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madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Bleach (I Hope Tomorrow's a Better Day)
Chapter Summary: Xander steps up to save his friends.
Word Count: 1405
Rating: Gen
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Bleach (I Hope Tomorrow's a Better Day)
Chapter Summary: Xander steps up to save his friends.
Word Count: 1405
Rating: Gen
He’s screaming again, feeling like something is tearing itself apart. He glances down to see what look like ghostly chains, and understands, instinctively, that this is the spell Giles placed to keep his soul firmly stuck inside his own body. Breaking that might be foolish, but if it’s the only way he’s not going to hold back, not now. The chains rattle, floating away and away from him until they break with a sharp crack, flinging themselves away and disappearing into the air. The snap hurts a little in a way that has nothing to do with the broken ribs and the blood at his back, but he doesn’t have time to analyze that, because this feels right.
He bursts out of his own body, letting it slump against the wall, and unsheathes the sword at his side, already running at speeds that feel far more natural with a battle cry Buffy would be proud of. He blurs to one side away from another whip of the tail and propels himself upward to fall down with all his weight behind the blade. It cuts through one arm like he’s taken a meat cleaver to a stick of butter. Buffy falls, but at least has the presence of mind to mostly gracefully land on her feet. The mask-monster bellows, a sound of rage and pain.
“What just happened?” she asks, but it’s not like he can answer, not when she can’t see him in this form.
And it’s his turn to scream, as the acidic slobber falls onto his arm, and eats through at least a few layers of skin.
He feels the flash of impatience, of rage at an innocent being hurt, and that—that feels right. It’s not the sort of thing a cursed sword would really worry about, right?
It recognizes him, just as, on some instinctive level, he recognizes it, too. He can see the intelligence in its eyes even as it can’t vocalize that intelligence.
She flings his arms up, palms outward toward the monster. Hollow. It’s a Hollow. “Hadō #4, Byakurai!” she shouts with his voice. Twin bolts of lightning appear and cut through the monster’s useless shoulder and side.
It’s not without its own cost, though. He staggers, suddenly with much lower energy than mere seconds before. I miscalculated. I’m used to performing Kidō with trained Shinigami.
He’s slowed down just enough that his quicker movement (flash-step or shunpo; it’s flash-step or shunpo) isn’t quite quick enough to move out of the way. A claw catches his shoulder and sends him staggering.
“Well? Any better ideas?” he snarls. This isn’t going the way he’d hoped at all. At least it sounded like that was true of the sword, too.
Well… she feels reluctant, so it’s time he added some incentive.
“Look, if I die, nobody’s gonna wield you.”
That’s apparently enough to convince her. I told you I will help, and I will. The next technique is dangerous. I don’t know if you’re strong enough to use it. But it’s better than dying without a fight.
“Agreed to the tenth power. Or some equivalent.” He can feel the incredulity through the bond. “What, they were talking math, I listened. A little bit.”
He gets the impression that she’s shaking her head at him, but other than the fact that she’s a sword, that’s nothing new, either. She takes control of his mouth. “Kagayaku, Kakokuna Hikari!”
He uses his newfound speech powers to translate. Shine, Harsh Light, and there’s an added word in there, Shikai. (The translation for that doesn’t seem to make much sense, either, so he just leaves it alone.)
It hurts. There might be more screaming. Fortunately, nobody but Spike could hear him like this, and the bleached wonder isn’t here, so it’s not like anyone will know the truth for the retelling.
The Hollow screams, too, and backs up. Into the coffee shop. Fortunately, Buffy has the presence of mind to realize that the monster’s distracted and this is the perfect time to go save the Willow. She ducks a flying paw (which staggers him a second before he realizes she noticed the damage it was making against the wall and calculated its trajectory; if physics classes involved fighting she’d be acing them for sure) and gets to their friend.
It looks like it’s afraid of him. The sudden feeling like there’s an increase in gravity lightens, and he glances down to see his sword has changed in appearance.
Its handle is bamboo, now, and it’s a lot shinier. Like obsidian, maybe. Which has odd, Osiris-like parallels that are just kind of weird to ponder. Still, he feels like there’s still more to the sword—
You have good instincts. Shikai is not Kakokuna Hikari’s final form. Which, you know, weird, talking about yourself in third person, but then, she’s a sentient, possibly cursed sword. Apparently named Kakokuna Hikari, which he only remembers because he’s watched all the anime the video store has. Who’s he to make judgements about the way she talks?
Still, this drained him. He’s definitely moving slower now, even when he’s faster than your average human, and that was just from…getting the sword’s special power ready, he guesses is the closest approximation he can come up with. He hasn’t even tried to use it. Which is probably what she’d warned him about.
The Hollow turns toward his friends. They’re easier prey, and it’s getting frustrated, if its roars have anything to parallel in reality.
He points the sword toward the Hollow, because that’s just not allowed, and the voice returns, loud against his ears. Close your eyes! Now!
He does what she says, because she hasn’t gotten him killed yet, though that might change pretty quickly, and so he feels more than he sees the attack. In his mind’s eye, he sees them shooting off one after another, rather like lasers. They feel like they’re different colors. They cut through the Hollow’s body easily, bright and cheerful in a morbid way against the blood spatters. They come from all directions. The Hollow, sour against his senses, jumps up in the way the mice did at the store, attempting at first to get out of range. When that fails, it roars with fear and anger.
“Shi-ni-ga-mi!” His head flicks up and he stiffens. That sounded like a word, coming from a very inhuman throat. He doesn’t open his eyes, though. He can guess that for anyone who can see them, the lights are blinding. That’d been a warning in the shop class, anyhow.
They sound like whispers, he realizes, which—that’s what I’d been hearing. In my dreams.
That is the inside of my mind. She sounds surprised, and impressed. We are very compatible, or, to put it in a way you would understand, we make a good team.
The Hollow starts to charge, given the sour feeling and the way the ground shakes. It’s desperate, but no less dangerous for how close he—they—led it to the edge. Without prompting, he readies the sword.
Like a matador in front of a charging bull, he stands his ground until the very last second, using the Hollow’s own momentum against it as he allows its speed to be the cause of the sword burying itself up to the hilt in its mask. It roars one last time, but a good application of the last of his strength sends the sword tearing through the mask itself. It begins to disappear from the purification, but not before the impact of her Shikai can dissipate. One final laser-like spike of energy pierces his shoulder, and he sways.
Harris-san? she asks, alarmed, and notes the revulsion he feels at the name. Surprisingly, he doesn’t ask her not to call him that.
“I’m going to call in sick and spend the next ten years sleeping,” he informs her quietly. There’s an instant of worry where he’s not sure whether using the sword as a walking stick is rude or not before the point is made moot by the fact that without that very act he wouldn’t be able to make it back in the first place. It takes him a few steps before he’s comfortable enough even opening his eyes, which is vaguely amusing. He sinks into his own body with a groan and, upon the added aches and pains, knows he’s back before he fades into the darkness.
He bursts out of his own body, letting it slump against the wall, and unsheathes the sword at his side, already running at speeds that feel far more natural with a battle cry Buffy would be proud of. He blurs to one side away from another whip of the tail and propels himself upward to fall down with all his weight behind the blade. It cuts through one arm like he’s taken a meat cleaver to a stick of butter. Buffy falls, but at least has the presence of mind to mostly gracefully land on her feet. The mask-monster bellows, a sound of rage and pain.
“What just happened?” she asks, but it’s not like he can answer, not when she can’t see him in this form.
And it’s his turn to scream, as the acidic slobber falls onto his arm, and eats through at least a few layers of skin.
He feels the flash of impatience, of rage at an innocent being hurt, and that—that feels right. It’s not the sort of thing a cursed sword would really worry about, right?
It recognizes him, just as, on some instinctive level, he recognizes it, too. He can see the intelligence in its eyes even as it can’t vocalize that intelligence.
She flings his arms up, palms outward toward the monster. Hollow. It’s a Hollow. “Hadō #4, Byakurai!” she shouts with his voice. Twin bolts of lightning appear and cut through the monster’s useless shoulder and side.
It’s not without its own cost, though. He staggers, suddenly with much lower energy than mere seconds before. I miscalculated. I’m used to performing Kidō with trained Shinigami.
He’s slowed down just enough that his quicker movement (flash-step or shunpo; it’s flash-step or shunpo) isn’t quite quick enough to move out of the way. A claw catches his shoulder and sends him staggering.
“Well? Any better ideas?” he snarls. This isn’t going the way he’d hoped at all. At least it sounded like that was true of the sword, too.
Well… she feels reluctant, so it’s time he added some incentive.
“Look, if I die, nobody’s gonna wield you.”
That’s apparently enough to convince her. I told you I will help, and I will. The next technique is dangerous. I don’t know if you’re strong enough to use it. But it’s better than dying without a fight.
“Agreed to the tenth power. Or some equivalent.” He can feel the incredulity through the bond. “What, they were talking math, I listened. A little bit.”
He gets the impression that she’s shaking her head at him, but other than the fact that she’s a sword, that’s nothing new, either. She takes control of his mouth. “Kagayaku, Kakokuna Hikari!”
He uses his newfound speech powers to translate. Shine, Harsh Light, and there’s an added word in there, Shikai. (The translation for that doesn’t seem to make much sense, either, so he just leaves it alone.)
It hurts. There might be more screaming. Fortunately, nobody but Spike could hear him like this, and the bleached wonder isn’t here, so it’s not like anyone will know the truth for the retelling.
The Hollow screams, too, and backs up. Into the coffee shop. Fortunately, Buffy has the presence of mind to realize that the monster’s distracted and this is the perfect time to go save the Willow. She ducks a flying paw (which staggers him a second before he realizes she noticed the damage it was making against the wall and calculated its trajectory; if physics classes involved fighting she’d be acing them for sure) and gets to their friend.
It looks like it’s afraid of him. The sudden feeling like there’s an increase in gravity lightens, and he glances down to see his sword has changed in appearance.
Its handle is bamboo, now, and it’s a lot shinier. Like obsidian, maybe. Which has odd, Osiris-like parallels that are just kind of weird to ponder. Still, he feels like there’s still more to the sword—
You have good instincts. Shikai is not Kakokuna Hikari’s final form. Which, you know, weird, talking about yourself in third person, but then, she’s a sentient, possibly cursed sword. Apparently named Kakokuna Hikari, which he only remembers because he’s watched all the anime the video store has. Who’s he to make judgements about the way she talks?
Still, this drained him. He’s definitely moving slower now, even when he’s faster than your average human, and that was just from…getting the sword’s special power ready, he guesses is the closest approximation he can come up with. He hasn’t even tried to use it. Which is probably what she’d warned him about.
The Hollow turns toward his friends. They’re easier prey, and it’s getting frustrated, if its roars have anything to parallel in reality.
He points the sword toward the Hollow, because that’s just not allowed, and the voice returns, loud against his ears. Close your eyes! Now!
He does what she says, because she hasn’t gotten him killed yet, though that might change pretty quickly, and so he feels more than he sees the attack. In his mind’s eye, he sees them shooting off one after another, rather like lasers. They feel like they’re different colors. They cut through the Hollow’s body easily, bright and cheerful in a morbid way against the blood spatters. They come from all directions. The Hollow, sour against his senses, jumps up in the way the mice did at the store, attempting at first to get out of range. When that fails, it roars with fear and anger.
“Shi-ni-ga-mi!” His head flicks up and he stiffens. That sounded like a word, coming from a very inhuman throat. He doesn’t open his eyes, though. He can guess that for anyone who can see them, the lights are blinding. That’d been a warning in the shop class, anyhow.
They sound like whispers, he realizes, which—that’s what I’d been hearing. In my dreams.
That is the inside of my mind. She sounds surprised, and impressed. We are very compatible, or, to put it in a way you would understand, we make a good team.
The Hollow starts to charge, given the sour feeling and the way the ground shakes. It’s desperate, but no less dangerous for how close he—they—led it to the edge. Without prompting, he readies the sword.
Like a matador in front of a charging bull, he stands his ground until the very last second, using the Hollow’s own momentum against it as he allows its speed to be the cause of the sword burying itself up to the hilt in its mask. It roars one last time, but a good application of the last of his strength sends the sword tearing through the mask itself. It begins to disappear from the purification, but not before the impact of her Shikai can dissipate. One final laser-like spike of energy pierces his shoulder, and he sways.
Harris-san? she asks, alarmed, and notes the revulsion he feels at the name. Surprisingly, he doesn’t ask her not to call him that.
“I’m going to call in sick and spend the next ten years sleeping,” he informs her quietly. There’s an instant of worry where he’s not sure whether using the sword as a walking stick is rude or not before the point is made moot by the fact that without that very act he wouldn’t be able to make it back in the first place. It takes him a few steps before he’s comfortable enough even opening his eyes, which is vaguely amusing. He sinks into his own body with a groan and, upon the added aches and pains, knows he’s back before he fades into the darkness.
