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The temple sat at the top of the mountain overlooking the valley below. The steps had been carved centuries before Grimmjow ever drew breath. Before even his grandfather carried a blade. The same blade Grimmjow now wore at his side; Pantera, the Panther Queen. She had slain many demons in her long existence. Corruption had soaked into her blessed metal. Pantera’s voice muffled in his head. She ached; so did he.
Grimmjow came to the top of the stairs. The temple and shrine were made of a dark green stone he didn’t think existed anymore. The columns towered over him. Ropes of lanterns and finely braided garland dangled between them. He could see prayer notes tied through the gaps in the garland. Some for peace and health, others were inscribed with names. He crossed the platform and stood in front of the squat temple. There were bats on each point of its sloped roof.
The Temple of Murcielago.
People moved around him carrying prayer pages or weapons to be cleaned. He walked through the temple and out into the garden. There were rows of lush gardenias along the path. The sound of water splashing and the smell of sulfur drifted toward him.
Grimmjow rested his hand on his belt. Pantera had taken so many lives in her time. He wondered when one more would be too many. If she could even be purified now her blade had turned black. He knew some weapons were beyond salvaging. Even smelting them down could be dangerous. Evil energy and dark qi could bond in the holy metals, creating something wicked.
Grimmjow followed the path to the cleansing pools. A man stood up from the rocks. He wore his black hair braided and pinned with a single hairpin at the base of his neck. The pin had two bats hanging upside down at their ends. His robes were green and trimmed in gold. He turned toward Grimmjow, eyes like jade. Black lips. Pale as the first snow.
Grimmjow knew the man’s name as well as his own. He was the priest of the temple, the former Warrior of Murcielago. Ulquiorra.
Ulquiorra turned toward Grimmjow and stepped carefully over the rocks. He moved with grace and care and a slight limp, one leg gone lame. He was older than Grimmjow, but Grimmjow knew the stories. Ulquiorra had been a brave qi warrior when Grimmjow could barely talk.
But injuries from his final battle against the Mantis God had forced Ulquiorra into retirement. Into serving his spirit in a different way. Grimmjow wondered if the eye in Ulquiorra’s socket was a false bauble, or an illusion. The eyes of Murcielago’s attendants were special. They could see the flow of energy coursing through a person. What Ulquiorra’s eyes saw was absolute.
Grimmjow knew the Mantis had plucked the left from Ulquiorra’s head and eaten it as an insult. After shredding Ulquiorra’s blade arm and crippling his leg.
It was a loss that Grimmjow now felt in force. He would have given anything to see Ulquiorra carry a blade. To see him in battle.
Ulquiorra stopped in front of Grimmjow. He came to Grimmjow’s chin. His aura persisted. Soft, green. Ulquiorra smelled like the earth after a strong rain with subtle hints of gardenias beneath.
Ulquiorra’s gaze roved over Grimmjow. There was a glint to the left eye. It didn’t move with the right. A fake, then. Likely blessed to retain some of his previous power.
Ulquiorra’s voice was soft, low. Grimmjow strained his ears to hear him over the water. “I was told you would come to visit the temple. We’ll cleanse your blade together.” He turned slow, careful. Calculating his steps and placing his feet firmly along the stones.
Fearful of a fall? Or still adjusting to the injuries?
Grimmjow knew Ulquiorra had been unrivaled in his speed once. Darting in between swings of blades and blasts of qi. It made Grimmjow’s heart ache to see the slow gait. To see the Blade of Murcielago crippled.
Ulquiorra crossed the smooth stones and shrugged out of his heavy haori. He folded it on the bench by the water and rolled back his sleeves. It was difficult with his bad hand, and Grimmjow fought the urge to ask if he needed help. He could see the scars running along both of Ulquiorra’s arms. A history of battle, of victories, and of loss.
“Does it ache?” It slipped out before Grimmjow could think to stop it.
Ulquiorra focused on tying back his sleeves with a length of ribbon. The scars to his once dominant hand were thicker. Entire sections of his bicep were gone. Grimmjow could see the shape of bone.
“When it rains.” Ulquiorra eased himself to his knees. It was not with pain or care, but practice. An act he had done countless times.
Grimmjow tilted his head. There was no hesitation to Ulquiorra. No fear or anger. No self pity. He existed, changed, but still whole. His aura radiated that, and Grimmjow could feel it brushing against his own. Curious.
Had they met on the road, or in battle, Grimmjow would have loved Ulquiorra. Even now, he could feel a wanting. Grimmjow removed Pantera from his belt scabbard and all and knelt beside Ulquiorra.
The water filtered in through heavy stones. It was clear enough to see to the bottom. A part of him feared to taint it.
“She’s safe here.” Ulquiorra nodded to the pool. “The waters can cleanse most unholy energy, so long as you feed your qi to it.” He turned his head to Grimmjow. “And as long as you trust in her to absolve herself.”
Of course he trusted her. She had been dutiful in protecting him. Pantera rarely accepted male wielders. But Grimmjow had taken her up without hesitation, energy sparking from her hilt, when his mother fell. He had defended his mother with Pantera roaring at him to be released.
He still carried the scar on his palm. And he remembered screaming back at Pantera. If his mother died because she, the righteous Panther Queen, did nothing, Grimmjow would throw her into the deepest mud pit he could find.
Pantera calmed enough for him to defend his mother. Even praised him when he laid her back at his mother’s feet. A year later, Grimmjow found the sword on his bed. His mother retired, and he took her place.
Grimmjow drew Pantera and eased her into the water. He muttered, “Been a long road here, priest. Dunno how much I can give.” She deserved her pride and whatever Grimmjow could spare. He feared it wasn’t enough. That he wasn’t enough.
Ulquiorra lowered his hand into the water. “I’ll help you.” He folded his fingers over Grimmjow’s.
A shiver ran up Grimmjow’s arm and along his spine. Their qi mingled, turning the water a deep cyan. Grimmjow shuffled closer until he could pick out the mantra Ulquiorra used. He followed along.
Pantera purred in his head, relaxing. The black stain seeped into the water, coloring it a dark shade before it dissolved. The water shifted from cyan to clear. Ulquiorra’s hand remained firm over Grimmjow’s. Pantera’s blade glowed a faint blue. The remaining corruption washed away until she shone like ice under the water.
Ulquiorra withdrew his touch. Grimmjow felt the loss like a punch to the gut. He clenched his jaw. Swallowed the emotion. Pantera chuckled in the back of his thoughts.
A priest, my cub? He is more worldly than you.
Grimmjow furrowed his brow. Pantera continued to laugh.
“You will need to have her blessed again before your next battle, but there will be no residual stain.” Ulquiorra dried his hand on the hem of his hakama. He removed a silk handkerchief from his belt and passed it over to Grimmjow.
Grimmjow withdrew Pantera from the water and wiped her off. She purred in his head. Pleased. It made him smile. Ulquiorra gathered himself up. The limp was less prominent.
A regret formed in Grimmjow’s thoughts. He didn’t want Ulquiorra to go. Wanted to linger in Ulquiorra’s orbit a moment longer.
Don’t be greedy, cub.
She was one to talk. Grimmjow knew the stories of Murcielago and Pantera long before they became weapons. They had carved mountains with their battles. With their love. Pantera split an entire country in half when Murcielago fell from the sky. When he became the blade know tucked against Ulquiorra’s side.
Grimmjow could feel Ulquiorra’s qi radiating around them. Could feel it bunt against Grimmjow’s own. How badly his energy wanted to intertwine with Ulquiorra’s. And how much Pantera missed her love.
Grimmjow blurted out, “Do you miss it?”
Ulquiorra paused. He turned to look at Grimmjow, one brow raised. This close, Grimmjow could see the fine scars running from the edges of Ulquiorra’s left eye. The deep laugh lines around his mouth. Wisps of silver at his temples.
Grimmjow hurried to add, “The battle. Do you miss it?” He didn’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t fight. If he couldn’t raise a sword.
Ulquiorra’s lashes lowered. His eyes flickered from Grimmjow to his blade and back. His sword hand twitched at his side.
“Yes.”
There was a quiet desperation in that one word. A longing Grimmjow understood. Grimmjow pushed himself to his feet and stepped forward. Closed the distance.
Grimmjow stuck out his hand. “Give me something of yours. I’ll take it with me. So that you’re still fighting.”
Ulquiorra’s eyes lowered to Grimmjow’s palm. It was impulsive. It might have even been insulting. Ulquiorra had been a far more accomplished warrior than Grimmjow ever would be. Ulquiorra’s eyes closed. Grimmjow felt the sting of the rejection. Then Ulquiorra lifted his hands to remove his earrings. Chunks of emerald held with gold facets secured with gold hoops. They glittered in the sunlight. Ulquiorra placed them in Grimmjow’s still open palm.
“I am always fighting, Grimmjow, but may these bring you honor and safety in your journey.” Ulquiorra folded Grimmjow’s fingers over the earrings. “Return to the temple as you like.”
The earrings felt warm in Grimmjow’s hand. Ulquiorra turned and walked away, easing his haori over his shoulders. Grimmjow watched him go before he opened his hand. He removed the blue studs in his ears and replaced them with Ulquiorra’s emeralds. He felt a flare of energy course through him. Smelled petrichor.
He replaced Pantera’s scabbard in his belt and turned to leave the temple, sparing the retreating priest one last glance.
“I will carry your honor with me. Until I see you again.”