The arguement is made for you

"Gramps...if I may make a suggestion?" The entire room turned their attention to Captain Kurosaki. "As a Substitute Shinigami I recieved special training from the Visoreds, I could possibly train him in the same way, he could master his Hollow, thus removing the need to place him behind the front-line."

"I-I would like to take that training, Head Captain." The old man sighs before nodding his head.

"Very well...upon completion of Captain Kurosaki's training, you will be placed in the Squad of your choosing." You are amazed, you had never imagined that you would have this kind of luck. Especially after being turned into a Visored...what a painful experience. "Until that time, I expect you to obey Captain Unohana's orders."

You bow your head and thank both Head Captain Yamamoto and Captain Kurosaki. "This meeting is now over, dismissed..." Leaving the Captain's meeting-hall you are led, by Captain Kurosaki, to the training grounds to begin immediately. You are aware of the many Shinigami gathering with the other Captains to watch the training.

"First, we must wear you down." Without another word he draws his blade, the elegant blade his pointed at your chest, resembling a large butchers cleaver. This is the first time you've ever seen the actual blade of his Zanpakutō uncovered by the cloth bandages.

You draw your blade, and are glad for the first time to have such an over sized sword. It's a large double-edged blade, nearly my height with a rounded grip and pommel, almost like a small pole, with twists in it. The guard resembles a 'w' ornate and carved beautifully.

It moves up the middle of the blade somewhat, but no farther then the two pieces of guard coming off either side of the blade. In your opinion it resembles a Western long-sword, just oversized and ornately done. Many Shinigami commented on the beauty of the blade...but looks didn't count now.

"Prepare yourself, Frost..." His spirital pressure spiked, nearly forcing me to my knees. It's bluish, and flows from him disturbing the loose soil and rocks around him. 'Damn', you think, 'it's no wonder he became a Captain!' He disappears before your eyes...you barely sense him coming from behind and cut it even closer as you turn to block the impossibly heavy strike.

The sword vibrates almost violently in your hands and again he strikes. Already your arms are feeling heavy! But...his fight seems not to be with YOU so much as it is your blade. Recovering from the inital shock you draw upon your spirital pressure...or try. You seize up as your Hollow rears it's head, unable to move, to react as he raises his blade...

"Have you given up?" You're aware of the sun, warm on your skin. Your eyes open and you find yourself lying in the middle of grassy plains...or what you are sure would be if they had not been burned to the ground. Rubble surrounds you, so perhaps it's not so grassy. You push yourself up and slowly stand. "Do you wish to die?"

Looking around your eyes are drawn to the figure sitting in probably the only tree for miles around, he stretches out languidly on the branch. "How troublesome..." This young man's voice is filled with sorrow...regret even. "Before we have even begun we are ended. Such is life..."

"Ended...I'm dead?"

"You will be...", he slowly turns and eye on you, "...if you give up." The pale young man has a scar running across the bridge of his nose and ending under each eye. He wears a trench coat, patterns of white, similar to tears adorned the front of the coat. The edges of the coat have white trim. The coat sports several buckles at the neck line, which hang, useless or unused.

It hugs his body, framing his young shoulders and his waist, which has several more buckles. The sleeves end at his wrist, allowing his hands complete movement. Under the coat he wears bandages, framing his young body like a shirt.

He wears several belts which he does not use, some have slipped down to hang on his hips, the black pants he wears remind you of woolen garments worn by the humans during the winter to keep them warm.

His boots appear to be normal, black leather wraps them, and the woolen pants hang down hiding what holds them closed. Staring at this young man he seems so familiar... yet you cannot place him. Then it hit's you, like you've known it your entire life. A single word comes to your lips. "Grimm..." On his melancholy face a slight smile appears.

"Finally...I've cried so loudly, for so long, and my cry's have finally reached you..."