Broken Wings[Kenichi, Sabre]

An exhausting ordeal had finally passed. Balance, for the most part, had been restored. Rita was home. No longer forced to fight for her life, resting in a bed, protected by every bodyguard she had imaginable. By all accounts, that should have been a satisfying conclusion. Such a fact should have allowed him to hold his head high. He should be elated. Reality was not so welcoming, though. If anything, what took place in that realm left him rattled.

Nothing about his form currently carried that brash nature he exemplified, nor did his stride exude the so much as a whisper of power. It was almost as if he was forcing himself to move at this point. He genuinely wanted to go to his own home and lay down on the bed. Treat it all as if it were some horrific nightmare. Her calmingly cold expression, the tiny arrancar's distraught face, the sickening realization...

He wanted to go home.

"..."

Of all the voices he'd hear, hers had certainly been the last he would have welcomed. Several emotions spun through his head like a typhoon. Anger. Regret. Hurt. Fear. Presently, the only one he was capable of was apathy. He was so completely detached from it all that even anger felt useless at this point. What would it achieve? He was one of the core reasons she existed as she was now. He was the one who openly trusted her, who, perhaps to his own foolish fault, genuinely cared for her wellbeing. Turning to face her, his expression an odd mixture between stern and exhausted, he posed but a single question.

"Why?"

Somewhere deep within lay the urge to reprimand her. He genuinely wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that she was a madwoman. That everything she did was morally reprehensible.

To a greater extent, he didn't even know what to believe or why she would even go to the extent that she did. But, another part reminded him that he had no real place to judge her. His slumped posture didn't change much at the hand that laid atop his head. Even if he wanted to, he simply didn't have the spirit in him to swat it away.

What could he say about his order? He was the adamant party, after all. Whether or not there was truth in his words, Kenichi had vowed to take a life. And yet, he hesitated when the moment of truth was at hand. His forlorn gaze simply avoided the tall woman altogether as he replied.

"What does that make you, then, Sabre? Can you stand here and tell me you're anything but dangerous? Rita might be hot-headed, and restraint... is definitely not one of her strong-suits, but she wouldn't have did... any of this."

His eyes seem to well up as he looked at his palms. Even though he hadn't finished the duty he had set out to accomplish, it still felt as if his hands were soaked in the blood of those arrancar.

"What did you stand to gain from all of this...?"

A whirlwind of emotions continued to overwhelm his mind like a hurricane from which he struggled to break free. His body was frozen solid like a hapless voyager being tossed at sea. His statuesque demeanor was a far cry from the man who wore vibrancy on his sleeves as though it were his birthright.

What could he say to that? Why had he persisted all this time to no benefit of his own? What ground did he stand on to judge her? At once, there was a part that wished to strike her where she stood, pummeling her into nothing but crimson, viscera, entrail, and spiritual ash.

At once, there was a part that decried him as a monster for housing the desire to kill what, he, through his actions, had created. Her arms slumped against his shoulder, and a damnable question rang through a curious voice. The excruciating question. The three-letter word danced from the tip of her tongue to the edge of his ears.

"It's because... I cared about you, alright? Do everyone and everything have to be some reprehensible creature I strike with my fists?"

His gaze remained distant, but his words were nothing short of genuine. Perhaps, against his better judgment, he foolishly thought she was worth caring for, that she could be reasoned with. Even if part of his mind wholeheartedly knew that... hollows weren't always the core aspect of her diet. It was a foolish reply. An answer with nothing to be gained in reply except ridicule, but even so...

"Every time we fought together, you never abandoned me. Whenever an opportunity presented itself, you stayed there until the end. You harshly reminded me of what would happen if I fell behind, and... those battles, those... adventures... brought a smile to my face. Somewhere... at the back of my mind, I knew you weren't... always eating hollows. In that alleyway, you probably would have killed me if I was weak. But I still played along."

His eyes turned back to her momentarily, his gaze an odd fusion between frustrated and conflicted. Even if he struck her, it wouldn't erase the experience, nor the sequence of events that led him here.

"That's why you were worth my time. I didn't expect you to evolve. I didn't even know Hollow could eventually turn into an arrancar. I'm just some stupid islander from Okinawa. I didn't account for that. I didn't account for this..."

Each revelation brought a greater sense of conflict that cut against his soul like a sharp blade. Being told that he was valuable to her, that he meant something, was strangely... comforting? Comfort? From her? This woman should be his enemy. Positioned as closely as she was to him, like this, there were several opportunities to take advantage and strike. Yet, he hardly moved an inch. Had it been the seemingly genuine words? The total lack of hostility? Unwilling architect though he was, he had assisted her until she reached this... state.

"It doesn't have to be that way. You... don't have to be cruel and malicious. I... I can help you."

In what was perhaps a foolish act on his part, he tiredly embraced her. Between the urge to exact revenge and the desire to be merciful, mercy eventually proved the greater of the two. He knew that no one else could reasonably excuse her actions right, knew that he would have to go to great lengths to fix everything in the aftermath, but he still had an odd sense of responsibility toward her.

Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he didn't even have the energy in him to be upset, but he... didn't want this. Some idiotic part of his mind thought she was worth salvation in spite of her detestable actions.

"If you don't know what to do, I'll help you. Just... please. I don't want you to hurt me again. I don't want to be forced into a position where I'd... have to fight you. There's a better way to handle things, but not like this. Not this way, Sabre...'

What was he thinking, truly?