Once they arrived, Tsukiro followed them into the back of the cave. He kept his mask on, revealing nothing, and if not for his current state of mind, he would have glanced around at the cave and admired the brilliance of it.
Upon first glance, the scene was beautiful. Stalactites, stalagmites, every inch of the cave was clad in sparkling, glittering ice. The pond in the middle of the cave was frozen solid. It was like winter had come and touched this one specific area of existence. But all that beauty faded and became a nightmare when their eyes focused on the figure by the pond--still, cold, stained red with blood and unmoving.
Simultaneously, Tsukiro's heart dropped and his blood boiled. He could see a bloody stab wound through his chest. He never had a chance to survive. Kita had stolen the life from his body almost instantly.
It finally sunk in.
Toshiro Hitsugaya was gone.
All that was left was the empty shell Kita had left behind, lifeless, cold and pale. Tsukiro's own shell almost cracked as he gazed upon the captain's pale face, his white hair falling over it. He looked upon the captain’s dead body and instantly his mind traveled back to that night. He saw his brother's face, replacing the similar face of Hitsugaya's. On the inside he choked, screamed, and cursed Kita's name to the deepest, fieriest, pit of hell.
He looked to the tall, teal haired and lavender kimono clad figure of which he assumed to be Hyourinmaru. In truth, he knew that he was feeling less than half of what he knew the dragon was feeling right at this moment. But he also knew that it hurt worse than any physical pain one's body could endure. It was a pain worse than dying. In fact, he would almost go as far as to say that Hitsugaya had it easy compared to what Hyourinmaru was going through. Hitsugaya was merely dead. Hyourinmaru on the other hand was very much alive, for a zanpakuto, and suffering deeply.
Silently, he prayed his apologies to the dragon spirit and swore on his master that Kita would pay in the worst way possible for this.
