[BSD-RP] Hueco Mundo

[BSD]

An assortment of colors light up the otherwise dull and desolate desert of Hueco Mundo, it is a beauty lost to the residents struggling to hide and retreat in hopes of being spared an untimely death. Many of their efforts go in vain. The desert shakes and rumbles for practically an eternity, reminding countless hollows of the Shattering of Dimensions, fearing that they too would now meet the same fate of those lost centuries ago. Others believed it was the return of the Kouka, come to finish what he had started. Hueco Mundo had suffered many a great disaster, planting seeds of fear into some of the most hardened of Hollows.
When the quaking does end, those who yet lived breathed a sigh of relief. They had made it, they had survived...and then the quaking resumes. Fear, anger, anxiety, sadness, surrender. The emotions felt by those who called this desolate world home were as diverse as the creatures themselves.
There is none below the dome perhaps, who bear witness to the swirling prism of colors flowing towards a single direction. The scene itself is like a beautiful aurora. These lights were in fact, the reiryoku of those many souls lost to the God King’s violent display of power. Vincent denies their souls proper rest, as their power is drawn towards him only to be consumed. The Spiritual power coalesces around his form, swirling and dancing like a storm before finally striking like a bomb. Vincent basks in the siphoned power, robbed from those he would rule, he welcomes it, enslaves it, and makes it his own. His body morphs, shrinking in size and stature, yet growing in strength and power.

"Destruction! Is the End of ALL things...!"

He calls out, a clawed hand reaching towards the vast night sky.
"I am the END of ALL THINGS!
As he relishes in this moment, with his Primera no doubt reveling in the strength of his Master’s aura, another voice speaks in a failed attempt at a whisper.
”Pssst...hey…. HEY! I...think he got shorter.”
Crouched across from Aragon, squatting with his right hand just beside his mouth, was Marcos. He darts his slitted eyes from Aragon to the raving Vincent, and back again to the subservient Primera, wondering if he too noticed that the God King has “shrunk”, seemingly disregarding the other physical alterations to the man’s appearance.
As Vincent settles from his wild fit of clarity, further understanding dons upon the God King. The images come in flashes, waves unveiling themselves to the man image after image.

The first image focuses on Marcos as he lazes about in the air, the image stills...then zooms drawing focus on his pink slitted eyes. Like a shutter effect the image repeatedly blinks as it plays frame by frame. The flashing of the fluorescent pink within the Arrancar’s eyes, followed by twin pink spheres making their way towards the first image of Vincent that Marcos gazes upon before colliding with the image with castle demolishing force. It is a process repeated three times with the fluttering of his eyes, able to now be perceived with the drastically reduced speed of each action.
The next image trains upon the pink slitted jewel upon the Arrancar’s zanpakuto, as it too twinkles a fluorescent pink. Like before a single sphere succeeds the twinkle of the jewel, a blast of similar speed, strength and magnitude now viewed propelling its way towards Vincent lingering overhead, maintaining his heavy Cero before sending it hurtling towards Marcos.
Cero Córnea
The name of the technique flashes to the surface of the mind. The images alone should tell Vincent as such. Still, the images continue to play out, there is apparently more to be seen.
No sooner had both Cero Córnea been unleashed the Arrancar’s body seems to blur and grow translucent; frame by frame the image of his form loses opacity, wisps of purple smearing through the air, passing Aragon, passing Vincent ever higher before finally it passes through the hole within the dome overhead. The man outmaneuvering the eyes of all onlookers, while simultaneously bypassing each individuals’ Pesquisa as well. The reiatsu sensed by both God King and Primera respectively little more than a mere imprint of Marcos’s own spiritual pressure fixed within the perspective of his observers. The imprint was of course only temporary, explaining its eventual absence, all the while Marcos lay squatted, observing all that transpired, only falling over from the force of the unexpected shockwave of Vincent’s Cero. He watched as Aragon was sent bursting through the dome a few feet from himself, and observed quietly as the current Primera regained his bearing, dusted himself off and marveled at the God King’s display of force.
The images now cease and shatter like glass. Marcos remains squatting, shooting awkward glances towards the now released Vincent, the pink slitted jewel on his still sheathed sword rolling from one side to the other in random intervals. The arrancar was certain of it -
Vincent HAS shrunk. He affirms this within himself, hoping only that the wool was not pulled over Aragon’s eyes. Still, he remained uncertain on how the guy would take to his master getting shorter, he certainly was at a loss for words.

 

[BSD]

Using a bone as a toothpick Tiran settled as the rumbles of power had too settled down and things began getting quiet again, or at least as quiet as a hollow infested danger zone can be with silhouettes of deadly hollow screams and crashes in the background. It was music to his ears that could lull him to sleep. However some things did keep him awake. Mostly his thoughts, on what he thought of the strength the others showed, and the sacrifice of the Tiger.
It was formidable, to the point Tiran wanted that strength for his own. If he had it he felt nothing would bother him unless he wanted them to. He didn't mind idle conversation or something to take the loneliness that was his newfound life now. If anything the strength Aragon showed however annoying like the little fly he was, made Tiran feel a bit more powerless compared to merely fighting lower level hollows in the forest for food.
The Tiger now… that was a fool. However he did move Tiran in a way no other Hollow in the area had done. Tiran thought he was the only hollow around closer to the spectrum of passive aggressive, in which the only time he fought was to defend himself. He had zero comrades, but if he did have at least one friend he would defend them. He would have defended and even went as far as protecting the Tiger… had it not wished to die.
Tiran often had moments of calming thought like this, looking up at the dark sky feeling much like it, cornered, dark and lonely, these feelings never seeming to end, just like this darkness never ended. Perhaps it was time for a change in scenery… a change in these thoughts. A crunch on the ground signaled him out of his daze as he turned his head toward the sound. Another Hollow. It's mouth drooling saliva and blood as if it'd eaten another just moments ago. It looked like a Basilisk, a giant snake.
It no doubt had a poisonous bite or technique which it probably used to it's advantage. It reared back it's horned head as if it was ready to strike, Tiran pinned his ears back and pushed his glasses up, his arms in the straight jacket semi-arrancar form it was in, it would be similar to before he thought. He lowered his legs and waited for the snake hollow to strike. once it did he lept in the air with his powerful hind legs and used his weight as an advantage, slamming his feet into the snake hollow's back. He knocked the air out of the beast, before infusing reiryoku into his heavy hard head, removing the snakes iron hard skin. It wrangled in pain, but reared itself back up to Tiran again. His eyes rolled back into his head, he released a Cero of a light green color, busting a hole in the side of the weakened hollow. It's body steaming, Tiran sighed. Another hollow that thought it could take him on and failed. Might as well keep eating if this is what made the others strong.
He flared up his own energy to attract more. Hopefully it didn't attract those in Hueco Mundo like Aragon… yet. He could feel himself getting stronger with every fight, and didn't want it to all be over. He still wanted to live. A commendable goal, add that to getting stronger, and one had potential for awakening… even if he'd not broken his own mask… what would happen if he… broke it the rest of the way?

 

[BSD]

Utter chaos emanated under the dome. Vincent was displaying massive power under the dome. Radiant and multi color energy shot through the holes and cracks of the dome as it shook from the awesome might. Aragon would peer through slightly to see the God King shorten and grow in strength further, although is was hard to see through all the light. Aragon was sure he had released. This made Aragon wonder for a second what he would be doing after this. Either way, it had begun. He looked over to Marcos who was already giving witty comment on the activities below. He was either so sure of himself that he had no guard, or there was something else happening with this Arrancar. Aragon remembered from before the odd shifting and glimmering from the Zanpakuto he wielded. It wouldn't be entirely impossible, thought Aragon. However with a sudden shift in the dome, making dust explode from the cracks as more of it gave way under Vincent's reiatsu, Aragon figured he would act now.
In hopes that the natural destruction of the dome, and the clouding of the area would blind his suspensions Arago would look over at Marcos. Who was currently crouching across from Aragon watching it below and commenting on Vincent's transformation about getting shorter, all whimsy then? A biting of the lip letting loose the light Tch sound clicked from the mouth of Aragon as he would start to fade. This physical copy of him slowly etching thinner and thinner until it was gone. Where had he gone? Was the Primera running further? No, was his answer. They were above the dome, and although there was no more sacred rules for this fallen kingdom. Aragon held true to their eldest laws. For they were above the dome. This allowed Aragon to act within his own set of principles to an extend. While his king raged and discovered himself once more below the dome. Aragon had not fully addressed his challenge. Marcos was an animal the same as Aragon, Wild and not yet tame, yet an animal all the same. Aragon was domestic in the dome, but alas, they were outside the dome.
His figure came sudden and swift, the sheer weight of the kick was enough to tip a mountain side. Forming in the air next to Marco's head Aragon launched a side kick to the head of Marco while allowing his hands to land on the dome surface. From there he would propel himself into the air to further the chance of dodging a counter attack, and while he sailed through the air to land on his feet, those bala continued to plunder and shatter the rooftop. Knowing this wasn't enough, he pressed the attack by launching himself off the dome once landing.
SHING!
Aragon's Zanpakuto would be drawn along his wrist as he flew into the smoke of the many bala with several piercing thrusts and jabs aiming where Marco was presumed to have been after the sudden attack. This was Aragon's spot and he wouldn't allow him to flaunt that level of disrespect without fully committing to combat and testing his mettle. With each slash Aragon spoke; " Show me your strength, Marcos. How do you fight. Where does your strength come from. With whom do your allegiances fall under." His blade thrust until the smoke cleared or he was attacked back. He wouldn't settle for noncombat though. This was a matter of pride now.

 

[BSD]

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Ahh...I see. This weight, this form...
He stares down at his arms, each down a digit. Sharpened black claws extend from his fingers. He sways the large mace-like limb behind him, bringing it forth to get a better look at it. It appears like flesh, or bone yet its consistency is that of a lump of steel or iron. It returns to a resting position.
Energy flows within the luminescent organs on his arms and his crown. His spiritual pressure descends upon the desert now, baring down on the very sands below. Everything began to rumble with the same heavy frequency. It wasn't necessarily painful, yet it sent unease throughout the very air. Vincent stands perked on a surviving section of Las Noches' outer walls now. Reiryoku spews from his body, in a constant flow. Destruction, calm and true sways from his vessel, in perfect unison to his thoughts and command. ImmediatelyBut still... He could not shake the feeling that there was more nestled within him, untapped and still unreachable. He would need more, stronger souls. Regardless, he is able to tell he has more control of his soul. He peers up at the hole created previously, noticing the annoyance alive and well.
He moves well...

He closes his eyes, darkness fills the void. Within this dark world, he focuses his mind, his soul. Color begins to fill his closed eyes. Light expands to he far reaches, bringing with it sight. Around him, his awareness extends, far beyond his scope, expanding to the very edges of Hueco Mundo. To the reaches of beyond, or so it seems. He reflects on the events that had occurred. Like a dream, the memories from hell seemed most distant, fleeting. The very details beginning to fizzle out piece by piece. What remained most of all was the feeling. That fragile, yet unbreaking feeling. Though millions of memories he had lived for that unknown eternity returning far beneath his consciousness, leaving with it the feeling that each one felt toward existence itself. Grief, pain. That yearning to end their torment.
Yerning for...
Destruction.
He begins to see the role of this system. The passage of fate was imperfect and unfair. His very existence was proof of this. If existence was meant to be this way, then he himself would render such a system mute. He would see its end come to fruition.
As his awareness expands to its apex, his eyes open and his perception shifts, to just beyond the reach of both the crouching Marcos and the now standing Aragon. Though he has not moved, it is as though he is standing amongst them, close enough that if he wanted he could reach out and touch them both. He watches, amused at the prospect of a fight, then he returns to those earlier thoughts.
Of all that he had seen, the Hollows of the Sands that had gathered had been sparse. Out of the five he had seen, only three were of any real use, yet. two, lower-class adjuchas couldn't even keep up with the over-simplistic Argon. One of them had long since left this world, the other, scurried off into the dunes, seemingly lost. Though Vincent could see, even now the very essence of this being's life. The last, Nickolas had too, long since scurried off into some hole. Would either of them losing their life now be of any use to him? With all, there was left to be discovered. What of this "Kouka" he had heard of. Such a being could faintly be detected beyond Vincent's scope, far out into realms distant. Whatever it was, it still existed even now...
For now, however, Vincent remained idle at his perch atop Las Noches. He stares onward at the dunes, lost within the confines of his own mind, strategies, and theories cycling in his mind. He had no need to move now, all within the desert were within his Pesquisa. Even the ever-illusive Marcos, who appeared as a sort of shifting mirage, could be seen with some sense of clarity. The effects of his reiatsu muddying his image just enough to be of an annoyance. His tail sways playfully behind him.
What would be his inevitable move? What realization would he come too?

 

[BSD]

Aragon, the current primera studies the incomprehensible Marcos, unable to discern the source for his overly relaxed nature. Was it confidence in his power, arrogance perhaps? Did he truly believe himself superior to the Primera?! The foreign Arrancar remained idle, his form absent of any discernible guard or alert.
Now was the time to act
Aragon’s focus fixes on Marcos, the man seemingly lost, transfixed on the show taking place around the God King. The comment regarding Vincent’s height would be the last one that would be entertained, the man’s form now fading out of view altogether. Still, Marcos remains crouched, casually scratching at his back, the jewel continuing to shift about; up, down, up, left, right, down, the increments and intervals of its change in constant flux, absent of any true discernible pattern.
As Vincent delves into the recesses of his mind, perceiving the world around him, and well beyond what he could visibly perceive, his focus shifts to train upon the illusive cat, the God King stands amongst his subjects through perception alone. Though still crouched the reiatsu belonging to Marcos momentarily becomes visible to Vincent alone, holding the shape of its vessel, it's head turning as if winking at the peeking King. The look lasted but a moment, the spiritual head turning, as the slit embedded in the jewel concurrently dilates.
A single foot sweeps through the air, barreling towards the head of the unsuspecting Marcos. Closer it comes, the certainty of the collision growing more and more apparent, with force meant to squash the skull into meaty pulp. The foot remains in motion and it finally continues passing through...air, Marcos’s body remains holding its crouched position, now absent of a head. Aragon, a creature of combat does not take the time to sit and visually assess the situation, understanding that regardless of success of failure, remaining idle while so close to an opponent, especially one he had yet to fully understand, was unwise. Several inches above Marcos’s body, just above the space where Aragon’s foot had once traveled was the detached head of the purple maned Arrancar, hovering autonomously.
”HEY!”
The head shouts in protest, its body jumping to its feet, an accusatory finger pointed towards the airborne Primera, the other hand reaching up, securing the floating head and returning it to its proper perch. Nimble feet seem to teeter and carry the man’s body from one spot to the other, as if dancing along the upper dome being repeatedly bombarded with bala after bala, the slit within the pink jewel, still dilated as it rattles and pulses darting from one angle to the next.
SHIIIING!!!
The sound of metal being grazed as blade is drawn from sheath, promptly aimed towards its master’s target, in this case...it was Marcos. Aragon launches himself towards the Arrancar like a bullet, delivering thrust after thrust, jab after fierce jab with his pointed blade, fully intent on piercing through the jester’s body, riddling it with multiple sizable holes.
"Show me your strength, Marcos. How do you fight. Where does your strength come from? With whom do your allegiances fall under."
The Primera howls at his feline opponent, asking the man of his strength through both words and action, every act made to pry an answer from the cheshire grinning man. Marcos however does not retreat, but launches himself towards the heart of Aragon’s aggressive advance as his reiatsu rouses and flares to life, with gleeful vigor. With each step he draws closer, and as he draws closer it is as if time around the two begins to creep and dawdle, the Arrancar’s image for a moment clearer, closer. Marcos’s right hand moves, and in a single sweeping motion withdraws the Janbiya styled blade, his left hand open, with fingers clawed — concurrently the opposite appeared to be taking place, the Arrancar’s left hand reaching behind him, sweeping the dagger styled blade from its sheath with right hand clawed. Two seperate images, moving in concert with one another.
As Aragon attacks, and observes his foe, it is as though his vision has grown impaired, seeing the approaching Marcos in double vision both physically and spiritually. The image of Marcos’s right hand wielding the blade moves to flail the blade towards Aragon’s as though to parry attack after attack, as the left hand moves to claw at the Primera’s throat with sharpened nails — all while simultaneously witnessing Marcos moving to parry thrust after thrust, jab after jab with the blade wielded in his left hand while the right hand rakes its claw like nails towards the Primera’s eyes. Neither image straying far from the other, blending together like distorted echoes of one single whole.
Marcos does not respond to Aragon’s inquiry, and appears otherwise amused and elated at the current game. Two powers collide this day, above the vast deserts of Hueco Mundo. Would the wisdom and power of a dragon continue to reign supreme, or..would he be met with misfortune from the cat known as Marcos crossing its path.