T/N: I am now back, uploads the same as before, other fics will be updated soon if not already.
Rukongai's 78th District—Inuzuri—one of the most lawless, chaotic regions in all of Soul Society.
In this place, food and water were scarce to the point of being precious commodities. Thieves ran rampant, stealing was an everyday occurrence, and even living people were sold like livestock.
Asano Kiyoshi, dressed in the common civilian clothes of Soul Society, walked down the filthy street. Around him, the half-naked residents lay slumped in corners, their yellowed, clouded eyes following him intently.
His clean clothes clashed jarringly with the filth around him. But even more so, it was his eyes—filled with hope and energy—that stood out. That kind of gaze was rare here. Almost unnatural.
The street was a chaotic mess, littered with excrement and garbage. A woman, holding a child, curled into a wall corner. Her lips were purple, her body trembled violently, and her eyes were filled with raw hunger—so dry that even her tears had long since dried up.
Asano let out a quiet sigh and walked toward her. Reaching into his robe, he took out a piece of white flatbread.
But just as he was about to offer it to her, a faint voice whispered behind him:
"Don't! Be careful!"
At that moment, the woman's pale face twisted into a bizarre, grotesque smile. In the next second, she hurled the child from her arms and produced a dagger, lunging straight at Kiyoshi's neck.
None of the bystanders reacted. In fact, some even laughed mockingly, reveling in the scene.
"Heh! Look at that! Another idiot taken out by the crazy woman! Hehehe! Looks like we're eating meat tonight!"
"Yeah! Been a while since the last good feast. That makes sixty-seven, right?"
"Mhm, sixty-seven kills. Not easy finding fresh suckers these days. Better bury this one in a good spot, turn him into smoked meat for storage—we'll eat for days."
Their voices slithered in his ears like venomous snakes. Asano Kiyoshi released a sliver of his spiritual pressure, instantly pinning the woman to the ground. The dagger slipped from her hand and clattered against the stone with a sharp clang.
He stared down coldly at the woman still struggling beneath his pressure. But instead of killing her, he turned toward the child she had tossed aside.
There were no cries.
That worried him.
When he lifted the worn cloth wrapping the child, he fell silent.
It was the corpse of a child. Dead for who knows how long. The body had clearly undergone some kind of preservation, turning the flesh a sickly purple-black—but it was decaying nonetheless. Most of the body had rotted away. Maggots writhed in the flesh, and black insects crawled out from the hollow eye sockets tinged with dried blood, whispering a wordless lament.
As Kiyoshi unwrapped the child's body, the "madwoman" thrashed violently.
Veins bulged on her face. She bit into dirt, her bloody fingernails clawing at the ground. Her skin scraped away in shreds against the rough earth.
But she didn't seem to feel a thing.
She only screamed at Asano Kiyoshi:
"Give him back! My child! My baby! Heehee! Aaah! Mommy's useless! But don't worry, baby! Mommy'll bring you some meat to eat!"
Seeing her hysteria, Kiyoshi understood—this woman had lost her mind.
He examined her more closely. Her body was riddled with old wounds. Not natural ones—clearly caused by others.
A large patch of her scalp had been torn off. Her face bore knife scars. Her arms showed signs of burn marks. Her thighs were still bruised and bleeding.
He looked again at the grinning faces of the crowd, then at the feral dogs licking their chops nearby.
They were the same—these people and the dogs. All of them waited to feast on her flesh and bones.
Kiyoshi returned to the woman and gently placed the cloth-wrapped corpse in her arms.
The moment she held the child, she fell silent. Her eyes suddenly regained a flicker of clarity. She looked at her child's body, her gaze a mixture of hatred and love. With a barely audible whisper, she spoke:
"Please... kill me."
But tears flowed down her face nonetheless.
Those clear tears cut twin trails through the dirt on her face—like a final act of redemption.
Kiyoshi looked at her, his expression complicated. Then, softly, he said:
"I'm sorry..."
At his words, a white spark of lightning leapt from his fingertip, instantly numbing her entire body. A subtle pain bloomed in her chest, and then, came the endless dark.
In that final moment, Kiyoshi heard her voice one last time.
Relieved. Resigned:
"Thank you..."
The words settled heavily in Kiyoshi's chest. He knew this woman had suffered horrors beyond imagination. But that didn't erase her sins.
She had killed. Dozens, at least.
She should die... shouldn't she?
Why did she become this way?
It's not my fault... is it?
No.
It's our fault.
After the flash of lightning, the crowd's expressions changed. Wariness crept across their faces. They understood what that technique meant.
He was a Shinigami—one from the very heart of Soul Society.
Though they stepped back, none of them left.
Kiyoshi understood now—those earlier words weren't an exaggeration.
These people... really do eat humans.
He rose to his feet and conjured a ball of fire in his hand. It glowed with intense heat, but not its usual vitality—it was dim, solemn, restrained.
He cast the flame onto the woman and her child. The fire devoured their bodies, attempting to cleanse the grime and guilt, but everyone knew—this sin could not be burned away.
In fact, fire only made its sting more visible.
Kiyoshi's chest tightened. He shook his head and turned toward the direction from which the warning voice had come.
After passing through a narrow alleyway, a small figure appeared before him.
A girl with short black hair and a slim, delicate build—
Kuchiki Rukia.
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