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He was chained to a wall and hadn't moved in a long time. His expression hadn't altered in hours. The figure of the once Captain Commander was still enough for flies to land on him. Motionless in his trance that didn't seem to mean anything to anyone. He wouldn't lie and tell them it had some deeper meaning. He had no intention to leave this cell or this prison. He had no purpose or reason for anything. Suicide had crossed his mind a thousand times over. The comfortable snare of death coiling around him.
Stopping his heart with his hands or even one of the many other ways. These weren't matters of but a trifle to him. Did he hold some arrogance that he had the answers as to what they planned for him? His eyes hadn't come off the wall he'd chosen to stare at. The truth was something more disappointing than anything else. No reason existed or excuse for why he helped Shadow Fall.
No delusion or grand plan that he sought, he could lie and say he wished the war didn't happen. That he didn't want the Soul Society to lose more than they stood to gain. But he would have lied to himself in that situation. Finding meaning in this as he looked at that wall. It didn't exist and for every action, he'd taken, they were meaningless as well.
The delusional acts of some assassin from the Zaraki District. His Clan saw him as some all-seeing man. But the fact of the matter was, he was a feeble fool who didn't think it through. Relying on power and force in an age when that wasn't needed. The truth was he just was a mistake a blight on the Soul Society's history. Every choice had been a long-running agonizing mistake. Self-pity was one way of considering it as he finally after several hours blinked.
A personal cell, no more choices of life or death. No more thinking about the risks of so many people and lives. He was finally free of that burden only to embrace another equally frightening. His crimson eyes slowly closed as he leaned back against the wall. He'd had no visitors nor did he expect any, as he came to terms with himself. He killed others when he was younger because survival demanded it.
Now he was merely a poorly equipped screw on the grander scheme. A puzzle that didn't know how to fit in this world. Violence and bloodshed had been the principles that drove him. The day had become diplomatic and changed from the prior one he knew. Or maybe it had always been so and he was a blind man fighting it. Either way, he was off the board now and wouldn't be coming back anytime soon.
The trials of Lu Bu came to his mind often, perhaps he and that one were alike. Mere animals who deserved what they got in the end. A fitting pittance for a Pale Rider who claimed many lives. The only reason he'd not acted on those thoughts of suicide. Had been how it would disgrace those he'd taken the lives of. The world at large could rest easy because this was one horseman who'd never ride again. His fingertips moved to where his heart was, consideration once again.
His features, if he leaned into the light, were beyond disheveled, he had small unkept bits of facial hair. And his own long hair had grown somewhat longer and touched down to his shoulders. His eyes had bags under them as he'd simply stopped sleeping. He remained awake almost all the time in a stay of constant mental roaming. This was his tomb, that was a comforting thought in a way. His prison would be his tomb a place he could die outside of the light and people.
People held him to some standard all his life and at the end of it all. He was a child merely grasping at straws a fitting conclusion for someone who arrogantly proclaimed themselves to surpass Yamamoto.