((Please be mindful of the tags on this one, it is very much not an easy story. There is quite a bit of hurt and zero comfort, and Erich is once again the POV character, which means that everything is happening TO him in this one.))

Erich comes awake with a start and a gasp and a groan; there’s grit gluing his eyes closed, his limbs ache with the strain of being held in one position for too long, and there are hundreds of tiny somethings digging uncomfortably into his bare skin. A quick, subtle check makes dread start to coil in his chest like a snake: his arms are bound behind his back and his legs are bound together. He can twist his torso but the crystals running up his sides limit how useful that motion really is.

Of all the outcomes he’d considered, being captured is… depressingly low on the list.

(Though considering who probably has him, it’s not quite as much of a surprise as it should be.)

“Maa, finally awake, I see,” Kisuke’s voice rings out as he approaches, each step announced with the distinctive sound of dirt and gravel shifting underfoot and that… that makes sense, Erich wearily acknowledges.

Where else would Kisuke bring him but the underground training basement?

Erich finally forces his eyes open and squints blearily at the world around him. The bright, steady light from overhead confirms his fears, as does the brown, stony ground he’s laying on. Laying on naked, of course, because why would Kisuke bother putting clothes on someone he’s probably about to kill after some brief torture for information?

(The small stones digging into his body have to count as a minor torture in and of themselves, ugh.)

(As annoying as his own crystals can be, somehow this is worse.)

He grits his teeth and twists his body as much as he can with his limbs bound by Kisuke’s kido and his movements further hindered by his crystals. Still, a bit of effort and some pained hisses see him to his knees, though he can’t do a thing for the dust and bits of stone stuck to his body; it’s obnoxious, and irritating, and terrible, and the whole goddamn time Kisuke is just… watching him.

Erich lifts his head and squints at Kisuke, trying to judge exactly how screwed he is and—

He can’t sense a goddamn thing.

Nothing!

He swallows and forces himself to breathe through the jolt of fear that makes his mouth go dry. He’ll be fine, he has to be fine. There’s no other option for him, not now, not after coming so close to victory! Reiatsu abilities are not the only thing he has access to, he needs to remember that, and he doesn’t think he’s displayed any of them to Kisuke yet. Which means that hopefully the crystal abilities he has will come as a surprise.

(Hopefully.)

(…fuck…)

Not willing to bet everything on that, Erich grimaces and turns his focus back to the kido he’s been bound with, testing-testing-testing everything he can without the ability to actually sense what’s going on or poke it with his own reiatsu. If he can find even the smallest amount of wiggle room, find even the barest hint of leeway that could give him an out…!

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Kisuke tells him, voice cold as he takes another step closer. The soft hiss of Benihime being drawn sends a chill down Erich’s spine, and when he looks up, Kisuke is watching him with such a flat, coldly vicious stare that Erich can’t help but freeze, his breath going shallow and his body stilling; at this distance he can’t make out much of Kisuke’s expression, but he can feel it.

(Though, for a small mercy, Benihime isn’t pointed at him yet.)

Not that where Benihime is pointed matters, Erich acknowledges with the calm certainty of approaching death; he is bound by Kisuke’s kido, unable to move, unable to draw upon his Quincy powers, unable to do much of anything but blink and breathe and turn his head. He cannot defend himself, cannot escape, can only try to argue his way out of this and… what’s the point?

To go to this extent, Kisuke must already know what Erich is and what he’s done.

(Foolish of him, to give into such a human whim as attraction…)

(Truly, he has learned nothing from his own past after all.)

(On the cusp of victory, he has merrily handed his enemy the very means to destroy him and all he’s worked for.)

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Kisuke asks as he shifts his stance slightly, gravel crunching under his geta. “You were quite chatty in your own defense the other night.”

Erich snorts at the jibe but doesn’t bother answering, because he knows how this works: Kisuke will poke and prod at him, doing his best to draw more information from Erich before finally killing him. His best defense now is silence, and it is not in defense of his own life — that, he is well aware, is already forfeit — but rather in defense of the crystal heart growing in the Soul King’s Palace.

(Not that he’s expecting that to survive either.)

(If Kisuke doesn’t kill him cleanly — which is looking less and less likely the longer he remains alive — then the man is planning on using him as a test.)

(He is… not looking forward to the agony to come.)

Kisuke’s brows furrow and the faintest traces of confusion slip through his deadly cold expression but… Erich refuses to believe it, for he knows exactly how good at manipulation the man can be. Such an obvious tell, just enough for Erich to spot but not so much as to be blatant, exists only to tease out more responses from him. Responses that he refuses to give.

Kisuke’s grip shifts on Benihime’s hilt, and Erich can’t help but tense in anticipation; he will feel every bit of damage done to the crystals growing across his body, for that is the price of being an avatar. Even now, below the ache of being bound, parts of him still hurt from the damage Kurosaki dealt to him, a warning and a reminder that he remains fragile despite his strength.

(A token defense against anyone trying to ‘free him’ from the crystal that has become so integral to who he is.)

(For who would want to torture a loved one for the small chance of so-called ‘freedom’?)

(An avatar must die instead of turning.)

(…he must die, before he can ruin things further…)

Decision made, Erich lets his eyes close and his chin fall to his chest. He is bound both physically and spiritually, but Kisuke has not thought to bind his crystals, not yet at least.

(He will have one chance at this.)

(He cannot, must not, fail.)

It is second nature after all these decades to draw upon the crystal’s power, though it is certainly not second nature to turn that power upon himself. It still takes barely a thought to force it upon that path, though, for destruction is destruction, no matter the target—

“No!” Kisuke snarls, hot-vicious-furious as he digs his fingers into Erich’s chin and forces it up. As he grips tight-tight-tighter. As something carves its way beneath Erich’s skin and into his body, into his bones, and—

Agony.

He screams. Wrenches free. Falls. Writhes within the confines of the first kido. There is magma in his veins and lightning in his nerves, eating-eating-eating away at him until all that exists is pain. He can’t— he can’t—!

(He is dying-dying-dying he has lost he has failed he is dying why is he not yet dead please, please, he must— he needs—!)

(End it!)

Ice flushes through his veins, flooding from his head to his chest to his limbs, all the way to his fingers and toes and he is…

Empty. Hollow. Burned out and broken and frozen to the core. He lays where he has fallen, gasping in pain, and just… waits. For the pain to resume. For his life to end. For whatever it is that Kisuke wants to do to him next.

All he can do is wait.

There is… a hand on his head. Fingers in his hair. Ice radiating from the touch. Ice that fades as the hand starts to lift. He can’t— he is— his breathing speeds up against his will. His aching body tenses. His jaw clenches, head turning to press against the dry, dusty ground below him. He will not be able to stop his screams, but better screams than babbling something, anything to a desperate bid to make the pain end.

The emptiness inside of him is… worrying, or it would be if he had the strength left to worry. He cannot feel the crystal’s power anymore, and when he tries to call forth his self-destruction once more… nothing answers him. He is bound. Helpless. At Kisuke’s supposed mercy.

(He will not die until Kisuke permits it.)

(…he will not die for a long, long time…)

He waits, and waits, and waits, growing tenser with every breath he takes. Spots dance behind his eyelids and the emptiness grows within him, dizzying-threatening-terrifying. His pain grows distant. The world grows distant.

He waits.

Something… changes. His body sags against the dusty ground. His fingers curl. His legs unlock.

Hands slide under his chest. Push.

Erich rolls onto his back and… lays there. Lets his limbs sprawl and his head remain where it fell. Distantly, he is aware that he is free, that he could — should — move, but… why bother? He is still powerless. Kisuke is and always will be faster than him.

(He has lost.)

(To the victor goes the spoils.)

Noise filters into his mind, rhythmic and familiar and— oh. Oh. Kisuke. Kisuke is talking, voice rambling but something stern about it and he… hesitates, debating the merits of trying to listen versus burrowing deeper into the emptiness within him.

Before he can decide, hands brush across his chest, ghost over his chin, tip his head towards Kisuke. Fingers slide across his face, tracing his features, touch ticklish and vivid and undeniably present, and Erich finds himself paying attention. Focusing. Listening.

“—put a stop to it, I did. Erich, Erich, come on, answer me,” Kisuke is rambling, even as he pries one of Erich’s eyes open and leans in to peer at it. “You’re not dying, I promise. I won’t let you. I’m going to fix this, fix all of this, and—”

Horror makes him yank his head from Kisuke’s loose grasp. Makes him swallow a terrified noise. Makes him attempt to curl into a defensive ball even though his body is too wrung out to do so.

(Kisuke will not let him die.)

(Kisuke will not let him die!)

(He can’t— he can’t—!)

(Please…!)

A hand settles in his hair once more, fingers combing through it in a parody of comfort. Kisuke is talking again, though softer now, more focused; planning what to do next, Erich suspects, and he… he really should force himself to listen. Should try to at least prepare for whatever torture disguised as a test the man intends to inflict upon him next but… what’s the point? Kisuke wants to fix things, which means his obvious next action is to start breaking the crystals from Erich’s body.

It won’t work, of course, not the way the man expects at least, because the crystals growing from his skin are merely the tip of the iceberg. He doesn’t entirely know how much of his body is living crystal instead of flesh and blood anymore, but… it’s a lot. It must be a lot.

(He will not survive being so torn asunder.)

(He is not meant to survive!)

(…Kisuke will not let him die…)

And, sure enough, Kisuke’s other hand settles on his upper arm, fingers curling around a single small crystal rising from his bicep and—

Snaps it off.

Erich swallows the small whimper that tries to escape, long practice holding him mute even though his body shudders in pain. This is… this is no different from what he has done to himself, year after year, in order to keep the crystalline growths as small and tidy as possible. He can ignore it. He will ignore it. Will not give in, will not beg, will not bargain no matter how relentless Kisuke is.

Except… except Kisuke’s hand lifts away from his arm and doesn’t return. The hand in his hair leaves as well, and then Kisuke himself rises to his feet to stand over Erich’s limp form and oh… oh. So he is not to be stripped crystal by crystal until he finally succumbs. Which… makes sense, once he forces his exhausted mind to process; why would someone like Kisuke do such a tedious method?

No, someone like Kisuke will tear entire swaths from his body in an instant. Perhaps even all of it, if he’s figured out some trick.

(Maybe Kisuke will overreach.)

(Maybe he will fail.)

(Maybe Erich will finally, finally be free…)

(…free to rest, free to fade, free to finally die…)

Erich turns his head away. Breathes out. Tries to pull himself inward except—

“Bankai.”

He flinches at the cry. Tries to force himself up on trembling, fragile limbs in a futile effort to flee, but… he can’t. He can’t. He is numb to reiatsu but he can still feel the force of it, can still feel it pressing down on him, down-down-down back into the dust as Kisuke finishes his summon and it settles over them both. He can feel Benihime’s attention across his exposed back, can feel the judgment in her gaze even without forcing himself to look up at her, and part of him hopes that she finds him unworthy, hopes that she will simply kill him instead of whatever it is Kisuke is planning to do to him.

Remake him, he supposes with a touch of hysteria. Scramble who he is and destroy who he was and take him apart to rebuild him the way Kisuke believes he should be.

(He’s seen Kisuke use Benihime on himself, has seen her rebuild Kisuke’s destroyed eyes and tear apart his arms to stitch them back up, and now that power is to be turned on him!)

He doesn’t even get a warning. One minute he’s straining to rise, and a breath later Kisuke’s power sweeps over him like a tsunami, burrowing beneath his skin and tearing at his limbs and—

It hurts. It hurts! He is— he is being destroyed. Torn asunder piece by piece by piece, crystals shattering and crystalline flesh dissolving and everything— everything is fading, swept away in pain-fury-despair and he can’t— he can’t—

(He is not meant to live…)

(He is not meant to live…!)

(He must— he must…!)

He curls inward as best he can. Curls around his stomach. Muffles his cries in his shoulder and—

His right hand slips upwards. Curls around his throat. Digs into the soft flesh, sharp crystal edge piercing his skin and—

“No!” Kisuke roars.

—his hand shatters. His arm shatters. Vicious-black-aching fury lances through him at the failure. Failure-failure-failure! If he cannot win then the least he can do is die! Why can he not die! He must— he must—!

He is grabbed. Flattened. Held in place as his arm is rebuilt, stitched back together with abyss-black thread. No matter how he squirms, he is trapped. No matter how he thrashes or claws or bites, nothing changes— his fingers meet no resistance and his teeth close over nothing and he is trapped. Trapped.

(…why… is he fighting…?)

The thought shocks him into stillness, body going limp and breath rasping through his throat because… because he… doesn’t… understand…? Did he not once pray that someone would…? That he would be…?

He lays still, back pressed to the dusty, stone covered ground, and lets the pain wash through him. His other arm. His legs. His chest…!

(He gasps and writhes and screams his voiceless agony, for he has no breath, has no air…!)

And then it… fades. The pressure holding him down vanishes. The pain begins to ebb. He is whole and unbroken and himself for the first time in nearly a century.

Bile climbs up his throat, hot-sour-vicious, because he— he—!

Erich weakly heaves himself onto his side and spits. Gags. Coughs and spits and digs aching, trembling fingers into the broken ground and wants to laugh, wants to cry, because— because he—

(Traitor.)

(Betrayer.)

(Monster.)

(If only he had died in the Great War, if only he had been discovered sooner, if only he had been destroyed before he could destroy so many others…!)

A hand settles on his shoulder and he flinches. Curls inwards. Braces himself for pain, for fury, for hatred, because how could Kisuke feel anything but those for him?

Except… except the hand just glides down his arm, warm and gentle and soft, and Kisuke’s other hand slips under his shoulder and pulls him up, pulls him… into Kisuke’s lap?

“Erich?” Kisuke asks as he tugs Erich closer and leans in, the warmth of his body almost searing against the chill pervading Erich’s own body. “Back with me?” he murmurs, hand rubbing lightly at Erich’s lower arm.

The sensation of it, of uninterrupted movement on his right arm, is enough to drag Erich’s attention briefly away from… from everything he’s done; he tilts his head and lets his eyes crack open and… and stares at the patch of dusky violet… skin? Crystal?… stretching down his lower arm where jagged crystals used to jut from his skin. He stares, watching Kisuke’s hand move, watching the patch dimple ever-so-slightly with the pressure, watching the way shadows and light play in and over it.

So… still crystal, he decides numbly, but… not entirely?

“I did what I could,” Kisuke says as he lifts Erich’s arm slightly and tilts it back and forth to display the extent of the discolored area. His fingers dimple Erich’s actual skin much more than the patch of maybe-crystal, but any amount of give is… odd. “It’s a bit more flexible, but not by much. And, ah… your right leg…”

Erich flicks his gaze up to Kisuke’s face, then immediately away again, stomach churning at the cold-focused-furious look lingering in Kisuke’s eyes. “Ask your questions,” he forces out in a raspy, faded voice, his throat burning with the effort.

(Because surely that’s the only reason he remains alive.)

(He has answers that Kisuke wants.)

Silence settles uncomfortably over the two of them, before Kisuke finally sighs and asks, “Ishida-kun and Kurosaki-kun. Will I have to do this to them, too?”

“S’different,” Erich slurs out, letting his head drop back to Kisuke’s thigh and closing his eyes again. “Infected carrier,” he says as he awkwardly taps his own chest with his free hand, then flicks his hand away and says, “Ishida-san is… surface level infected. Kurosaki-san’s trapped. They’re… like bugs in amber.”

Kisuke makes a thoughtful noise and absently asks, “Ishida-san, huh, not Uryuu-kun?”

Erich clenches his jaw and refuses to rise to the bait; after what he’s done, after the trust he so casually shattered, of course he’s not going to call Ishida Uryuu so familiarly. What right does he have to assume such closeness? What right does he have to presume that Ishida Uryuu still cares about him? None.

None!

(Betrayer.)

(Betrayer of his kind, betrayer of his clan, betrayer of his family!)

“Hey,” Kisuke snaps, hand tightening around Erich’s wrist enough to register, the shifts his grip to lace their fingers together. “Come on, focus on me,” he demands as he pulls Erich upright and presses his back to Kisuke’s chest and holds Erich in place with an arm around his waist.

Erich stiffens in his grip, breath rasping painfully through his throat and his back prickling at the contact, because he’s— he’s naked. He’s naked, and it hadn’t mattered before, not really, not when he knew his death was at hand, but now…

Now what?

“It’s alright now,” Kisuke murmurs as he settles the both of them more firmly in place. “May I ask exactly what all of this is?” he asks, fingers tracing over patches of crystalline flesh as he does. “Beyond what you told me last night.”

“Something brought… into the world by… Yhwach’s greed,” Erich answers with a sigh of his own, slumping in Kisuke’s grip; he doesn’t actually believe Kisuke’s reassurance, but staying tense hurts, and he’s so, so tired…

Besides, it’s not like staying tense is any sort of protection against a man like Kisuke.

“And, ah… it’s effects…”

Erich scoffs at how tentative Kisuke sounds, then hastily presses his left hand over his mouth to cover his cough.

(Fuck his throat hurts…)

He swallows a few times, grimacing against the pain of it, then murmurs, “It has one goal… wants to devour the universe and… find other universes to… do the same to. Beyond that it… doesn’t care.”

“Doesn’t care how,” Kisuke asks, an odd tension bleeding into his voice that Erich doesn’t understand. “Is everything you do in pursuit of that goal?”

“Hardly,” Erich mutters scornfully, remembering last night’s decisions; decisions he can now see were driven partially by his long-buried desire to be caught, to be killed, so that he could never hurt another of his people again. And back further, the Great War and its aftermath and all the things he needed to do for his country, for his Clan, that the crystal frankly didn’t care about. But it needed him alive, so he continued to do his duties to the best of his abilities.

And if his decisions slowly became more and more vicious, more and more remorseless, as the war went on, well… who could blame him?

By the time he became a General, only fools denied the truth: they were losing. They were losing and there was no chance for them to turn things around, not without a miracle, and maybe if he pressed things, if he used everyone around him to their very limits—

Well. It hadn’t mattered anyway.

“I see,” Kisuke says in the tone of one who very much doesn’t, and Erich just huffs in exasperation at him.

“What does it care… if I read a book… go to the park… do… do anything?” Erich asks as sharply as he can manage with his raw, aching throat. “The vessel needs care… needs… needs things. Crystal… doesn’t. So it… doesn’t care. Needs vessel alive, needs vessel strong… how that’s managed… doesn’t matter.” He pauses, swallows again and rubs absently at his face before letting his hand drop back to his side. “Crystal… has a goal,” he continues slowly, trying to work through all the things he implicitly understands after… after over a century under its control. “But it doesn’t… there’s no… no strategy there. The… the path to the goal is… up to the vessel. Mostly. Can’t… can’t tell outsiders. Uninfected. Can’t try to die… made to not want to…” he trails off with a grimace and another cough, curling inwards in a futile effort to relieve the pain.

Kisuke makes a sharp noise, though if he says anything Erich doesn’t catch it, and suddenly… suddenly he scoops Erich up and rises to his feet, striding across the training ground as if Erich weighs nothing at all.

“Tessai is the only one here,” Kisuke states as he leaps upward, carrying Erich through the trapdoor in a rush of motion that makes him feel queasy. “Let’s get you something to drink and clean you off.”

Erich slants a wary look at Kisuke, wondering about the sudden leniency, but… well, if he isn’t going to die any time soon, any amount of relief will be worth it.

(Even if Kisuke is just doing it to preserve his body for a bit longer.)

(As accustomed to pain as he is, he still doesn’t like it.)

(Relief is still relief.)

Kisuke carries him into the bathroom and sets him down in the shower stall. As Kisuke putters around the room to gather what he needs, Erich… considers his options; he’s still weak and still has his reiatsu bound, but the sink — and thus the shaving supplies — aren’t too far away. If he just—

Kisuke steps between him and the sink and pauses before making a soft, tired noise. “I see,” he murmurs, before sinking to his knees next to Erich and holding a cup up to his mouth. “Drink,” he orders sternly, though he remains gentle as he angles the cup to let the water in it trickle into Erich’s mouth.

Erich doesn’t even consider refusing, just greedily drinks the water offered, letting it soothe the pain in his throat at last. He can’t quite stop the small whine that emerges when the cup is empty and Kisuke pulls it back, and the soft noises Kisuke makes in reaction just make everything worse.

(He doesn’t want Kisuke’s awkward attempts at comfort.)

(He doesn’t.)

“Ah, another cup, then, but no more,” Kisuke says as he stands and turns the sink back on to refill it. “Too much and you’ll start feeling sick,” he adds as he kneels next to Erich again and offers the cup of water once more.

Which is… a fair assessment, Erich acknowledges as he drinks the second cup more slowly; the water feels great going down his throat, but his stomach…

With a sigh he turns his head away and lets his eyes close, exhaustion beginning to catch up to him despite the lingering pain and the fear lurking just below the surface.

(There’s only so long he can stay alert after… after what he’s been subjected to, after all.)

(Whatever Kisuke wants to do to him… well.)

(It’s not like he can resist, can he?)

He can feel Kisuke leaning back, followed by the click of the cup being set down, and then— and then the hiss of the shower being turned on, though Kisuke has clearly pulled the showerhead down because nothing hits Erich.

“Right, I’m going to get you cleaned off,” Kisuke announces as he leans back in and the sound of water gets closer. “Let me know if this is too cold or too hot,” he says as he grasps Erich’s arm and brings it up, brings it over, and—

Erich tenses, though he keeps his head turned away and his eyes closed; no matter how much he wants to just accept whatever’s done to him, he still… he still…

(No, he deserves it, doesn’t he?)

(Arrogant fool that he was, of course this would be his fate!)

(He should just—!)

The water is warm.

The water is warm, the spray is gentle, and the shock of it — of something so outside his expectations — jars Erich’s thoughts loose, spilling over into a messy scramble of static like an untuned radio. Fragments of thoughts briefly rise to the surface before being subsumed once more, barely giving him time to feel the shape of each before they’re gone again.

It… should be worrying, Erich decides after a long, long moment of simply being. Kisuke is busy washing him down, touch quick-careful-determined, and he can’t muster a shred of emotion about it. Just static, formless and vast, swallowing whatever tries to emerge before it can.

The rise and fall of Kisuke’s voice catches his attention briefly, enough to get him to crack his eyes open to try and look Kisuke’s way, but… his vision is blurrier now than it was. Steam, he decides after another long moment of contemplation, and lets his eyes close again.

(It… probably doesn’t matter anyway.)

(He’ll live or he’ll die at Kisuke’s mercy.)

(But for now… for now…)

Darkness creeps in through the static in his mind, bringing silence in its wake. It’s easy to relax into it, to let himself fall, to let himself sink beneath the surface.

(…he’s so tired…)

The world fades.

He sleeps.