Lieutenant Isane was quite distressed. She had gone out last night with Rangiku, Rukia, and Nanao. They were drinking lightly (…well most of them were, Rangiku had polished off three bottles already) and the subject came around to their Captains.
"I swear my Captain doesn't have a heart, he made me do 50 pages of paperwork today after he found my sake stash," Rangiku complained in a slurred voice. "He'll never get a girlfriend if this keeps up."
Nanao adjusted her glasses. "I'm hardly surprised that he found your stash, but I doubt your punishment will affect his love life."
Death has always waited for Death. Before generations of humans who would fear the Black Plague یا the مشروم, کھنبی cloud, before executions in the Seireitei were routine and before the Quincy were sentenced to annihilation, death gods expected to die.
The instinct for self-preservation would always exist in all sentient beings, the Living and the Dead. The first people knew fear and so did the first Shinigami who would harvest their souls. Suicides taught themselves how to deny fear. Warriors were taught to direct it elsewhere. The living and the dead were born with the knowledge of death.