moribund Mor-i-bund

adjective (of a person) at the point of death.

Clean. It was so clean. The point of my sword was, for once, right on target.

I wish I had missed.

My mind refused to continue forwards with the ever-running train of thought that raced through my mind, choosing to loop around and around the last thirty seconds of track.

His look of shock is blatantly obvious when I cut through the icily merciless blades of Desgarron.

There is a half-second opening for him to escape an attack. I know he can see it. I'm already preparing to chase him when he takes the window.

Watching him decline the chance makes me almost flinch backward upon his torso's contact with Tensa's blade.

I can only watch as his skin parts neatly and Tensa pops out the other side, like Grimmjow's a piece of meat on a shish kebab. The comical side of fatality rears its ugly head when I suppress a crazed laugh at my thought.

It plays again.

Again.

Again.

The details begin to sharpen.

His spiky blue mane of unruliness looks like he dons a crown of bright aqua thorns. Every ridge of flawless white armor shoots forth steel-gray shadows that add to the chiaroscuro contrast illuminating his rigid body.

We are locked together three hundred feet over the Hueco Mundo sands. Our spiritual pressures clashed against one another furiously a couple minutes ago. Now mine is winning the battle.

Grimmjow's is fading away.

He tilts his head back, grinning like a complete madman. Blood trickles out from the sides of his mouth.

Its red. Way too red to be real.

Grimmjow lunges forward suddenly, and wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling Tensa almost to the hilt into his body in the process of completing this deadly embrace.

The laugh that warbles from his throat sounds deep, scratchy, and positively dangerous. It surges through my veins and riles up my blood, trying to break skin so we can bleed together.

"Looks like I lost this one Kurosaki! I hadn't expected ya to break through Desgarron. In fact,"

He moves his right hand to my left, which is still clutching Tensa with a force that is chafing my palm to the point where it will peel off my skin.

"I thought ya might call off the fight. Then, maybe we could have done something else."

This time I do flinch. We both wince when Tensa's guard presses against his beefy abdomen.

"All this muscle, and ya slice me like I'm butter. All that wasted time building up this killer physique."

Pantera's armor slowly scatters off his body, leaving him in the tattered Hueco Mundo uniform. I silently bid good-bye to the sharp, chiaroscuro plating. Grimmjow simply watches it scatter into the dust, losing itself among the vast expanse of sand below us.

"Tch. Some help ya were too."

More blood.

It flowed like twin waterfalls from his mouth.

Was it truly possible for someone to bleed so freaking much?

"C'mon Kurosaki. Have thou not one word for thou's vanquished enemy? Tell this dying husk of a body a joke before it doesn't have the strength to laugh."

I want to yell.

To scream.

To howl like a savage animal.

"Oh, stop it. The self-pity dripping off your face is gonna make me puke, seriously. This is a world of monsters and men Ichigo. Someone has to be the monster or we would never be able to tell the two apart."

Grimmjow laughs again, but this one wracks his body.

His spiritual pressure is gone.

"My time is officially numbered Ichigo, so I'm not going to repeat myself."

Our foreheads knock together. I could kiss him if I hadn't lost all feeling in my body. All I could sense was my hand's death grip on Tensa's hilt. I wish that rough, calloused grip became all that I was able to feel and trumped my roiling emotions.

"I was born a monster and am most definitely going to die one too. But when I see you with those damn determined eyes of yours, I can't help but to wish for a chance to switch sides."

Wish granted. I am numb to the one hundred and first percentile.

I cannot feel his chin resting on his shoulder.

Or his body going limp.

The flow of tears that has begun on my cheeks with the promise of cutting a river down my face before I finish grieving isn't even enough to break the barrier.

My eyes scan the barren white desert of Hueco Mundo when Grimmjow dissolves into black ash.

Everything is just so clean.

I'll most likely be dissatisfied with this later.

Review at your leisure.