors burst upon again nearly knocking her from her feet. There stood her parents, oddly worn looking from the last time she had set eyes upon them. Tattered, worn, and with bags under their eyes, before she could even smile, she felt the cold flesh of her mother embrace her, followed by the sweet essence of her father. The force of the impact sent them to the ground with a single shot. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air like a blanket refusing to leave its covers. No. Sticky patches of crimson drenched her flesh, her tattered clothes, the ground, her very existence, all of it. Peering through the mass of red was the man she’d know to hate forever. Yet again time was slowed this time just for the sake of her agony. Her limbs, she couldn’t feel them. Were they intact? Was she ripped to shreds as well? Or perhaps she was dead? Was she dead, just like the two bloodened corpses tumbled upon her? No, but she wished so.

This time, time sped forward. Red and blue lights twirled in the air of the ware house, shouts echoed off its walls, footsteps stomped through the noise. The weight was lifted. But the essence remained. The essence of death lingered in her existence now, tainted, stained, and scorned by some terrible fate. Or so, perhaps she could now call it her punishment for being such an imprudent child. Perhaps so. Yet she had not taken that into mind as they marched her, drenched in blood that wasn’t her own, into the custody of the police force.

Months of complications followed, for Japan was facing their own crises. The will of her parents, the money that she couldn’t touch until she turned 18, the house that she could not own, even a life that was no longer hers. All of which proceeded whilst her hate boiled within her petite chest. Now what did she hate? She hated the men who had slain her parents. Yet at the same time, she too detested her so called parents who could not survive. She detested them for abandoning her, she detested them for leaving her stray for days, and most of all, she detested them for leaving her with nothing. Yukino found herself stuffed into the house of her aunt, accompanied by a single older brother, and a younger sister. She loathed it. She loathed every second of it. Stacked above that still was the only remaining problem; school.

Her schooling continued with the payment drawn from the remaining money of her parents, money that she could only use for living expenses. But money could not buy her grades as they dropped from exceeding to failing in an instant. Brawls broke out where ever she set foot, weather it be on campus or off campus. Location did not matter to her, not the slightest bit. Her indifferent personality was reinherited as she stepped back into the steps of Junior High. Only she took up the wing of fights instead of mere indifference this time. Who was there to tell her it was terribly wrong? Who was there to say no? No one. She became the queen of her own world, sitting upon her grand throne, and eyeing the small children wonder across her path. Of course, manyatimes, she nearly found herself without a school to attend. Yet with the slim law and order of the times, never once did she pay eye toward it. Her regard for law, however, never once faded. Instead, it lived side by side with her obligation and duty. Those who break the ultimate rules shall obtain nothing but her ultimate punishment. And thus was the beginning of her future ideals.

Her to-be life was shorted bit by bit, second by second, by her selfish ideals and goals. Yet it came to mind that, no, she had no goal; for she never did know what it was. So through her incessant violence, she could obtain it? Yes.

The throb in her arm was far from causing her any crippling pain. What was one punch or two worth? Absolutely nothing! She rocked back the shoulder testing its remaining ability. She must admit though, she had taken one punch too many. But in the end, it was her who had ended up on topic. Victory was still hers, and once again, her judgment was passed. Yet the dissatisfied nag in her mind prevented her from going back and finishing the deed. No, she was not satisfied even with her win. The scarlet stained patches had socked into the white fabric of her uniform, now leaving a rust-like crimson in its place. For the little bystanders during the day, one would immediately assume that it was merely a spill of some sort; a spill of some sort that was indefinitely white, and reeked of iron and copper. She paused before the empty shop, letting the coins in her hand drop and clatter to the table. She left with a can of green tea in her hands. Half walking and half drinking, the crowded streets hid any scene of a female walking about stained with patches of red that may or may not have been her own. She paused, though, quite suddenly, as the crowded thinned down as the next corner passed.

The crowd had shriveled to a mere five or six people musing down the littered streets. Construction was ahead, no wonder. She turned to leave as well, following the flow of people, but instead, she found herself standing still, gawking, yet not gawking, because she was staring in terror. Amongst the faces of the crowd, there was a single man whom she would never forget the sight of. Not only would she never forget the sight, but nor would she forget the memory, the terror, and the ever boiling hate.

The can slipped from her grip, clattering to the ground along with the remaining change that was still in her grip. Some how, it sounded as if a thousand drummers were clapping their drums as the can hit the ground. It bounced once, clattered several more times, and went silent. Several heads turned toward her, but she paid them no attention. Not bothering with the mess that she left behind, Yukino raced forward, appearing to perhaps have seen a familiar person and was running merely to catch up. In a sense, that was true. Because she had found her parents’ killer. Around the corner she went, only to shrink back from its dark claws. She peered down the slim ally way and found three more faces in the dark, all of which she did not recognize except for the one man whom she was after. Like the many phenomenon before, time twirled its hands winding forward the tick and the tock. She could feel her feet moving, she could feel the pocket knife in her palm, she could smell the death in the air, she could see the white of their eyes; but she could not taste the sweet sensation of victory. One crack of thunder, two cracks of thunder. It was rather painless, she must say. Now the crimson stains upon her uniform were quite clear. It was her own, for once. She met the cold hard ground, splashing the puddle of red in every possible direction. Ah, her sweet ambition for those long years had finally come to an end. Thinking back, she had actually reached the ambitious goal which she had mused over those empty nights day after day. It was sealed with a kiss of the dead themselves; death. The night rolled over and the clocks reset. The morning broke, leading to the new day, the day which she could call her own.

The ache in her chest jingled, yes, it jingled. She opened her eyes. With a jolt, Yukino flew off the ground jumping right into a broad stand, only to plop back down to the ground. Her hand went to the tightness of her chest, meeting the cold metal of a chain that was quite literally nailed onto her flesh. It took little to no time for her to bounce back to her feet, and allow the hell to begin.

The blur of memories flew by as she overlooked the days behind her. The killer, the chase, the gun, the blood, yet there she was, perfectly alive, as least, as far as she knew anyway. Off she went to the only place she could call home. But it was no longer home, for when she arrived, it was another but the scene of a bloody massacre. It did not take a second thought to tell her that now, the Asahina family was dead. They had left no one, apparently, as she peered onto the mutilated body of her younger sister. What a short lived four years. She didn’t bother with a look to the others. She knew they were the same. Best leave before the police arrive, she had thought. But she didn’t leave without claiming the photo-note upon the counter, entitled with her name, and from over three years ago. People in black greeted her on the outside as if they had known she was there. But they didn’t greet her. The hard surface pressed to her forehead, painless as it was.

Happy birthday.

Yukino Asahina, 14, December 18th.

===========================

So she was dead, yes. But did it feel any different? No. This Rukongai place…it bore similarities to Japan. Heaven or hell, she couldn’t tell. Or so the same thoughts as those ran through her mind day after day. Nothing was very clear, in fact, nothing was clear period. Disgusting people were all around, old people, young people, children, adults. Welcome to the 79th district of Rukongai. Lucky numbers, one might say, if you were American anyway. But she wasn’t American, so her lucky number was certainly not 7. And nor was the tiny creature that she appeared to be upon arrival. For as time passed, of course, the Rukongai was distinctly her new home and hell in one.

It was not a haven, she must admit. Criminals and delinquents littered the streets, prosperity seemed as far as heaven was, and more so, her apparent family was no family she knew of. The mother was not the mother whom she had grown up loving, and rather, no more then a petty women, quite frail, sickly looking, and always clinging to the man whom she was to address as father. A big bulk of a man he was. Tall, broad, and by far as most violent thing she had seen to know. If she wanted a roof over her head and sheets over her petite figure, then her only open option was the ‘family’. She never did question why she had gone with them. The decades passed. No, not even. She was never known to tolerate much for very long, and in fact, she never would be. Who counted years in a place where you could not become hungry, surely not her? And so, perhaps she was yet again doomed to make another poor decision along her now deceased life span. It was short. Very short. He so called father arrived home, steadily he went, reeking of hell itself, and slugging with him a seemingly endless jug of beer or wine or some sort. She did not know. She watched his lips move, but she heard no sound. She saw him stride up to her, and she felt herself propelled through the air and into the ground. But she did not feel the sting of pain on her cheek. She stood. Several move lip movements followed from her so called mother. She paced over to the to-be table, plucked off the pair of scissors, and paced back to her so called mother. As if mechanical, each reaction came one after another. Bring me the scissors. Ok. Move aside. Ok. Don’t wave those things around. Never.

Yet again she saw him move, his hand slapping through the air aimed for her cheek. Instinctively, her hand shot up to guard the burning within the flesh of her cheek. One might be able to say that she knew the pair of scissors was still in her hand. One might be able to say that she had raised them in defense merely to draw blood that was her. And she might say that they are all correct. Blood gushed from the deep stab wound as the pair of scissors were knocked from her hand regardless. The metallic object fell flat to the ground, stained with streaks of red. And with that, she turned and ran.

Live in Rukongai had gone from two things to nothing. It had been a home and a hell, and now, it was nothing. For she spent much of her remaining time building upon a new life style, one that revolved around stealing, and one that relied upon and furtiveness she could muster. One could not survive without it. She needed food, she needed a home, she needed a life to live. Yet why she needed food as a mystery. Because after all, Rukongai was a place where no one was hungry. Pickpocketing those with money and beating those without, she carried on the dead life she had owned prior to her death. Traditionally like the years ago, she’d slug lethargically back to her den-like home, tattered, worn, and perhaps even littered with a new set of bruises. Assuming she was caught, anyway. Because she was a little rat, as described. Fast on her feet, one blink and she was gone miles off floating across the ground as if she was flying. As the long years toiled by, her routinely events were repeated all the same, yet with a twist. No longer did she find herself thieving money and valuables, but instead, she found herself drooling over the lingering smells of food and the tastes of anything possible within the poor district. Food, though, was always more difficult to take in bulk.

She crept along the walls within the small village like area, feet patched by dirt upon the ground and bare, and pressed into the shadow of the shack-like houses. Clad in black and looking far more gallant then any other resident of the Rukongai that she had ever laid eyes on, the two figures were hunched in the distance, muttering in hushed tones. Oh it didn’t quite matter what they were talking about. All the better if they were engrossed in something, so they wouldn’t notice her. A chance was a chance, since defiantly, they were sure to be loaded with money. And if she was lucky, food. Her light steps were covered by the uproar of the other residents, as usual. The soft crunches were not to be compared with the cries and hollers of someone unlucky enough to perhaps get jumped. She didn’t slow her advance. On she went, nearing the clad-in-black figures. And with a single swoop, tipped over a twig, dropping to the ground at their side nearly crashing into both in the process. No one even bothered to cast a look in her direction. She stood, brushed the dirt from her knees, and commenced with her walk. Steps from the clear zone, a firm hand took grip of her shoulder. She froze. Was this familiar? Quite so. She turned like a wind up clock, crooked, slowly, and in the same jittery pace. They said nothing, at least, she could not hear a word they spoke. One of the two shinigami advanced, gave her sleeve a soft pat, and the jingling bag of coins clattered into his grip. Shinigami, the city of white, and the better lives in which they lead. For the first time, she found herself wanting it more then anything.

It didn’t take long for her desire to get granted. Scouted just as the others were, she too was spirited away to the Shinigami Academy, only half of Yukino had deliberately asked for it. In the end, she had gotten it. Her memories, now faded, worn, gone upon entry, would no longer prove to take hold of her life, and instead, had already molded her into the being that she was known to be. Very easily she was slipped into the higher classes, bearing a rather over average control over her reitsu. Her temper had dropped, being that her memories had faded taking her temper with them. Counting her academy years, easily she could have graduated and been lopped into the 2nd Division. Regardless, several extra years were spent loitering within the enclosed doors of the Academy, all for the soul reason of joining the Special Forces. Yet even with the holes of her memory, one thing concerning her educational life had never changed despite the transition from life to death. Hunched in the back of the classroom, elbow propped on the linked desk, and palm supporting her chin, sat Yukino, forever and always, apart of the background. That was until a session in the Living World, which her class and several others were to attend. Lead by the upperclassmen, a mock hollow session was to take place in the Living World. The method was heard of before, apparently. Divided into small bunches and groups, the training hollow were set loose into the ‘save zone’, and it was to begin. And it did.

False hollow would not induce fear, she deduced, for they were not truly trying to claim your life. The meaning was fear meant quite little in her eyes, as did the meaning of death. Because she had died once already, and there she was, blatantly alive. Until that moment, she may or may not have walked away with a new sense of logic, or her prior sense of logic in a new guise. Both, really. A ripping howl filled the air smashed down onto the little dots of shinigami-to-be. The null void in the sky gapped open its mouth, and from it came yet another scream of mingled emotions. One could smell terror, one could smell blood, one could smell death, but most of all, one would smell fear. The crushing force stepped onto their safe zone, causing every head to turn, every figure to stop, and every student to run for their very lives. Down came a hollow, its hideous face gleaming under the luminosity of the moon, its foul breath seeping onto their flesh, and its blood thirsty features gripping onto the earth. Once again she found herself proved wrong, and her logic crushed. As the remains of a fellow student was tossed into the air like a mere rag doll, she watched like an idle puppy, shaking in the corner, as the mutilated corpse hit the ground with a wet splatter. She could die again should it sink its teeth into her flesh. She could die another bloody terrible death. And most of all, she could feel fear. The first taste of killing instinct drenched her from head to toe. How unprepared was she for the harsh world beyond. He’d come to regret it, or not, as she finally acknowledged a single fact. She could not trek life with no aid like a queen. Even queens needed their counts, their dukes, and their kings to keep a lone city alive. All of which she did not have, except for her only comrade whom may even consider raising a hand, or feather, in her guise.

In the last moment of shock, utter fear, and terror, the words rolled from her tongue, the cold seeped into her flesh, and the newly born power flooded through her veins like the blood of her existence. It was over. Time sped once again as her frenzy ended. Shinigami, real shinigami, had come to their aid, saved lives, saved her, and acted as the torch in the dark. She’d be like them, someday, some how. The long years ended, especially her extended years, as Yukino graduated gladly into the 2nd Division, Special Forces. Her quick advances and sharp learning had earned a place within her life, toppling her ambitions and climbing her little latter to a distant success. Almost, perhaps, she may even have been considered near a prodigy. But no, that was not the case. Merely, talented, one would describe, because that’s what she was. Soon thereafter she was placed under the arm of Kekudo Takadoshi, of the Kekudo Family. If there was ever a word used to describe the pair, it would be ‘awkward’. His casual exterior regardless of his position showed quite the opposite of Yukino, whom had taken to a formal strict logic, regardless of her own indifference to law and order. His wide smiles from ear to ear suppressed that of Yukino’s weak ‘hellos’ and up-side-down-frowns. Even his broad height and strength subdued Yukino’s poor not-even-5-foot stand. He for one, could have cared less for the laws of Seireitei; she on the other hand, could not find the desire to go against them. His ‘I’mma smack you because you fail’ signature Ta-Kun smash rivaled her ‘why the hell are you wearing a lobster hat’ stare. Polar opposites? Indeed. Takadoshi, who pressed the topic of being called ‘Takuto’ for short, shoved the order in her petite face until Yukino found herself following him about like a baby duck whilst chirping “Takuto-dono” as she went.

All the same, she was under his watchful eye until the higher ups tore her from the new born hell called Takuto. Within her clouded memory, only three major events had shaken her world as she trained under the seated officer. He had proclaimed her to be a cat. Of all the animals in the world, she was his ‘Yuki-Neko-Neko-Chan’. She was his stray cat, with no distinct loyalty, wondering where life took her, and living a do-as-you-please-where-you-please ideal life. Bound to nothing, he would always say, no matter how Yukino pressed back that even stray cats had to follow laws. Her ideals were shot down, one by one. In the process, he proclaimed himself as the big kitty, and she the little kitty. That was two of three things, oddly enough. And third of all, he crushed her down into smolder and dust.

He disappeared, suddenly. As if spirited away, he was gone. Off on a mission one day, and not turning up the next. Logic told her that he was dead, long dead, probably killed and they just can’t find the remains. But faith told her otherwise, that he was alive and breathing, waiting for someone to find him.

The night was cold, her flesh pale under the moon, and her breath short and chest tight as she broke into a run. It was her first solo mission, and she could not afford to fail it. There was a suspected traitor amongst the ranks. Plotting a rebellion, they had stated, weather it be with hollow or the residents of Rukongai. Though it was merely a small feud anyway, merely some flimsy souls from Rukongai that could not wield a weapon to save their lives. Either that, or hollow of some sort, in one way or another if a shinigami could even get through the thickness of their madness. She was following him, the suspect, her target, the prey that she was to report should she end up with a positive result. He turned the corner, so did she. And as she bolted the corner, she found herself alone. Oh she had done it now. They had said one mistake, and it was game over. Well now, it was game over. She blinked, only to meet the impeccable blade which she knew only too well. She looked up and into the eyes of Kekudo Takadoshi. It was the same Takadoshi who had so suddenly disappeared, her mentor, her teacher, her comrade. And with him, dark figures, some bulky, some slim, and all of them clad in a hideous white under the glow of the moon. She had found their traitor.

Logic told her that there he was, her target, her suspect, the prey; but faith told her again the opposite. He seized the chance. Her blurred memory sped forward once again seeing only the spurts of crimson doused under the glory of the moon. She could not feel the terrible ache of her arm which was about to be separated from the rest of her limbs. She could not hear her voiceless screams, for nothing exhaled from her lips. But, she could see the same smile worn upon his face. It was happy, it was his ear-to-ear grin, it was the same smile she had known for those years to pass, but for some reason, now it was no more then a disgusting smirk in victory. She hated it, once again.

Weather Takuto had survived or not, she did not know. For shortly after the scene, figures of black has smothered her sight, filled the area, and evidently, taken hold of her failure. No one did utter a word to her, no one dared pass on knowledge that they knew, for she had been his last disciple. She, on the other hand, had been mended like a rag doll. A new scar ran heavy from her left shoulder to her left hip, now being the only remains of that long night to pass. But the rag doll did not have a heart to spare, for its first and only had toppled from the cotton filling and could not be replaced. The final domino has been knocked over, and molded Yukino into the creature that she was to carry as herself. Bare no comrades, for only you and yourself may be trusted to the full extent. Fighting back to back was merely a saying, for selling your loyalty was only a myth. Bare no pride in battle, for the only thing one must bring back is victory. And she would abide by those laws, even as she pressed the remains of her loyalty to Soi Fon, her one and only Taicho.

Life goes on, even if you’re a rag doll whom was tossed aside after being worn over the years. Climbing the ladder, she took each step with her firm grip and powerful ambition. Treacheries, betrayals, they were all worth death. She would have none of them, and abolish the existence of those who dared step across the line. And so she did not hesitate her use her strength to its fullest. Holding back would not get you anywhere. Seize the opportunities, or never see the same one again. She would reach the top, pluck the peaches from the tree, and get what she wanted. But that struck yet another question; what did she want?

[{T.h.e.F.r.o.s.t.}]

[Instigator of Underwear]

[note to self] || - Yukino is 2nd division fukataichou 1-1

[Instigator of Underwear]

**Bump:

Yukino is 2nd division Taichou 0-5