Another long fantasy epic! I wanted to save this until my other in-progress works are done, but I write such long stories and I can't wait to share this one. It's my personal favorite. I'm anxious to hear what you think of it, though this first chapter is just a prologue...

Multiple pairings, eventual ensemble cast - GrimmIchi, IchiHitsu, GrimmIchiHitsu, even some hetero couples

Dark themes - violent deaths, moral ambiguity, bloodplay, horror

But also - dragon Hyorinmaru, fluff, love, evolving Ichigo as in he starts out ooc but becomes more 'Ichigo' as we go

OP Ichigo, eventual OP Toshiro

Of Demons

Part 1: Demon Outside My Window

There was a child crying, a tiny broken heart gasping in the darkness. Fear and misery, sadness and longing for someone, anyone to take away the pain. It was a siren's call, irresistible, the heady scent of it drifting along the wind for miles over cultivated stretches of crops, open pasture lands, deep forests. And they came, lured by that wish, by that delicious scent. Innocent and despairing, a willing sacrifice that would walk into the night eagerly with only a few kinds words, a genuine promise of an end to suffering.

They came, the weak ones clinging to the shadows, the risk of being consumed by the stronger ones overridden by the drive to find the tasty morsel. Stronger ones strode boldly across open fields, posturing, threatening, fighting with one another when two came too close. Many of all levels were defeated and consumed on that journey, but still they came. For there was something undeniably different about this crying soul, a broken strength that promised power to any that could possess it, but only if they moved quickly to take advantage of the weakness.

Solid walls surrounded the small city. The human forces within the walls and atop the watchtowers were a second string of defense. Only the strongest would get close, and they would not likely try when they realized just what the city's first defense was. Such an alluring call, some would take the chance, or not see the danger due to the hunger clouding their primitive minds. The defenders on high watched, not knowing why so many were attempting to invade this night when the overgrown village usually attracted only a few. And they watched as the ones brave enough, desperate enough, or foolish enough to come closer met a fast, frigid death.

Another watched, casually standing high in a dead and bare tree at the edge of the forest. Eyes sharp with power and habitually trained to the distance of the open desert, he watched the weak fall to the strong, the strong fall to their own arrogance. A wicked grin spread across his face as a group of eight made a rush toward the walls. Herd mentality, each hoping the other seven would distract the defender long enough for them to reach the boy. None wondered what they would do then, who would serve as a distraction to cover their retreat. Such was their nature, driven only by hunger with the faintest ability to think about such things as coordinated attacks and surviving past their next meal.

The eight were closing in on the town when the air was torn by a thunderous roar, the tremor of power widening the watcher's grin, making his skin shiver with lust to fight. It was tempting, such an opponent was a rarity worth the effort, worth the chance of death. But it was a great pleasure just to watch as the silvery, serpentine giant came into view, circling the city and bringing cold oblivion to all eight with a graceful dip of the mighty head, leaving several broken sculptures of ice behind, dropping pieces of others it had scooped up with teeth like scimitars. One smooth down-stroke of nearly transparent wings, so precise that a light trail of frost briefly decorated the dirty city wall with crystalline calligraphy as the wingtip passed an inch from the stone, and the legendary creature gained height to search for others suicidal enough to enter its territory.

How such an unimpressive town secured a dragon, one old and powerful even for its kind by the size and aura of it, was another enchanting mystery. Along with the mystery of that boy. There were hundreds, thousands of souls vulnerable and miserable enough to be lured away from their mortality tonight. But a call that could tempt one such as he was rare, as rare as the magnificent being swooping over the city with another wave of power that made his hands itch for his sword.

Below his tree, the strong presence he had been tracking in the back of his mind paused. Far stronger than the fools now shattered into tiny shards of ice, strong enough to have started gaining an identity and intelligence, strong enough to have dared to hunt him, not knowing that his true power was well concealed. Looking down, black and gold eyes refocused to meet the startled eyes of brilliant blue. The creature started to shake in terror as it got a taste of his power. Attracted to the city like all the others, distracted by a glimmer of power and taking a detour for a quick meal, and then it looked up to find a predator more fearsome than the dragon on the horizon.

Waiting to see what the fledgling would do, he laughed at the choice it made. Had it run, he would not have been able to resist the chase, not in his present state of mind with hunger for the nearby boy nearly driving him mad. Had it fought, he would have ended its journey to self-awareness and taken its accumulated power to add to his own. Had it blubbered and quaked, he would have destroyed it without thought and left it to rot, refusing to eat a coward. It made none of these mistakes. Instead, it knelt, flattened face-down in the dirt before lifting slightly on its knees, head bent low, back of its neck exposed.

"Forgive me, Lorde."

Another booming roar drew his attention, turning his eyes away, turning his back to the fledgling who was no threat. His senses stretched, his eyes narrowed, power bringing the distant vision close and clear. The child's weeping had paused, bruised heart still calling but not as loudly. There, a large manor house of stone, one of the tallest at the edges of the town. In the highest window, a figure had pulled itself up on a windowsill, small arms hoisting the light weight up to lean out precariously, neck craning to gaze at the dark sky.

His breath caught, nostrils flaring and mouth watering at the enticing scent made more intense by the sight of the child. Eyes even more brilliant than those of the creature kneeling on the ground nearby, glistening with tears, red rimmed with the pain of weeping, wide and searching the stars. The child was young, old enough to walk and run, to speak and perhaps to reason, old enough to fend for itself. There was a promise of beauty in that round face, fine features, wide eyes, wild white hair. That promise was bolder with the sad ghost of a smile as the great dragon soared back into view, one dainty hand reaching out into the empty air as if to touch the fearsome beast.

Amazement brought another grin as he watched the sinuous form twist, wings balancing the length of the beast on air as the agile neck bent, red-eyed head stretching toward the seeking hand. The tiny human and the massive dragon were far apart, yet the gesture was clear, and the tiny human's smile widened beautifully even as fresh tears and a heartrending sob broke through. He could hear that distant whimper clearly, the salt of the tears seasoning the sweet taste of sorrow.

A savage pang of hunger tore through him, eviscerated him, and the image of the child reaching out would forever be etched in his mind, a vicious dream of the ephemeral beauty reaching not to the dragon, but to him. So young to be smiling through such agony, the blinding bright moment of joy and hope while the wounded soul drowned in the darkest despair, it was the most beautiful scene he had witnessed in his long, jaded existence. There was much more to this story than he could read, much more to that child than met the eye.

He heard movement below, the fledgling on its feet, one arm leaning on the tree as the creature quaked with hunger and drooled, eyes locked on the same sight that had enchanted him. It was intolerable to think of any eyes other than his watching that bittersweet drama play out, intolerable that any other heart was moved by the desire to possess the pale beauty with the soul drowning in darkness yet shining blindingly bright. Low and menacing, his growl broke the trance, driving the younger male back to its knees before he leapt down to stand over the prostrate form.

The urge to kill sharpened, but he recognized that it was only the need to protect his personal fantasy. Such weakness. This creature could not comprehend the true value of the boy. It had not been aware long enough to taste the relief from infinity offered by such a novel soul. No, the fledgling only knew hunger and the temptation of power, with barely any appreciation for the transcendent treasure so close and so very far out of reach.

"Resist, young one. Even I could not be certain of victory against an ice dragon."

Noting the lightening of the sky, he turned to leave, pausing at the voice behind him.

"You are not going after the human, Lorde?"

"Not tonight. No one will succeed tonight. But he is mine. Do not forget it."

"You are letting me go?"

There was just a hint of derision in that voice now. The fledgling had nerve, bravado returning with the belief that it would escape being eaten. The creature should have stayed silent, for now he reappraised the kneeling figure and found himself tempted. This one may have a chance. A strong and attractive build rather than relying on illusions of massive size or grotesque features, a quick mind to figure out how to survive this encounter, and the audacity to bite back at one far more powerful. His hum of appreciation for two such rare finds in one night made the handsome fledgling flinch.

"Have you found a name for yourself yet?"

A grin as wicked as his own, sharp teeth bared. He considered taking the fledgling, slaking his hunger with a worthy meal. But something about that cocky smirk, the proud lift of the strong jaw with its skeletal frame along one side . . . perhaps this one would last. So few did.

"Grimmjow, my Lorde."

"One in millions gains a name. Don't throw it away, Grimmjow. Curb your instincts and stay away from that boy. I will not spare you a second time."

Dawn was coming, and he turned away again, not pausing when the youngling spoke again.

"And what is your name?"

"You can call me Ichigo."

"Ichigo? Stupid name." Quiet, but he heard it. Nerve, indeed.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Toshiro! Time for breakfast!"

The old lady looked worriedly up the stairs. It had been three days. She wasn't looking forward to climbing the stairs again, it was too hard on her old bones. But she would if she must. The boy must eat, even if it was only the few bites he took to please her. She sighed and went back to the kitchen to prepare a tray to take up.

Mourning was understandable, expected. The boy had a soft heart. He and his mother had been shunned by everyone in the town. Unwed mothers were outcasts, worse yet when the mother would not reveal the identity of the father, even in gossip. Then there was the child, small, odd looking, otherworldly. Only wealth had shielded them from harsher treatment. Now, without his mother to protect him from the worst of the cruel actions and crueler comments, what would become of the bastard boy with strange looks and a stranger aura about him?

"Good morning, grandmother."

Steps so quiet, the little socked feet barely whispered on the polished wood. Once her heart had calmed down, she turned with a smile, hiding any reaction to the pale, drawn face, the eyes far too pained for an eight-year-old, red and swollen from weeping, darkly bruised from lack of sleep. The boy had been very close to his mother, the two only having each other with no family or friends. She was not Toshiro's grandmother, just the woman who helped cook and clean and look after the boy, the woman who stayed and tended his mother through the rapid decline to wasting disease and washed her cold body after she succumbed to fever. It was another sign of how kind the child was under his aloof exterior, calling her grandmother.

"Good morning, my boy. I made your favorite, and there's fresh juice. Did you wash your hands?"

A quiet nod. That, at least, was one thing she had never had to worry about. Even in his depression, Toshiro was fastidiously clean. She sat a plate in front of him, chatting about the little farm where she got the eggs. It was one of the boy's favorite errands, the man who kept the chickens ignoring the child as long as he was paid. Being ignored made it a pleasant chore, a place he could go, play with the animals for a little while, gather the eggs, and feel a sense of accomplishment.

Whether her words were heard, she couldn't tell. The fork was picked up, bites were taken, all in calm and polite silence, expressionless. She would continue working here if she could and take care of the child, make sure the city fees were paid so they could not try to evict him, see to it he continued to learn. She just hoped she lived long enough to see him through to an age where he could stand against the harsh world on his own.

Toshiro did listen to the aimless chatter, knowing that she was only trying to make things normal. A new normal. A world without his mother's bright laughter and cheerful stories, the games she would make up when no one would play with him, the make-believe adventures she would spin out of thin air. He was trying, though all he wanted was to go back to sleep until nightfall. Today, at least, he had to try.

They would probably be the only two at the burial. Even the priest would not bother if it weren't for the money he would collect. He was not ignorant. He knew that the neighbors were relieved to see his mother dead, and they all hoped the city would chase out the orphaned bastard. His mother had tried to keep him from hearing the spite and hate, tried to explain it away, and always smiled and laughed in the face of their insults.

The sound of laughter, shouts, quick feet, he looked to the window to see the group of children running and pushing each other, playing with a ball perhaps, there and gone as the commotion moved down the street. They played and carried on as if nothing had happened, as if the world had not grown darker and more painful than he could stand, and he tried to remember why he should not hate them for their callous ignorance. His hand had fallen still some time ago, the meal not half eaten.

"Why not try the juice, Toshiro?"

"I think I'll go to the garden."

He got up and left, sure she said something else but not hearing it. The bright light and warmth of the sun wasn't welcome when he only wanted night and cold. But he needed to get used to it again, and the private garden was the best place for it, mostly shaded by one big walnut tree. He was glad their . . . his house was on the edge of the town, the city wall serving as the back wall of the house as it did for many others. His bedroom window looked out on the world, just over the level of the wall, and he could pretend the town did not exist, gazing out toward the distant forest across the fields.

And when he was lucky, he could see the dragon. It had been very active the night of his mother's death. He knew that was not a good thing, that the dragon was hunting, that its presence meant demons were prowling near the city. Yet he was glad of it. The dragon made him feel safe, and he knew it was foolish that he thought of the dragon as a friend. Sometimes, it seemed like the dragon felt the same, the way the red eyes turned to him, the beautiful wings spread to hover for a moment to look back at him, the only time he ever saw the dragon pause.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

This human world was not of great interest to Ichigo. He would stroll here when he felt the need for a change of scenery, and every now and then would find a momentary distraction. Like this one that had drawn him back again. At first, he would stop by the dismal city whenever he happened to think of it. Long stretches of time went by before he would find himself watching the walls, listening to the distant heartbeat, humming with the rich energy of the starry-eyed child. More and more often he returned, until he found himself drawn each night the worlds aligned to the nondescript town with the remarkable guardian, quiet again now that the predators had thinned. The boy was no longer lost in despair. Grief, yes, deep and omnipresent, but his strength had returned, and his soul no longer cried out for someone to come take it away, no longer was tempted to run into the night. Well, perhaps a little tempted, but not enough to draw his kind in droves as it had before.

The child rarely slept, reading by candlelight or tending a garden by moonlight. He hated when it rained, the shutters closed, the boy inside. But then, one clear night when the new moon made the stars bright, the boy climbed out his window onto the ledge of the city wall. His heart nearly stopped, muscles tensing to sprint, to race the dragon, to catch his prize as it jumped down to freedom, to him, to death.

It was not to be, the small form walking confidently to the edge of the house and climbing up to the roof. Laughing at himself, he relaxed again. The child spread a blanket he had carried with him, stretching out on the rooftop with his head cradled in his hands, gazing up at the white-lit stars. He settled on the thick branch, leaning back against the rough trunk, gazing at the white-haired child, power erasing the distance so that it seemed as if he could touch the untamed locks, the pale cheek tinged pink with cold night air.

Time was also not of great interest to Ichigo. He could not say how long he had existed; a long time to be sure. He could not say how many nights he had watched, any more than he could say how long he sat and observed the fallen star on the distant roof. Intriguing, how the boy managed to keep his attention even after that delicious scent of longing for death had dissipated. He had become enchanted with sharing senses with the little one, so many desires roiling on the surface, so deep and calm beneath. Tonight, the child was content, quiet, and he hummed as his own contentment synchronized, though far away, and he lamented that the little human was unaware of the sharing.

Thus, it was not only his own rush of excitement he felt when the silvery form rose like mist from the eastern side of the city. Silent and slow, not on the hunt, the massive dragon was a delicate specter, nearly floating weightless as it glided over the rooftops, wide wings fanning gently. The great dragon did not move too close, though its focus was quite clear as it slowly circled the rooftop, nose overlapping tail to spiral in a halo above the delighted boy, weaving up and down to form loops and curves, a silver scrollwork on the black sky. The human looked even smaller, standing with thin arms stretched up, white hair, white robe catching the starlight. Tiny, bare feet moved gracefully to turn in the opposite direction of the shining serpent, tiny toes curling to hold the roof, tiny tendons standing out as tiny heels lifted, arched and dropped. The quiet laugh like silver bells rang in his ears and flooding his senses with pleasure.

Mesmerized, once again he had to stop the urge to move forward, forcing stillness. The mystery of this boy who danced so lightly with a dragon as a partner was the greatest diversion he had ever known, a blinding flare in endless darkness. He regretted seeing the icy loops break as the dragon pulled out of the spiral to move away to the far side of the city, silently descending to disappear behind the wall. The boy did not regret, and a new feeling flooded his mind, had been there for some time now. Happiness.

It was not a feeling he was very familiar with. His own happiness was a small thing, an vague and unsought thing, found in solitude and battle. Human happiness was nearly as rare. He only noticed humans when they were close enough to him, and when they were close they felt anything but happy. Fear, pain, shock, despair, and rarely, from those who sought death, gratitude. Those were the emotions humans showed him. Rightly so. He had never known such a simple thing as a human being happy could affect him so strongly.

Ichigo wondered then if this obsession was a good idea, if it would soften him. But the lure was still too great. Such a distraction was a prize itself, even if he did not get to eat the child and join that complex soul to his own. He would tire of it eventually. The childish sense of wonder would die. The mind now so open to the night and all its beauty, it would fade, it would harden and close. The elfin boy would become an abhorrent adult in the blink of his tired eyes.

So, he returned when the gates allowed. For how long, he did not know. Long enough that the child was becoming noticeably bigger. How fast did human children grow? He had never considered it. Children were of little interest, souls without power, without depth, passed over for richer prey. Until this one, complex and alluring.

Still a child, though, still captivating, still alone. He understood loneliness. The powerful of his kind were almost always alone, coming together rarely and briefly with a sort of allergic attraction that soon drove them to part again. The other children of the city were never alone, especially at night. There were adults and other children surrounding them almost constantly. In his experience, that was the way humans were in all worlds, possessive of their young. Why, then, was this child alone every night, the sole occupant of the large home?

Nights when the dragon came to look in on the boy were not frequent, at least that he witnessed, but never again did he see that beautiful dance. It might have happened again on a night when he was not present, when none of his kind could walk this land. That was unfortunate. If he could only spend every night and day here, he would not miss such beauty, would not miss the overflowing emotions of the child when the dragon lingered. Even the briefest visit of the dragon brought that piercing happiness, a feeling that lasted the entire night, unfamiliar and enchanting, and he basked in it until dawn or until the little one curled up and closed his remarkable eyes.

Others came occasionally. He did not stop them, rather watched to see if they would make an attempt to invade the city, watched as the dragon froze them or shredded them. Other souls from within the city were taken from time to time, when some accident or desperate choice led them to be outside of the ring of the dragon's protection. Ichigo did not partake, too strong to be interested in the insignificant power of the common human when such a rare delicacy was just out of reach.

It was a mild surprise then, that the boy continued to hold his interest. He was glad of it, and he found himself thinking of the human when he roamed other worlds or rested in his own desert home. Time passed. Years passed. And still he was drawn back to this world, to his northern star, the one new constant in the dull stretch of time. Toshiro. He learned that name one night from an ancient crone that sometimes was present in the home for a brief time near sunset. His Toshiro. His lonely Toshiro with a mind filled with stars.