This wasn’t his first experience with war, with death and destruction but the degree at which it surrounded him left his tongue feeling beached within his drying mouth. He forced himself to ignore it the best he could, to focus on the task at hand but at the edge of his consciousness he could feel it prodding. The silence that filled the space between him and his friends didn’t help, brown eyes turned briefly away from Inoue and Yoruichi when he realized he was staring unintentionally.
The sights that met him were not new, buildings toppled and rubble piled high yet he couldn’t help but feel a pull in his chest. These had once been his friends homes —- places of work, where they shopped, where they lived and now what was to show for it? It had been pulled out from under them unfairly, unjustly. He would see to it that he made it right again, the silent vow pressed into the promises he already held tight.
Ichigo turned back at the sound of Yoruichi’s voice, Kon forgotten within his grasp. He agreed that it was time to move on, his own opinion offered when she finished. It might not have been the safest move to throw himself into the fray first but the possibilities seemed honestly limited. Any concern for himself and his well being had been long since thrown away. If he was going to save anyone at the end of this war, he couldn’t come first.
Yet the countermeasure discussion was cut short —- a sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as his body reacted to the destructive familiarity filling the air around him. His mind raced with questions but one thought stuck itself to the forefront of his mind: He had been almost certain that the other had died. Perhaps his own two eyes were deceiving him now…. But as the Arrancar stepped fully into the Seireitei, he knew it wasn’t so. No other could match the subtle, dangerous and deadly vibe that seemed to follow in his wake.
“Grimmjow —- !!!” All other words died upon his tongue, none of them strong enough to convey his genuine surprise.
Kurosaki looked like a damn fish outta water, gaping at its surroundings as it floundered. At least, that was one way to put it. Stepping through the garganta into the realm of Shinigami (and this time, as a sort of paused enemy), left a foul taste in his mouth, and it was only slightly due to the fact that his steps were once again ordered.
Whatever the hell that bitch's name was, she was lucky he had something to gain out of the exchange. Lucky enough to still have her tongue after ordering a King in any way. Still, he came forward. And as blue, storm-ridden eyes locked on the other's face, he truly couldn't help the grin that overtook his features. Back to the present scene before him...
Their score would be settled.
His pride wiped clean of its tarnished state.
His life indebted to no one.
There was a moment, one in which Grimmjow's thought process scanned the numerous ways in which he could go about goading Ichigo into a fight. The Substitute had a tendency to be revoltingly difficult in that department, he'd found. On the more preferred side, his use of sonido would disrupt the other's personal space in a matter of milliseconds, his unforgiving grip snaking like a vice around Ichigo's throat. The satisfaction of his distressed windpipe would be the precursor to the Shinigami's inevitable struggling... And yet, he frowned, a minuscule action. Though the Sexta would much rather begin on such a note, he couldn't help but wonder whether Kurosaki was the kind of guy to hesitate on pulling his sword on someone not currently armed. The very thought had Grimmjow's upper lip curling.
Instead, his hand flew for the hilt of Pantera, her brightly embroidered weight under his fingertips spurring the adrenaline now coursing through his body. This was it. This would be it.
❝Ya better get that look off yer face, Kurosaki! Or I'll wipe it off for ya!❞
He wanted to see it-- the expression that drove him insane. The glint in Ichigo's eyes that said he felt himself capable of one-upping The King. Grimmjow wanted it to be the last look Kurosaki Ichigo ever made. The time it took to entirely draw his blade was almost matched precisely to their distance being closed. Each foot, each inch swallowed up by a single lunge. He wouldn't hold back. He never did. Kurosaki would either pull his Zanpakutou for defense or be cleaved in two. The decision was his. And Grimmjow was banking on the Shinigami's persistent will to live.
❝M' gonna fuckin' kill ya this time!❞
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