[Spirit Class 7] Patel Kuzunoha

In one moment, everything was consumed in a brilliant white sensation. All that Imran was, all he had done, his every memory—all of his previous life dispersed into an otherworldly and welcome blankness. The fear of going to hell that he felt in his final moments on Earth was gone.

Imran—now a nameless soul in a Rukongai slum—rose alert to behold a plain little plaza crowded with old wooden buildings and shanty structures attached to them. An old man was pulling a cart by himself, and the then-nameless Imran rushed over to embrace him. “I… can’t remember anything! I don’t know who I am! I know nothing!” He cried-out cheerfully, for he did not even know why this amnesia made him so happy. It was like waking up from a bad dream.

Although initially unresponsive, the old man half-heartedly smacked the new citizen away from him. “Great, good for you. Get away from me!” He shouted, before pulling up his cart with renewed vigor and hauling it far away from the then-nameless Imran.

Overjoyed but destitute, the then-nameless Imran found work in a small illegal brothel within the district of Rukongai he had spawned into. There, he bowed to the local madame and begged for work, because he was starving and had no money; he had no idea it was strange for someone to experience genuine hunger in Soul Society. Without questioning him, the madame took the then-nameless Imran as a lowly manservant.

Imran brought food and cheap sake to the brothel’s patrons, and cleaned up after their visits with the yujo working there. It was hard and filthy work. Once he stayed three weeks, though, the madame’s heart softened and she decided to learn about him—but he knew nothing of himself. Because of his appearance, she named him “Patel” and frequently confided in him.

The madame herself went by the name Sasori Kuzunoha. Before she had grown old, she was a famed oiran mostly known for a few well-placed tattoos and some licentious rumors about her services. She married a member of central 46 as a concubine, and though he passed, their son inherited his position and cemented their family name into higher status… for a time. He died mysteriously after twenty years and the meager Kuzunoha fortune had dwindled ever since the loss of Sasori’s husband and only child, such that the madame returned to her old profession. When she became too old to entice clients herself, she opened the brothel as its madame, employing four to six women at a time.

Sasori often grieved and complained to Patel as her personal captive audience. He would never dare disagree with her or protest her character flaws. His only answers were “yes ma’am”, or asking prompts for further instruction in his duties. Patel understood his role immediately: he was her mirror, sounding board and manservant, and he was content. Sasori saw to it that Patel was fed and had a place to sleep in the brothel.

Every month or so, a Shinigami would visit Sasori’s lowly brothel. The brothel itself was in a terrible part of Rukongai, and it offered nothing worth the trouble of going there—but that was precisely why this particular Shinigami went. He had the name of Takuan Shozo, but often disclaimed this as a courtesy name; he was either a descendant of a noble family, or of a clan that serves one of the noble families. Sasori gained little from her Rukongai regulars and depended on Takuan’s generosity to keep the brothel open.

Takuan was a fairly young man himself, and often partook in ceremonies such as fasting, mourning and repentance. Other Shinigami considered him an eccentric, or at worst a flagellant, for wearing sackcloth and smearing himself with ash before prostrating himself in public to apologize for things that were not his fault: bad weather, natural disasters, general suffering and malcontent—Takuan was a very ascetic man of odd tastes.

Takuan visited Sasori herself in spite of her age, who did her best to live up to the reputation of her youth. Even without seeing behind closed doors—it was clear she struggled and did not quite succeed, but Takuan was appreciative of her efforts and kind to all of Sasori’s staff. Patel acquired Takuan’s attention for how dutifully he cleaned up after the Shinigami, and Takuan found it unacceptable for another person to clean up after him. He began to help Patel clean chamber pots and wash bedding, which Patel of course protested, and neither man was willing to give up their perceived responsibility to assist the other.

Because Patel was a diligent, lowly person, Takuan liked him immediately—even envied him, for having only menial burdens such as stains and dirt to clean. But critically, Patel also knew the secret of Takuan’s affinity for Sasori Kuzunoha, which broke some of the usual barriers that separated Takuan from everyone else. If he could already confide his sins with the manservant, it was much easier then to find an honest friend in him.
Through Takuan, Patel learned a lot about soul society; prior to their friendship, he had no idea Rukongai was any different elsewhere, much less what the looming castle of Seireitei was for. Patel had mistaken it as the royal palace. For most of their conversations, Patel just listened; Takuan was a philosophical and well-educated man who was critical of the status quo, but morally conservative to the point of observing antiquated rituals and chastising all vices, even while frequenting Sasori’s brothel in secret. One day, while Takuan was troubled with his own hypocrisy, Patel uplifted him with a simple question: “as dirty as the world is, did you think you would get out of it clean?”

Takuan’s philosophy shifted from then on, realizing nobody could completely avoid sin. He began an entirely new direction in his moral studies… but something else tormented him all the while. Gradually, over the two years that Takuan and Patel were friends, the Shinigami had steadily lost weight and complexion. Sometimes he bore wounds on his body. He hadn’t been fasting or observing any kind of ritual that could have sucked the life out of him bad enough to explain his near-desiccation, either.

Sasori was greatly troubled during Takuan’s decline. There was no real romance between them—but Takuan was her source of personal affirmation that she could still be desirable, as well as the brothel’s financial bedrock. The debts of her late son and husband had passed to her. But the worst part was Takuan’s part in her services: he had begun to panic or collapse, unable to enjoy the act, much less perform. On one night, he bolted out of the brothel naked and began to dig with his bare hands in the same patch of dirt where the chamber pots were dumped.

Both Patel and Sasori tried with all their might to pull Takuan from the filth and dirt, but with a frenzied strength beyond his withered body, Takuan kept digging and howling. Tears poured from his eyes, which looked slightly shrunken now, and always wide-open with frenetic tension. He demanded to be left alone… Patel and Sasori reluctantly obliged. But soon after, Takuan was found dead by Patel a short ways from the brothel in one of the alleyways Patel took to fetch clean water.

It was horrible and completely undignified. Takuan’s body had many gashes on it, and his drawn Zanpakuto was beside him, bloodied. Some of the wounds looked self-inflicted, but others were not. Already grieved by the death of a good friend, Patel felt even worse that he could not readily determine whether this was murder or suicide. But worse still, when he saw that Zanpakuto…

All his grief and sadness gave way for Greed.
There it was, lying on the ground, ripe for taking: a genuine Zanpakuto used by a real, practicing Shinigami of the elite. If Patel could make it his own, then that sword was his ticket out of poverty and into the world Takuan had described to him, even if he had personally disdained it. But Patel’s heart wrenched after grabbing Takuan’s Zanpakuto and its scabbard. No one can leave this world clean, but stealing from a dead friend felt filthy…

Patel reported Takuan’s body, but said his Zanpakuto was missing. He was intensely questioned by several Shinigami—as was Sasori and the several yujo working for her—but no one had seen what happened to Takuan, the last anyone had seen of him was his breakdown at the dumping grounds behind the brothel. Patel felt tormented again for revealing that Takuan had been there at the brothel at all. His reputation was smeared, and the Shozo family suffered for the ordeal.

Following Takuan’s death, Sasori resorted to dire measures: she took in almost a dozen inexperienced prostitutes, reduced their price to a dirt-cheap rate, and offered watered-down sake and stale rice that would later be overcharged to any guest who accepted them. Sasori managed to strike a deal with the local gang who would act as her collection agents in return for a third of any bill they collected. However, members of the gang started showing up and demanding special treatment at the brothel…

The yujo that had been with Sasori since the beginning suffered and lost face. Any art or grace that had lingered in prostitution up until the death of Takuan died with him—the girls had only undignified work, and the best among them fled from Sasori’s brothel. But Patel remained, dutifully cleaning up after the local thugs who regularly trashed the place, both for Sasori’s sake and because he had nowhere else to go.

Although he had Takuan’s zanpakuto, nothing magical had happened since taking possession of it. He kept it hidden under a floorboard and only took it out in secret, sometimes drawing it to practice clumsy swings, though often he just rested it on his lap and meditated. Patel got over his guilt from stealing the Zanpakuto by resolving himself to a new goal: to find out how Takuan died starting with the sword itself, because it was really the only clue.

Though the local gang members were a nuisance, they were unexpectedly helpful in answering Patel’s questions about Takuan: they knew nothing about the Shinigami, preferring to avoid their kind altogether. No one drenched in blood or otherwise likely to have killed him had showed up in any of their dens or businesses either around that time. They gave Patel a short, non-exhaustive list of names of who the killer could’ve been, but none of them were even near Sasori’s brothel on the day Takuan died.

Several weeks after Takuan’s death and well into Sasori’s restructuring of the brothel, Patel himself began to experience strange episodes at night. When laying down to sleep, he would lie awake for several hours at a time, unable to rest. Then, a quiet voice would speak into his mind from under the floorboards: “Thief. Liar.” It started out with simple accusations. But then, it started to form full sentences… “Sasori took you in, yet while her house is being ruined, you do nothing to truly help her.” At that sentence, Patel rose completely alert and in a cold sweat, desperately searching his room to see if someone had been hiding there. Perhaps Takuan’s killer-?


He wasted an hour of sleep trying to find someone, something, but there was nothing. As if provoked by the mysterious voice that haunted Patel at night, more of the gang’s thugs began to frequent the brothel, and because the best yujo there had left they were hard on the remaining women. Sasori had exhausted her sake placating the thugs and with nothing to drink, they were cruel and mocked the brothel, which no longer drew in money now that people knew to avoid it. The words “you do nothing to truly help” repeated in Patel’s mind over and over throughout those days.

One night, a huge man from the local gang named Togusai told Sasori that because the brothel had dried-up, the house’s only purpose was to serve his gang now. He demanded the best yujo, and although Sasori obliged, all of her women were bruised and tired by then—and Togusai was displeased to have another broken doll in front of him. After failing to take her forcefully, the yujo dumped a chamber pot over his head and tried to burn him with a candle, prompting a short struggle in which Togusai prevailed. The brothel was full of wailing and cries, and Togusai would not leave the yujo’s room. There were several holes and dents in the walls and floor now.

Patel was sent in to clean up, and he immediately piqued Togusai’s interest. “What’s this? Where was Sasori keeping this pretty-boy?” He goaded, going on to mock Patel for his slight and weak-looking physique. Patel did his best to ignore the man and dutifully clean the room, and he blocked some of the holes Togusai had put through the walls by standing a bamboo screen up in front of them. Togusai followed Patel around the room as if inspecting his work, all while a battered yujo sobbed in the center of the room.

Before Patel had any cause to suspect it, Togusai pinned him down to the ground. He tore Patel’s meager tunic asunder and used his knees to pin Patel’s legs down, keeping him on all fours. “You’ll have to do.” Declared Togusai, at which point Patel grimly realized the thug’s true intentions, but nothing could have prepared Patel for the experience of actually being violated; he was raped and sodomized himself. Patel tried to think of the act as nothing, that a man couldn’t be defiled by another man, then that he was helping Sasori by sharing the burden suffered by the brothel’s yujo… but nothing he thought eased the pain or indignity. His manhood was defiled and insulted, his body was broken and bleeding, and even after Togusai was done and gone Patel could not walk straight for several days.

After he had healed, Patel tried to pretend the incident never happened, but the damage was done. In spite of everything—Togusai had, for reasons beyond Patel or Sasori, paid very well for the damage to the room and all the ‘service’ Sasori’s house had offered him. Patel was sure Togusai had shown false generosity to further insult him. However, some of the girls had other ideas: “just because you had a client doesn’t mean you’re one of us now”, “if you’re poor why don’t you ask your man for another tip” … They were fearful and angry over their dwindling livelihood, and saw Patel’s ‘service’ as a threat. Patel did not have the will to defend himself or insist he had been raped, and Sasori couldn’t bear the division in her own brothel.

Unwilling to suffer the decay of her house any longer, Sasori dismissed the yujo and quietly fled with Patel. However- they were stopped near the borders of their district by none other than Togusai himself, who questioned why they were leaving. “Do you think you’ll escape your relationship to the gang just by moving?” He asked, insisting Sasori owed them for the profits she failed to deliver. She initially protested that Togusai’s gang had ruined the brothel when business was already bad.

Patel, however, had other thoughts—he had taken Takuan’s Zanpakuto with him and drew the sword, albeit without grace. “I’m going to actually help now… I’ll kill him…!” He said to himself, over-and-over, panting with adrenaline but tense with panic. Togusai didn’t like the way Patel looked at him at that time. With one backhand, he swatted Patel into a wall, and Takuan’s Zanpakuto went clattering across the ground.

Togusai approached Patel’s downed body and reach out to grab him—only to be interrupted by Sasori, who gracefully slid one hand into Togusai’s own. Her other hand grasped Togusai’s elbow from below. Initially bemused by her, Togusai grinned and let out a short chuckle. “What, aren’t you a little old to take his pla-” He started, but he was cut off by the loud visceral crunch of both his wrist and elbow completely reversing the position of their bones. A soft pulse of wind accompanied by spiritual pressure resounded from where Sasori had grappled Togusai’s arm, which looked upside-down and backwards after she released it.

The brute backpedaled and groped at his mangled arm with his left one, breaking into a cold sweat: he could hardly feel the pain right now, in the heat of the moment, but he still recognized it. “Shit! Whatever you did, undo it! Fix it now!” Togusai demanded, at which Sasori rose her right foot and lowered it to draw a line across the sand between her and Togusai. “If you cross this line, you are nothing but a canvas for me to practice on, and it’s been so long… ” Sasori threatened, but with an elegant and honeyed voice.

Togusai gritted his jaw while trying to coordinate his mangled arm. Its hand balled into a fist. “Both of you will pay for this.” Togusai grimly threatened, before reluctantly turning to go back the way he had come. Sasori immediately turned to help a still-reeling Patel, only to notice the Zanpakuto beside him… Takuan’s Zanpakuto. Sasori’s concern for her servant quickly turned to anger, but an unconscious Patel could give her no answers.

Sasori remained by Patel’s side and brought him out of their district as soon as he could walk. They traveled longer than she originally intended in the interest of putting as much distance between themselves and Togusai as possible. Sasori rented out a room in a stable for them to stay the night, whereupon she confronted Patel for having stolen Takuan’s Zanpakuto: “Did you lie to me? Why did you steal it? What would you even do with that? Do you know what could happen to you if you’re found with it?!” She questioned. Patel felt grief and anxiety as he never had before, followed by guilt and remorse. But… the Zanpakuto was his way out—he still believed it could make him like the Shinigami.

Patel did not wholly lie, but could not tell Sasori the whole truth. “It is my only lead on what happened to Takuan. In our part of Rukongai, no one would seriously investigate the truth.” He answered, but Sasori hardly budged. She deemed it foolish for Patel to endure such an undertaking, both because the Zanpakuto was no lead at all and because she admitted Takuan had probably taken his own life. But seeing Patel’s attachment to the sword, Sasori’s heart softened, beginning to believe his half-lie.

For work, Sasori found a job in an inn just past the edge of Rukongai’s slums. She did not imagine she had much charm left in her old age, but the opposite was very much true—a wealthy merchant had hired her to serve in his inn. Patel, however, had no such luck and took up a meager position cleaning the stable he and Sasori had originally taken refuge. They earned enough to rent a small home together and tried to make the semblance of a new family.

With no heirs nor relatives, Sasori felt she had no choice but to adopt Patel as her own son. There was little if any prestige left to the Kuzunoha name—but it was his, and Patel was thrilled to have been so unexpectedly elevated in his tiny world, unworthy as he was. Even as months passed, there was no sight of Togusai or his fellows, but Patel’s troubles resumed: on most nights, a mocking voice would come from wherever he stored his Zanpakuto. “You’re defiled as a man”, “You troubled that old woman to rescue you…”

Patel began to suspect Takuan’s Zanpakuto was exerting some kind of influence on him. The more he touched it, the more he tried to practice with it, the more he heard that voice; if it had something to do with the sword, then it had to do with Takuan’s death. Patel decided, out of guilt, that he needed to make his half-truth whole and sincerely investigate the Zanpakuto’s part in Takuan’s demise.

Every night, Patel found himself sitting with the unsheathed sword on his lap. His fingers ran back and forth along the edge- splitting skin to draw blood which he smeared across the whole face of the blade, on both sides, as if in a trance. He didn’t notice what he had done to himself until the entire sword was painted! -and worse, it seemed like he had begun to slip into flashbacks: memories of snatching the sword from Takuan’s corpse, being overcome by Togusai, watching in a collapsed heap while Sasori herself stood between himself and Togusai…

Whenever Patel tried to meditate on the sword, his thoughts were distracted and his mind slipped into a half-dreaming state. He could see his true intentions very clearly: he was not truly the humble man that Takuan had praised. Patel had lived in cowardice and self-interest, only concerned with his own survival, and completely ignorant as to why that was wrong. He was nothing like Takuan who, though imperfect himself, strove relentlessly to be selfless and ascetic. How dare Patel take up Takuan’s Zanpakuto-?

Then, one day, the voice spoke loud and clearly to him. “Why preserve yourself so desperately? You’re rotten and defiled, you can’t even call yourself a man after what that man did to you.” It spoke, and for some reason, Patel’s ego couldn’t will itself against the intruding voice. He lost the ability to feel pleasure or joy, and instead felt a shrill and constant panic that kept his heart racing: “it’s over, I’m already nothing, a fate worse than death is imminent, I need to escape!”

Patel abruptly attempted suicide on several occasions. On the first, he attempted to drown himself in the local well by lashing stones to his ankles, but the ropes slipped off the rocks and someone drawing water rescued him. On his second attempt, Patel drew his own blood using Takuan’s Zanpakuto again, and began to write apologies to Takuan, Sasori, and the yujo of the brothel over and over in great detail that exaggerated Patel’s perceived misdeeds. He slipped down a steep spiral of self-disparagement, and would have died of exsanguination had Sasori not interrupted Patel and tended his bleeding. She wept bitterly that now her only adopted son was going to die too, like all the other men in her life.
More than Patel’s remorse for troubling Sasori again was his guilt for being such a worthless leech, in his own mind. He became obsessed with hating his own vices and slightest mistakes—just as Takuan had been. The awareness of personal sin had never been so clear to him, but that same awareness also cultivated in him an urge to punish himself, and then die. Patel’s last suicide attempt was to do away with his life by hanging.

As Patel kicked the stool away and felt the rope close his throat shut, the voice that mocked him every night returned. “You are right to suffer-” It began, “-but it is not right that your suffering should end.”

While the periphery of his vision darkened, Patel felt his body slacken towards one side, and heard a wooden creaking above. “Every wrong must be addressed. I will not permit you to escape a single sin of your own!” Patel heard even more clearly, even in a daze of strangled consciousness. “Learn from your suffering and repent for life.” It said, vaguely resembling the voice of a woman rather than disembodied words, and then there was the dull ‘thunk’ sound of splitting wood. Patel fell with his noose and the wooden beam he had tied it to in the stable…

When Patel came to, he found that the wooden beam that now rested painfully against his back had been cut through in two visible chops. He had difficulty explaining the damaged beam to the stable’s owner—though after seeing the bruise around Patel’s neck, he decided to go easy on his servant and let the incident go for fear of the boy doing anything worse to himself. Now seeing pity and remorse in the eyes of a stranger, Patel realized something: his own life had consequences on others, no matter how guilty or insignificant it was. To end himself would still cause unjust harm, all without justice, amounting only to another sin.

Patel considered throwing away the Zanpakuto for good. He wanted to turn himself in, and tell the truth to the Shinigami who had initially responded to Takuan’s death. He found an unseated Shinigami on patrol and approached them, drawing the sheathed blade to offer it up… “As long as you suffer, Patel, I will be your companion.” A woman’s voice clearly spoke into his mind, the moment his hands were on the sword. Patel froze with chills and felt a strange oneness with the weapon in his hands.

But by the time his nerves had settled, the patrolling Shinigami was approaching him. “Isn’t that a Zanpakuto? But, you’re no Shinigami!” Bellowed the patrolling Shinigami, a middle-aged man wearing sunglasses despite that the sky was overcast and raining. Unwilling to flee or lie, Patel confessed the whole truth of what had happened: that Takuan was his friend, the Zanpakuto was his only lead, and he had kept it in secret both to try and further his status as well as find out who killed Takuan.

Rather than confiscate it, the Shinigami warily evaluated Patel and asked him many questions about his personal life. He gave Patel a choice: either spar with him using the Zanpakuto, or be taken to prison. Patel narrowly agreed to the former—but didn’t put up much of a fight against the Shinigami, who rebuked him harshly: “Bend your knees, keep your feet planted to the ground!” “Scattering your weak stance is easier than throwing leaves to the wind!” “Hold that sword up with the respect it deserves!”

The Shinigami inflicted several minor injuries on Patel, albeit only to coax-out his best performance in their fight. Patel failed to inflict the slightest harm on the patrolling Shinigami, but they sheathed their sword regardless. “Your zanjutsu is crap, there’s no way you’re any kind of prodigy either, but… there’s something here. It took me a while to feel it out in your reiatsu.” The patrolling Shinigami began, showing a very stern and serious expression. “I want you to go to Shin’o academy.” He demanded, which Patel promptly refused.

Infuriated, the Shinigami took off his sunglasses and struggled to contain his rage. A throbbing vein swelled on his forehead. “If I died, and the closest person I knew found my sword, I’d want them to use it to cut down my enemy. That Zanpakuto will not achieve anything without you! If you feel unworthy, that’s your problem- hurry up and become worthy.” He shouted, before striking his thumb against the crossguard of his own Zanpakuto while staring Patel down. “I’m sponsoring you. You’re going to the academy. If you refuse, forget about prison- I’ll cut you down right here and now!” Demanded the hot-blooded patrolling Shinigami; Patel’s story had clearly evoked a powerful sentiment in him. Terrified, Patel capitulated and agreed to the Shinigami’s terms, then prostrated and begged forgiveness.

Sure enough, that same Shinigami advocated fiercely for Patel, entering him into the academy. But Patel struggled in all of his classes: he was up against the elite, and even the not-so-elite students still had knowledge that vastly exceeded his. Patel’s academy years were spent largely in grueling but diligent catch-up, such that just passing his classes took all his time and willpower. Moreover, Patel was smaller and weaker than much of the young men in his class, doing poorly in Hakuda and Zanjutsu against them in sparring matches.

Patel only did well in one subject: Kido. It wasn’t for sheer studiousness either, because Patel didn’t have any academic gifts for it, but rather it felt like his creativity and vision could really stretch-out and explore freely in the subject of magic. It seemed like whatever he wished to do, there was a spell for it, and one spell after another could be cast to any combination… it only required the work to know and practice them all. Patel dearly wished to master all spells of Kido, but only became proficient in just three spells by the end of his time at Shin’o academy.

For a long time, Patel was on the edge of flunking out- but while desperately preparing for exams and suffering the worst anxiety he’d felt since his infatuation with suicide years prior, Takuan’s Zanpakuto made itself known to Patel in a terrible dream: it is the Book of Yomi, a codex which turns all pain and suffering into knowledge. Patel attained Shikai release during exams with Yomi’s help, and it improved his marks enough to more than pass by graduation time. Patel was bright and hopeful around the time of graduation: he dearly wished to enter the 2nd division and continue to pursue Kido.

However, he found out months later that he was rejected. The 2nd division was full of promising Shinigami devoted to Kido, and a Kido-type Zanpakuto was not enough reason to enter the 2nd division… but the oddities of Patel’s Zanpakuto, namely the exact mechanism for how it modified what should otherwise be standard Kido uniform among all Shinigami, did attract the attention of the 3rd divison, which accepted him into an unseated position.

Patel has only been in the 3rd division for a short time, and still pursues the mystery of Takuan’s death as well as his own dream of transferring to the 2nd division. He has not formally met his captain yet and somewhat dreads being a 3rd division member, but has not expressed this dread to anyone either.

Patel will have to be ‘wedded’ to Yomi in her inner realm in order to gain Bankai, which will age and decay him rapidly. His Durability and Strength will be fixed at “Beginner" or less forever and, without special intervention, he will only have 1 year left to live. Patel would also be aged visually if he achieves Bankai, appearing to be around 80 years old.