Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ #11, The K: The Recollection ❯ Prologue: A History Lesson ( Chapter 2 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Leather Neck Sinner 9399 
This chapter gives a small insight into Kenpachi's early childhood and the mindset it took to live everyday.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Shounen | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 05.30.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 137 | Status: Completed
This chapter gives a small insight into Kenpachi's early childhood and the mindset it took to live everyday.
Anime/Manga: Bleach Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Shounen | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 05.30.2010 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 137 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
#11, The K
Volume 1
The Recollection
Chapter 2
Volume 1
The Recollection
Chapter 2
In The Beginning, there was dread among those in The Known. Then there was hope and warmth, not just life. The fight inside had raged and lost. Broken, The Pillars of The Undone were dismantled and cast aside. In the wake of that event an order was established and traditions were kept. Thusly, wars between classes raged. Even between the godly. Dominance is ever the feather that shines brightest no matter the bird.
In this time there was a strong one, The Strongest One, that was commanded to commit war. He reigned in the all of the powers that could rival his and instructed them in The Way. The Archae is the father of every Nuine soldier even if he has never met them.
After a time the instructed forces were stationed within Districts. They patrolled these districts along with special orders that sent them to the world littered with the seeds of man and woman. Each district had its own characteristics due to the constant warring. Warring. Political genocide to be more exact.
As life is a cycle predetermined by The On High, may The Ever hold me; our speaker, The Most Brawlic One, was destined to be born into an existence that would never hold more glory nor more bleakness.
-Weis, Follower of The Way known as Scribe: The Recollector
War?? Even the most brave would balk at the literal sight of the word's meaning. Do you know why? You fear and you quake when you see an obstacle in your life. The Chasm burps and you piss your pants. Existence is a war. A war with Lady Death every day. Every time you open your eyes from slumber know that she came to see you to do battle in the recesses of your mind where your subconscious lay. A siege takes place every time your mind enters limbo and only those that truly do not want to die awake in the morn.
This is what every breathe was like in Arlott, the district of my birth.My first memory is the blood. Not just the sight of blood. I was in my pen with only my cloth between my skin and the dirt of The Known. I had already extinguished existence. There was no why. I could. So I did. After the deed was done I watched a cellar dwelling creature's first conquest against its environment. Its level of existence was probably as new born as mine at the time. It had climbed a cliff to a height I've seen enjoyed by The Prodigy General's Sinner. Just as I had noticed its movements it could confirm my achievement as well. The Thickness covered me. Engrossed and disgusted at the same time I could look up and see the only existing witness looking back at me, it was my first and last time my glory would be rivaled in my presence. It reached a height it was never meant to reach so early in its creation. I applaud that creature, but my ascension would be much greater.
Would you find it difficult to cut out your tongue for the sole purpose of speaking to a speck of dirt? Everyday a mother in Arlott makes that decision. Of course that is the nature of the time. Any one of status had long left this district for greener safer pastures. It seemed that the only ones that stayed were the weak and those that didn't mind crushing them for subsistence.
Black. My hair. My Eyes. The dirt under my nails as I dig in the dirt for worms and maggots, my meat. My every taste of flesh after the last incident. When you are scared of something it is best not to get close enough for it to realize your fear. I would hear, "Gnaw on you! Grind your bones! Rape you!" Now I hear nothing. No voices talk to me and tell me what they are going to do to me. Instead, from the darkness that surrounded my pen a metal rod would shove a bowl of mud and grass into my pen. They had to learn of me. A structure is only as solid as its foundation. If you are strong in the beginning it only stands to reason that your strength will grow and outpace those destined to be downtrodden. I never touched my bowl.
In Arlott there is no crime. There are no atrocities. There is no genocide. At least there were no words for such things. Women had babies by men uncontrollably. Men died as if their life spans were that of insects. Once the fighting began it never stopped, and the fighting began as soon as you could move. We were The Lawless Ones. Upon the first true cognizant realization of the truth that is your future, everyone born a Lawless believes themselves cursed by the On High, may my might be steeled another day.
My pen. I wasn't always alone. In Arlott you earn your distance. Time and time again beasts of hunger would set upon me. In my sleep. During a meal. When I squatted to relieve myself of burden. You learn that if you want peace, you will kill. You will make them see that in the end they are defenseless and you will not be satisfied with anything less than their dismemberment. You will slurp their thick as you pick their flesh from their bones. No quarter will be given in Arlott because none will be asked. As a Lawless grows older strength alone is not enough. The Sins must be learned from teachers and/or developed from blessings from The On High, may The Ever guide my blade. And this only after confirming your Sinner.
A pen is nothing more than a sadistic proving ground abandoned by the godly that fled eons before my time. Even before the time of The Archae. The systemic ritual born to weed out the week and resurrect the sleeping Preghiera in everyone that it may rest in. The strongest will always rise. One generation perpetually giving way to a more crazed and victimized version of itself. As Arlott fed on itself the sickness spread and the wrath of the population spread to its neighbors. Yet even as Arlott became the epicenter for the manipulations of The Chasm, may those that fell by my One and Only forever see my face, the godly turned a blind eye...
Almost forever.
In this time there was a strong one, The Strongest One, that was commanded to commit war. He reigned in the all of the powers that could rival his and instructed them in The Way. The Archae is the father of every Nuine soldier even if he has never met them.
After a time the instructed forces were stationed within Districts. They patrolled these districts along with special orders that sent them to the world littered with the seeds of man and woman. Each district had its own characteristics due to the constant warring. Warring. Political genocide to be more exact.
As life is a cycle predetermined by The On High, may The Ever hold me; our speaker, The Most Brawlic One, was destined to be born into an existence that would never hold more glory nor more bleakness.
-Weis, Follower of The Way known as Scribe: The Recollector
War?? Even the most brave would balk at the literal sight of the word's meaning. Do you know why? You fear and you quake when you see an obstacle in your life. The Chasm burps and you piss your pants. Existence is a war. A war with Lady Death every day. Every time you open your eyes from slumber know that she came to see you to do battle in the recesses of your mind where your subconscious lay. A siege takes place every time your mind enters limbo and only those that truly do not want to die awake in the morn.
This is what every breathe was like in Arlott, the district of my birth.My first memory is the blood. Not just the sight of blood. I was in my pen with only my cloth between my skin and the dirt of The Known. I had already extinguished existence. There was no why. I could. So I did. After the deed was done I watched a cellar dwelling creature's first conquest against its environment. Its level of existence was probably as new born as mine at the time. It had climbed a cliff to a height I've seen enjoyed by The Prodigy General's Sinner. Just as I had noticed its movements it could confirm my achievement as well. The Thickness covered me. Engrossed and disgusted at the same time I could look up and see the only existing witness looking back at me, it was my first and last time my glory would be rivaled in my presence. It reached a height it was never meant to reach so early in its creation. I applaud that creature, but my ascension would be much greater.
Would you find it difficult to cut out your tongue for the sole purpose of speaking to a speck of dirt? Everyday a mother in Arlott makes that decision. Of course that is the nature of the time. Any one of status had long left this district for greener safer pastures. It seemed that the only ones that stayed were the weak and those that didn't mind crushing them for subsistence.
Black. My hair. My Eyes. The dirt under my nails as I dig in the dirt for worms and maggots, my meat. My every taste of flesh after the last incident. When you are scared of something it is best not to get close enough for it to realize your fear. I would hear, "Gnaw on you! Grind your bones! Rape you!" Now I hear nothing. No voices talk to me and tell me what they are going to do to me. Instead, from the darkness that surrounded my pen a metal rod would shove a bowl of mud and grass into my pen. They had to learn of me. A structure is only as solid as its foundation. If you are strong in the beginning it only stands to reason that your strength will grow and outpace those destined to be downtrodden. I never touched my bowl.
In Arlott there is no crime. There are no atrocities. There is no genocide. At least there were no words for such things. Women had babies by men uncontrollably. Men died as if their life spans were that of insects. Once the fighting began it never stopped, and the fighting began as soon as you could move. We were The Lawless Ones. Upon the first true cognizant realization of the truth that is your future, everyone born a Lawless believes themselves cursed by the On High, may my might be steeled another day.
My pen. I wasn't always alone. In Arlott you earn your distance. Time and time again beasts of hunger would set upon me. In my sleep. During a meal. When I squatted to relieve myself of burden. You learn that if you want peace, you will kill. You will make them see that in the end they are defenseless and you will not be satisfied with anything less than their dismemberment. You will slurp their thick as you pick their flesh from their bones. No quarter will be given in Arlott because none will be asked. As a Lawless grows older strength alone is not enough. The Sins must be learned from teachers and/or developed from blessings from The On High, may The Ever guide my blade. And this only after confirming your Sinner.
A pen is nothing more than a sadistic proving ground abandoned by the godly that fled eons before my time. Even before the time of The Archae. The systemic ritual born to weed out the week and resurrect the sleeping Preghiera in everyone that it may rest in. The strongest will always rise. One generation perpetually giving way to a more crazed and victimized version of itself. As Arlott fed on itself the sickness spread and the wrath of the population spread to its neighbors. Yet even as Arlott became the epicenter for the manipulations of The Chasm, may those that fell by my One and Only forever see my face, the godly turned a blind eye...
Almost forever.