Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one.
A/N: Hi there! Thanks for all readers who faved, alerted, and reviewed. I know that Bleach-Skyrim crossovers aren't very popular so this certainly exceeds my expectations. Leave a review ok? :D

CHAPTER TWO: UNBOUND

It was a cold day. White puffs of fog were reaching as far as it could on Nirn to envelope. It was still quite early in the morning. Many animals of the forest have chosen to snooze and delay their food gathering activities in their respective dens and nests. A group of human and elves were marching their horses and carts south to the Falkreath hold through the thick fog.

They were Imperial prisoners. Most of the prisoners loaded in the cart were captured Stormcloak rebels, guarded by single mounted legionnaires. On the front garrison was General Tullius, military governor of Skyrim himself. He was accompanied by the captain present on their last attack and a few Thalmor members riding on stallions.

Seriousness and tension were gracing the legionnaires' features, as they were maximizing their guards up. Their honed reflexes were ready to reach their weapons if needed. Meanwhile, the rebels with their hands bound tightly were sitting in the prisoner carts, having their heads bent low. Occasionally, they were heard whispering to each other, only to be silenced by the nearest guard.

The last of the prisoner carts were the most unique. Only four men were placed inside. One was a typical Stormcloak soldier. His long blonde locks framing his rough facial features. Years of fighting have shaped his muscles into a well-built soldier. Beside him was a brown haired Nord clad in roughspun tunic. He was scrawny if compared to the other Nord barbarians. His whole body was shivering, head turning left and right insecurely. Sometimes, he was seen trying to tug his dirty pants to make it more comfortable. In front of him was a huge towering Nord. He was handsome, with blonde long hair that was cut like a warrior and a pair of glowing blue eyes. His figure was clad in black attire of a noble. But one feature was interesting about him. A piece of white cloth was used to gag his mouth as if he was a blasphemer. He was also the only one received this treatment, for what reason the last man on the cart wasn't aware of yet.

He was the blue haired supposed 'battlemage' from earlier. Ralof, the Stormcloak in front of him noticed Grimmjow's eyelids fluttered open as his head bobbed up and down unconsciously along with the flow of the bumpy road.

"Uhh…" The misplaced Espada gazed around dizzily. His head was still stinging from the blow that sent him unconscious. Soon, his vision was focused on Ralof, looking at him as if he was just about to say something – but not a single word uttered.

"Hey, you!" Ralof addressed him. "You finally awake. The Imperials brought too many of them in the last attack, we were outnumbered. It was a planned ambush! You were brought here with us and that thief over there," His head motioned to the shivering man beside him.

"Damn you, Stormcloaks!" He murmured with all his hatred glinted in his brown eyes. "Skyrim was fine before you came. The empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!" He turned his gaze to Grimmjow. "You there, you and me shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

We're all now brothers and sisters in bind now, thief," The former Stormcloak soldier replied. His voice distant.

"Shut up, back there!" The guard driving their cart ordered.

His warning was ignored by the prisoners in the cart. Ralof eyed the Espada curiously. "Hey… What's your name again?" He asked.

The blue haired man addressed glanced at his asker slightly before turning his head back down. "Grimmjow… Grimmjow Jeagerjaques," He replied quietly.

"Grimm- What?" A frown appeared on his face. "That's not a Nord or Breton name, though despite your blue hair, you look like one… I'm sure you're not elven either. Where do you come from?"

"It's Grimmjow. I'm from Hueco Mundo," He replied curtly, clearly signing that he wasn't on the mood to engage in a conversation. The Nord man in front of him seemed not to be specialized in reading signals though.

"Hueco Mundo? Where's that? You're not from Tamriel? But I see you spoke Tamriellic very fluently."

"Hmm…" Not knowing what to answer, he touched his lips unconsciously, wondering what kind of language Tamriellic was. "Where am I? What… What's this place?" Grimmjow finally asked after a long pause.

Ralof stared at him dumbfounded. "You really don't know, do you?" He asked after a moment, mentally contemplating whether this blue haired man was really nuts as one of his wounded comrades stated. This Espada shook his head in response.

"You're in Skyrim, land of the Nords. It's the northest province of the Empire of Tamriel, though we Stormcloaks were trying to liberate it from the corrupt and weak government," Ralof explained, his face hinting disgust as he mentioned the Empire. He glanced to the gagged man, seeking for his approval from the corner of his eyes. No response.

"What's wrong with him?" The horse thief interrupted, just as Grimmjow about to open his mouth to respond.

"Watch your mouth! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" Ralof warned sternly.

"Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm. You're the leader of the rebellion. If they captured you? Oh gods, where are they taking us?!" The Nord thief's shivering was even greater. The wooden cart they were riding slightly tilted due to taking a descending road, causing the four passengers to shift around trying to reposition themselves with their bound arms.

Ralof sighed. "I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits…"

The thief jumped slightly from his seat restlessly. Cold sweat was flooding down his temples like raindrops falling from the roof. "No! This can't be happening! This isn't happening!" His loud panicking was only to be sternly glared by the guard.

"Hey… What village are you from, horse thief?" The blonde Nord asked.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thought should be at home…" He gazed solemnly. His bright blue eyes were fixated forward, where a towering gate of a village was visible.

The horse thief paused. His mind was spinning desperately before he finally answered. "Rorikstead… I'm from Rorikstead," he sewn his eyelids shut tightly, as if bearing himself not to cry.

"General Tullius, sir! The headman is waiting," One of the soldiers shouted, followed by dozens of prisoners' eyes turned to stare at him as if he was a bringer of terror.

"Good. Let's get this over with!" The General replied from the front line. They were only steps away from entering a town within the Falkreath hold – Helgen was its name. Several Imperial executions have been taken in this Empire-controlled area before.

"Azura, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh… Divines! Please help me!" The man from Rorikstead called desperately, loudness in his tone pictured his horror clearly.

"Look at him!" Ralof ignored the thief's devastated pleading, pointing his head at the General. "General Tullius, the military governor. And looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn elves! I bet they have something to do with this!" He grunted, expressing his distaste for the two factions – Stormcloaks' archenemy.

He peered around, looking at the familiar scenery before him. They were already inside the town. Several stone residential buildings were in sight. People were spectating at the convoy from their balconies, porches, or the roadsides they were passing.

"Aahh… This is Helgen," Ralof sighed in nostalgia. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Elod is still making that mead from juniper berries? Still… Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe…" He gazed longingly.

Grimmjow sighed. Headman? Was this really the end of his life? His thought travelled to Hermaeus Mora, remembering the presence's quote. Did this mean that he had failed his destiny?

Death.

He shuddered at the thought. His first death as a human, before he was turned hollow was long forgotten. But he wasn't eager to resurrect the memory either. His gaze averted to his bound hands, trying to summon his reiatsu one again but failed inevitably.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" A little boy's voice was heard in the background. He was watching them marching from his front porch.

His father who was standing beside him frowned disapprovingly. He knew more what all this convoy was about and he didn't want his little boy to be traumatized by that kind of sight so early. "You need to go inside," He ordered.

"Why? I wanna watch the soldiers!" The kid resisted.

"Inside the house. Now."

"Yes, papa…"

Suddenly, the line of carts and horses stopped in the center of the town, where resident men and women have gathered around curiously. "Get these prisoners out of the carts!" The captain commanded.

"Why are we stopping?" The horse thief eyed the captain suspiciously.

"Why do you think? End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us," Ralof answered as the guard opened their cart and instructed them to exit, much to their chagrin.

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" The thief began panicking and resisting the soldier's push.

"Face your death with some courage, thief!" Ralof – a true Nord he was, calmly answered to the beckoning of Sovngarde.

"You've got to tell them we weren't with you! This is a mistake!" He struggled, only to be pushed harsher by the Imperial soldier.

Surrounded by citizens who wished to see the end of the civil war, the soldiers and the executors were ready on their respective positions.

"Step toward the block when we call your name, one at a time!" The captain ordered. A bulky Nord man clad in heavy Imperial armor scrolled open a parchment.

"Empire loves their damn lists…" The Stormcloak muttered under his breath.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," the legionnaire called.

"It's been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said, as Ulfric stepped into the block.

"Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead,"

"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir cried, interrupting the list. He proceeded to run forward recklessly, one last desperate attempt to flee.

"Halt!" The Captain screamed. Her eyes glaring in shock.

"You're not going to kill me!" He continued his march, pushing through his ways while the civilians around him yelled and jeered. Suddenly, a steel arrow split the thin air and plunged into Lokir's chest right in the center. The Imperial archer sighed in relief as his shot was accurate. He was trained to listen to orders and act in high reflex, lest he was subject to the captain's strict punishment.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The captain barked as she watched the cowardly thief collapsed to the ground.

Grimmjow gulped. So this was either he died with his head rolling on the ground, or with an arrow mercilessly destroying his organs. Or he could break out of his way and be a fugitive in this unknown land of Skyrim. He cringed at the thought. He knew he would be outnumbered with his Resurección sealed, but he ought to survive. Deep in his mind, he knew that giving up wouldn't be in his options, even when he was on the line of execution right after he landed in this unknown dimension.

"Wait. You there, step forward!" The bulky Nord instructed. Grimmjow stepped towards the man and the captain standing behind him. "Who are you?" He continued.

The blue haired man sighed. He could feel hundred pairs of eyes were staring at him. It's happening again – all these weird men and women thinking that he belonged to a mental ward in the chapels. "I am Grimmjow Jeagerjaques."

As expected, the man in uniform eyed him up and down, particularly at his unusual hairstyle and clothing. "Yeah, yeah. Before you ask, I'm not from Tamriel. No, don't ask why I have a blue hair or why I dressed like this. And no, I'm not part of that Storm… Storm- whatever rebellion – they're a bunch of weirdos though, but in no sense associated with me no matter how weird I looked to you," He continued boredly.

"… Right," The soldier replied, in loss of words at the prisoner's chatter and eyes wide in confusion. "Captain, what should we do?" He turned to his captain. "He's not on the list."

The redguard captain rolled her eyes, obviously wanting this execution to end as soon as possible. "Forget the list, he goes to the block!"

"By your orders, captain!" The Nord responded. "I'm sorry," He continued sadly. "I'll make sure your remains are returned to… Wherever you belong. We'll try to find your family. Follow the captain, prisoner," He smiled apologetically. Grimmjow snorted. Hesitantly he followed the captain to the line of people waiting to be executed.

The middle-aged general, whose armor was embroidered with gold approached Ulfric. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne," he glared at the leader of the rebellion who can only grunted as response in hatred. But he was also relieved that the long and bloody civil war will be finally over. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."

Just as General Tullius finished his speech, a distant roar echoed from the sky. Its unfamiliar voice sent chills into the people's spines, although most pretended that they didn't hear a thing – or simply ignoring it.

"What was that?" The Nord who carried the list asked.

"It's nothing, carry on!" The general replied impatiently.

"Yes, General Tullius! Give them their last rites!" The captain motioned to a priestess of Arkay clad in yellow and orange robes to step forward.

She raised her arms to the sky and recited the last rites dutifully. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessing of the Eight Divines upon you-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" One of the Stormcloak rebels interrupted and stepped onto the execution block where the headman was already waiting with his massive axe.

"Nirn our beloved… As you wish!" The priestess sighed and threw her hands as she returned to her place backwards.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning!" He approached the headman with some blind courage. The captain pushed him into a kneeling position, and with her feet pressured the rebel to bend over the block. "My ancestors are smiling upon me, Imperials… Can you say the same?" His last words delivered in half whisper, before the headman's axe sliced through his flesh and bones, beheading him in an instant. His head rolled away from the block as his body collapsed. It's just a lump of flesh which has no living energy to sustain its position anymore. The captain kicked his headless corpse aside.

"As fearless in death, as he was in life…" Ralof commented mournfully.

"You Imperial bastards!" A female rebel shouted in horror to the executors.

"Justice!" One of the onlookers replied, accompanied by the cheers of Imperial supporters among him.

Grimmjow's eye twitched at the sight. What's with all these Stormcloaks stupid fanaticism? He thought. His mind unwillingly reminded him of Tosen – a blind man not only in the literal sense, but also in his loyalty to Aizen-sama. Tch… Aizen, thinking that he's all mighty and cool with that obviously fake kindness?

"Next, the blue haired not-a-Tamriellic!" The captain's calling snapped Grimmjow out of his recalling. His mind began to race in distress.

Suddenly, the ear-tearing roar was once again heard slicing across the thin air. This time, it sounded nearer and louder – even the Imperial legionnaires turned their sights to the sky to find the source.

"There it is again!" The same Nord man exclaimed. "Did you hear that?"

The captain was growing restless. She wasn't going to admit the fear of the unknown she felt deep in her heart either. "I said, next prisoner!"

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy," the Nord man assured.

But Grimmjow didn't make any move. He was standing on his spot, eyes shut with concentration, focusing all the reiatsu he could build on his wrists. The stream was very slow, unlike what he could do in Hueco Mundo. It was like trying to get a viscous liquid flowing through small pipes.

"What was he doing?!" The captain's patience has already broken its limit. "Get him to the block!" She ordered two soldiers to force Grimmjow to the block. Unexpectedly, with some strength he got left, Grimmjow tore the hurtfully tight bound on his hand and lashed out his fury to the two unfortunate guards who were there just because they were under command. His hands reached for Panthera which was usually strapped to his waist.

It wasn't there. His heart felt like stopping at the thought.

The archer that shot Lokir readied his shot once again. He counted for the perfect time to launch his arrow. It was harder than before – Grimmjow was moving too fast and there were soldiers attacking them from a melee range. He felt his guts sank as the shot missed its target, hitting a tree with a loud thud.

With her patience breaching its limit, the captain jumped right into the conflict herself to end it quickly. She punched Grimmjow in the face before he could use his sonido again and had one of her underlings held his sword across the prisoner's neck.

"Halt, prisoner!" She commanded, her eyes squinting. She stepped towards Grimmjow, uncomfortably close. "Show me your honor, you're not like that Nord thief are you?" Her voice as low as a whisper. "To the block, now!"

Grimmjow seethed in anger, struggling against two Imperials who were pushing him up the execution block.

He shut his eyes tightly as he was laid down to the block. Was it really the end of his life? Damn you Hermaeus Mora… I won't protest if I die in an honorable and good battle, but this?!

Just as he thought the axe was going to separate his head from his body, the earth quaked and the buildings rumbled. A pair of massive talons landed on the top of the tower, crushing the stone frames with its weight.

Grimmjow opened his eyes in shock. The view presented before him was incredible. An enormous lizard-like creature standing elegantly on the top of a building. Its eyes flamed redder than the inferno and scales armoring it darker than obsidian. Wind blew harshly, sweeping across Grimmjow's face as it flapped its wings as if they were a pair of wide iron fans.

"What in Oblivion is that?" General Tullius stared, his arms shielding his face from fallen pebbles.

"Sentries! What do you see?" the captain demanded.

"It's in the clouds!" One of the civilians shouted.

"A dragon!"

A dragon. A huge black dragon for real. Grimmjow blinked in disbelief.

"Yol… Toor Shul!" He heard the dragon shouted in an unknown language as a spray of flame blew out of its mouth. Grimmjow cowered, trying to shield himself with his bound arms. The headman was less lucky. Force of the dragon's shout pushed him to the ground, charring him into corpse.

Grimmjow tried to slide his body off the execution block and gave himself some distance with the dragon. Unfortunately for him, the dragon's ruby eyes spotted his movement. It glared at him curiously with its piercing gaze, as if the Espada was a helpless bunny waiting for its fate between a bird of prey's talons. Grimmjow's sweat was flooding all over him, almost uncomfortably so as his arms were bound, preventing him from wiping the excess from his eyes.

Damnit! No! Go away! Why does it keep staring at me?! Grimmjow panicked in his mind as he wiggled off the block. He pushed his legs as hard as he could to get up and sprinted to a group of buildings nearby that was still intact.

Even only by its roar, the sable dragon could send a grown man flying in a parabolic motion. Grimmjow skipped around to avoid its raw unrelenting voice with his jaw clenched tightly. He warded himself in the shaded area outside a stone building, pressing his back against the hard, uneven surface. His chest was curving up and down as he struggled to calm his heartbeat. The menacing beast has already flown somewhere else, but its roars could still be heard. Horrified wails of civilians and pained screams of wounded soldiers continued to echo across the area as flames sprayed onto the bloodied ground.

When he deemed the situation safe enough, Grimmjow continued his run into the tower. There, he found several familiar men talking, while the other unfortunate ones were groaning on the floor, holding their open wounds.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked the bulky Nord Grimmjow recognized as Ulfric Stormcloak.

"Legends don't burn down villages. We need to move now!" He motioned to his followers, and then turned to the Espada to nod his head in acknowledgement.

"Up through the tower, let's go!" Ralof led them upstairs.

He forced his sore legs to climb the spiraling wooden stairs around the tower despite the constant shaking of the ground. He had to survive, he had to! Just as the group of Stormcloaks reached halfway to the top of the tower, the dragon's talon pierced through the stone wall. The size of the hole created as the impact was horrifying. Their steps were stopped altogether as wooden stairs in front of them collapsed along with the wall.

"What do we do?!" One of the soldiers panicked.

Ralof scanned around, looking for a solution. A thin line of frustration developed on his forehead. Suddenly, his eyes were fixated upon a destroyed inn just across the tower.

"You see that inn there? Jump through that roof, it's safer than staying here!" He shouted, and then turned to Grimmjow. "Go! I'll catch up!"

Grimmjow stared at him in awe. Someone actually wanted him to survive. He nodded and smiled slightly in appreciation. He took his stance and sprinted through the hole to jump into the hollow roof of the inn. His vision blurred a little as he landed on the ground, but thankfully was able to collect himself.

He ran and ran, without knowing his destination. All he followed was his basic instinct of survival.

"Prisoner!"

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Alright, thank you for reading guys! Don't hesitate to send me your comments and constructive criticism! :3

Tell me if you have any suggestions on what sidequests should Grimmjow take!