[BSD-RP] Hueco Mundo

[BSD]

Windy, white, black and desolate. Eerie, scarce, silent and dreary. All these things and more could be described about the place that the Hollow’ dwelled. Countless dastardly souls took refuge in the black demon pit that was the white sands of Hueco Mundo desert. It wasn’t a place that most would go for a picnic, nor vacation or even a training spot. Unless you followed one rule; kill or be killed. Even amongst hollows they still vied for power, since the eradication at the hands of the Commander of the Seireitei, Shobatsu Murasaki. Near every hollow cowered in fear of the Shinigami, but a demon’s gotta eat right? Their continued attacks upon the living world still remained true, giving the Shinigami their purpose while other hollows are clever enough to continue to evade capture or death. Major activity from Hueco Mundo has been fairly silent in recent years, only the shinigami would know of any intense movement from the hollows in those years but they are just biding time and waiting for the right opportunity to strike. One beast in particular was suddenly finding itself for a craving in power. An Adjuchas in Menos level, but more dangerous than your average hollow, currently feasting on another beast in the Forest of Menos, blood dripping down the sides of its previously all white mask and splotches of it splattered all over the upper area of it. Safe to say he had a good lunch.
Wiping its mouth with the forearm and tossing the mask aside, he leaps from his stone perch to the ground of the forest. It was quiet, like always. The beast’ bright yellow eyes could be seen in the deep black pits for eyelids that it had. Stretching its wings and leaping ever so slightly in place, he takes flight. Soaring through the catacombs of the forest sailing past savage hollows much like himself and the diamond like trees that glimmered throughout the surrounding area. One could be blinded if not careful, but not this hollow, he had flown this route many times to exit the forest and wasn’t afraid. Nearing the exit now, seeing some semblance of a light, an awkwardly hard thing to find in Hueco Mundo. Flying high above into the air now, still as quiet as when he was within the forest. Not a shock, he also didn't see too many beasts either meaning this would be a trip undisturbed. But where was Blatz going? Where would a hollow such as himself go to gain power? He had heard of a white castle in the depths of the desert by the name of Las Noches, and it harbored the rumored Emperor of Hueco Mundo. Vincent Bautista.
He knew he was building an army and trying to re-amass the power of the hollows for some time now, and it seemed to be working as some rumored dangerous beasts have been heard joining the army and then being bestowed great power to carry out the bidding of the Emperor himself. He wasn't sure how well he'd be received at Las Noches. If he'd be eaten alive, or thrown into a slave ship. He didn't know what Hollows would be gathered there, but he knew that he wouldn't dare back away either out of spite or just complete focus on becoming stronger than his peers. He was now nearing the castle, ever grand and ridden with white enameled clay all over. For a royal castle it was rather plain in design; but formidable and eerie all the same. The hollows wings flapped in the air with gusto, propelling hin ever closer to where he needed to be, and the power in which he seeks.
Passing over an open space in the castle grounds, he vaguely makes out the sight of two entities. Human like in appearance but the reiryoku they gave off was significantly different from the humans in which he feasted on. Much stronger in spiritual presence he assumed it to be one of the beings that took refuge here. Even going as far as to say a possible Espada could be seen within the next few moments. Gracefully descending down from his soar, he lands on a ledge looking out to the rest of the castle grounds and takes in the scenery around him. Much quieter than the desert if you could think that possible, but much more intimidating in presence. This was where the strongest Hollows in Hueco Mundo rested, and with any luck he would join their ranks as one of their own.
He quickly spots the two beings, they look to be engaged in a bout of some sort. He was interested to see the battle patterns of the two, and how they conducted themselves after taking off the mask. He would stay on alert if they decided to make a move on his life, perking up his ears at any sound, small or large to dictate the next move he makes. It wrapped itself in it's own wings, standing to his full 7'0 frame he watched closely on who would be the victor.

 

[BSD]

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Being dragged along by Tiran, for the time didn't bother Mi'ojo. The small ignorant creature simply allowed it, taking in everything that he would be. The way he walked slowly and slowly became familiar, until he began to keep a consistent pace with him, making it easier to move along without having to be pulled about. Still, being within this being's grip wasn't necessarily unpleasant. Why had he chosen to do this? Did he enjoy it as well? Did he believe Mi'ojo far too stupid to walk on its own? Only Tiran knew that answer.
The Dormant Volcano that sat smoking in the sand had a familiar look to him. Little Mi'ojo couldn't help but feel as though he had seen him before. No doubt from the memories of his master. He had only just witnessed everything that he was only a few hours ago. Still, in his ignorance, he did nothing, even as the creature's energy suddenly spiked once more.
He did nothing. Too unknowing to make use of its instincts. Everything had yet to register as danger. The very realities of the desert suddenly forgotten to him, it is not until Tiran's arm is torn from his body, the relevance of blood that escaped him bringing about a realization to him. The Vasto Lorde rocketing over in a flash, Tiran had only enough in him to move a minuscule distance away, negligible enough to save his skull, whilst sacrificing his arm. Such an acting surfacing within him the first feeling of his newfound existance. Hunger. Blood, its smell, the sent given by the energy that escaped them both. It caused the little creature to salivate, an insatiable drive to consume fueled him. The most basic instinct to the surface was the preservation of one's life. Of course one has to eat to live. And to live one must...
survive.
How would he fulfill his master's order if he was too weak to fight?
To live? to eat?
to survive?
He would have to live in order to see.
The eye had been opened. The Truth revealed.
By now Tiran, the fool, had only just had his arm ripped off and the first thing it thought to do was nurture the wound? He idled in place, swiftly spitting the adhesive on the limb.
Nearly in the same breath, Tiran released a plume of this same acidic mist, it took but a second for him to do so, as the noxious cloud fans out in all directions, taking over the entire area after a number of seconds. Suddenly the little eye becomes lost in the cloud, the glow in its forehead dimming as the haze grows more cumbersome on the eyes. His spiritual energy, though strong, is small. Against the depths of Tiran's newfound energy it would take one of the particular spiritual senses to find him. The destruction itself flowed within him, meaning this mist was nothing. As it entered his system, its effects were effectively destroyed, carrying with it a particular immunity to its effects the longer he remained within.
Helliodorio was a fast one, Tiran would soon discover, as Vincent had before. Since Mi'ojo moved on his own for the first time, there would be no one to march over to. Though Tiran would attempt to call out to him, to Warn him not to be harmed. He would find the creature nowhere to be found amidst his actions. Tiran was suddenly "alone" Within the smog he had created. Around them, the sand bubbled and popped. Allowing a bit of an obstacle for most to traverse, should they not watch their stride. The little Hollow scurried through the toxic dunes, unknown, waiting for its chance to strike. Tiran would and should worry about himself from here on out, lest he finds himself destroyed before his Kings eye. From the darkness, he did have an Ally, amidst the acid, he approached from the flank, the eye trained, enclosing ever swiftly to eclipse the sun.

 

[BSD]

It was as if metal scraped and struck against metal, echoing throughout the upper dome. Sparks scattered off the espada’s defenses, every second, every moment passed another inch is nicked away at the invisible armor.
An explosion rocks the air and the very ground on which he stands, though short lived it is followed by the sound of pattering against the now fragile grounds. Blood now stains the fractured surface, a small grunt seeps out from the smoke that encapsulates the released Espada. As it weakens and dissipates, Aragon is now visible, slightly hunched over, hand clenching at the laceration that now marrs his chest — yet still his smirk remains.
Smoke continues to fade. Aragon’s arm, visibly scorched and blackened from the explosion of power. His arm brushes across his chin, blood smears across the limb. He’s been injured, interesting. That single lapse in judgement fractured his focus, kept him from reinforcing his defenses, and for that he paid the price — still, the proud Aragon stands his ground...never faltering.
Though injured he is not robbed of thought, nor incapable of action. Arms cross over as if to brace and guard his chest, was it a guard? A means to make himself a smaller target while bolstering his def-
Pink and black sparks bounce around the battlefield — that same field ignites into a conflagration of black hellfire. These mutated flames fan out, covering a span of fifty feet while sputtering a hundred feet in the air like a hellish geyser. The heat alone distorts the surrounding land, slightly terraforming it beneath hell’s breath. The flames compact tighter, closer around the source of their power; Aragon. Moments pass before both heat and flame alike subside, as if the gates of hells had finally shut, sealing away its unholy fire.
" Enough games. You're a strong soul. Any further and we will likely destroy too much of our home."
Aragon speaks, diminished in size absent of ornaments, horns and claws. With glasses reformed and much of the upper dome now shattered, no longer obstructing the desert from where they did battle he walks towards Vincent….and away from Marcos who still stands where he was, though now covered in what appeared to be black soot, his zanpakuto now sheathed.
Aragon confides in the God King, apologizing for the consequences of his thirst for combat. Throughout their discussion Marcos not so discreetly coughs, patting himself off to rid himself of the soot and grime.

He turns to loop his fingers together forming a ring, and gazes through it at Aragon.
"The number Three seems to be calling to me. "
”Very Well...”
Vincent speaks, accepting the words and decision of the one who has served him so diligen-
”Right on buddy. It’s like they say, First is the worst while second is the best. Third is the one with the treasure chest no? Hmm..wait a min-”
Marcos interjects, adding in his acceptance of Aragon’s decision, as though either had been standing by in wait for his approval. The God King fixes his eyes upon the one who had become his new Primera.
”I would have Aragon aid in the restoration of Las Noches. How would you like to have even more fun?”
The first part of his statement seemingly goes unnoticed...or ignored, it was difficult to truly say. The last bit however piqued the ears of the freshly appointed espada. The grin splayed across the God King’s face is lost to the man, he seems to listen intently — waiting with bated breath.
"You're free to come and go as you please. I only ask that you come when the call is urgent. It will take some time to make the necessary changes. There is plenty to see out in the sands. I require more hollows..."
His hand stretches out, a single clawed finger extends, pointing off into the distance.
"No...More souls. We require more souls. Any and all you can bring. How that happens, is all for you to decide. Doesn't that sound fun?"
Marcos folds his arms, both legs lifting off the ground one after the other as he sits suspended in the air. Slowly his body rotates clockwise until he lingers upside down, still very much suspended in place. He scratches his head, then his chin, his reiatsu oddly enough fluctuating in reverse. He says nothing as he appears to truly ponder over the prospect of what was said, giving it deep thought...a first perhaps — if that was indeed what he was doing. It was impossible to tell what thoughts lingered in that head of his. Still, despite his behavior, and his juvenile antics the man never seemed out of his depth...though he appeared foolish, it was never idiotic.
CLAP
He slaps his hands together, fingers running together almost mischievously. He rotates once more right side up and casually floats towards the God King.
”I’m FELINE great so why not?! There’re more games to be played, more fun to be had after all! And I do so love a good game.”
He turns towards Aragon, stationed at the God King’s side, a playful wink thrown his way. It seemed he’d agree to follow the God King, the only question was
For how long?

 

[BSD]

In Hueco Mundo, second chances are scarce. A single misplaced step leading to one's demise, the wrong words being uttered leaving them lifeless. This is the natural order of Hueco Mundo, it’s inhabitants are more beast than man and should be treated as such. This lone Arrancar seems naive and ignorant of the nature of his home, what a shame.
In that split moment, the little Arrancar had proven himself unfit for the wastelands of Hueco Mundo, childish and disrespectful, but incapable of defending himself when the time came. The reactions of the newborn were too slow to keep pace with the Vasto Lorde. Had he wished for death? Was that it? As an Arrancar, he had to have access to a great feat of speed or strength, but yet, nothing of such a nature came from him, no Sonido, no counterblow, nothing... The escape the Arrancar had acted through was felt only in the hand of the Vasto Lorde, a tug backward and to the left, and then, nothing… What remnants of the front half of the head were not crushed beneath the Hollow’s grasp were instead incinerated beyond recovery. The. The lifeless body of the Arrancar dropping back into the sands now. The crimson blood of the dead now dying the sands around it.
The Hollow stood above the Arrancar now, the rage that fueled him not yet subsiding or even diminishing. With his vindictive desires being misplaced, Helliodoro’s foot raised from the floor, hovering for a second before being brought down against the Arrancar’s torso with a devastating stomp. The power behind the Vasto Lorde’s body crushing Tiran’s limp body instantaneously, ribs shatter to fragments and viscera becomes nothing but pulp. Again, and again and again. The Hollow continued, each stomp cratering the surroundings for a couple hundred of feet. Deeper and deeper the hole became as the Hollow vented his frustrations on the now crushed and mostly cremated corpse. Each placement of his foot leaving less and less behind.
Even with the death of the Arrancar and his rage slowly burning itself out, Helliodoro knew he was not yet alone. As though ingrained into the very core of his being, the memory of Vincent’s very essence was vivid and fresh, this second being, a perfect match. Despite the fact that the soul is noticeably weaker than the original, something in Helliodoro screams at the true reality of this other creature. It was clear that the Hollow had no intentions to find out what the little creature of Vincent had planned or in store.
The Vasto Lorde’s hands raised up to the air in front of him, each and every digit digging into the fabric of space. Pulling and tearing at an invisible fabric until it splits, revealing a black featureless void. Without hesitation, the Hollow takes his first few steps into the void, the Reishi within collecting beneath his feet as footholds. Where is he headed? Not even he has a clue. Wherever it may be, his intentions are the same as those he poses in Hueco Mundo. A beast of carnal desire, Helliodoro’s path of destruction continues.

Travelling from Hueco Mundo → Naruki City

 

[BSD]

Was this really it? Having a new power just for your life to be snuffed out by something else? He may be naive, but maybe it was all the other hollows that were naive, at least from his standpoint. All of his life he questioned things, the value of their existence, to the existence of the humans they eat.. why was life a thing yet, at the same time what made the hollows and Arrancar harbingers of death? It all boiled down to pure instinct, for some. Heliodoro was no different than Aragon to Tiran, perhaps looking for a quick snuff or fight to get back at Vincent earlier, by taking the life of one of the Arrancar. It would only ruin their chances further, he thought. Hinder them from even achieving their goals. Heliodoro didn't care, that much was certain, as he closed in and crushed Tiran's face.
He felt it as though it was too soon… he didn't like to fight, but this Vasto was raising the bar, the Vasto's speed was a marvel to wonder about, but if you couldn't out-speed something, you braced for impact, and that's just what Tiran had to do... though his face screamed with pain his mind roared to never give up. A part of him, deep inside wanted to fight. He poured out pools of his own Reiryoku trying to keep that hand away from his face, the heat bearing down on him. He wanted to live, Heliodoro could probably sense that. There was much left… unexplored. That was all his heart desired. A low guttural growl escaped the Arrancar's throat as the heat started melting away at his Hierro, but Tiran fought back. If that was how Heliodoro wanted it, fine. The flesh on Tiran's face began peeling away, his glasses cracked under the intense heat and fell off his face. So this was what it was like, to feel the heat of the galaxy's mightiest weapon pushing down on you with such force. Then, a flash of light, it happened, Heliodoro's hand melts away Tiran's face and for a moment, it seemed as though Heliodoro had won.
Tiran's body gripped the hilt of that Zanpakuto he felt previously and raised it up, it's edge coated in reiryoku. Something about the blade called out to him in those probable small moments, inches between death and survival. He asked nothing of nobody, just that he be left alone. Heliodoro must not have gotten the memo, of what happens when you don't… leave Tiran alone. In that moment of kill or be killed the Arrancar did something unexpected to turn the tables against the Vasto Lorde that had evolved beyond Adjuchaness, unlike Tiran.
"Erode and Corrode, Rey Derretidor!"
Suddenly a burst of teal green Reiatsu, at first on par with Heliodoro's energy, but then it just got larger, and grew, like a beanstalk. Suddenly, Tiran himself got larger, Larger than Heliodoro. Where his head once was, was his chest, covered in bone-like plated armor, his body, secreting a green, toxic liquid substance that if Heliodoro touched, would burn his hand, but, Heliodoro wouldn't probably have that chance, for the little, not so little Arrancar anymore, was faster as well. His body transformed, bones cracking and morphing, his pale skin turning a dark green, and his clothes forming a protective layer, hardened center, but a green goo secreting from every crack and corner over the half man, Half Lizard's body. The energy coursing through gave off a feel that if Heliodoro didn't back off and leave him alone in that moment, the Vasto Lorde would regret it. Of course there could be a chance he regretted it already, because in just touching the body of the lizard, the acid would start stripping Heliodoro's hand, to the bone.
The whole situation would probably be reversed for Heliodoro, as Tiran's defenses absorbed the heat and the crushing power of Heliodoro's hand momentarily, as the goo cooled the heat as Tiran stood higher and higher, and the arm of Heliodoro went lower and lower. Finally, he grew tall enough for Tiran to take one of his scaly hands and punch Heliodoro to the ground. This force would be enough to knock the wind out of Heliodoro. The lizard man lowered himself a split second before jumping with its hind legs at a high speed and whipping acid off of his tail toward Heliodoro's location he then landed back about 100 feet, sliding across the sand.
Tiran blinked, and took a moment to look at his new form, before deciding he'd had enough of Heliodoro's actions, and he started jumping off, each leap bounding him back further. With his second leap, he attempted a Sonido, to get further away from Helio. Would he continue to pursue? Tiran opened his scaly mouth and readied a teal surge of reiryoku to fire in case Heliodoro tried the slightest bit of movement toward him again. He managed to get a considerable amount of distance this time between them both, he just wasn't sure if that… rampaging beast would lay off. Only time would tell. Tiran waited silently for a sign the fast Vasto Lorde was coming back in full force, the location of Miojo in the back of his mind as well. Why did Heliodoro hold so much anger? Tiran didn't know what to think, but he felt as though distance between Heliodoro and Himself was the next best thing.. if he was to survive.