p a r a d i s e

The rolling sea of white sand stretched infinitely beyond him until it met the dark sky, the landscape only broken by scrawny branches poking out. When he met the ground, black robes billowing behind him, there was only the softest sound of his feet meeting the sand ( a sound he had grown steadily accustomed to ). His eyes roam the horizon line in search of any fleeting hint that the wild King had roamed these hills, but Ichigo hardly expected to find any. 

With a quiet huff, Ichigo’s body coiled with tension before he kicked off the ground and stepped into the air. He let it carry him forward as he roved over the endlessly monochromatic land of Hueco Mundo, searching for one particular splash of sky blue he knew as well as the backs of his hands. 

“Oi! Grimmjow!” he shouted, “Where are you, bastard?”