BSD
Administrator
Listen Here!
Life was such a fickle thing. Shinigami stood within the realms of life and death, helping those pass on who gripped on to life. Regret filled them, perhaps even shame. For those that remained spiritually and needed to be cleansed, there was always something that tied them to the world. But this tie was not proper; it was bound to be twisted and perhaps even contorted if they lingered too long. Spirits in need of cleansing held the potential to become Hollows. Hollows were the enemies of the Soul Society. They fed upon one another, humans, Quincy, they did not discriminate when preying on others. In many ways, the instructor was the same. It didn't matter who he was fighting or what tactics they utilized, he never took it personally. If they decided to take his attacks to heart — verbal or physical — he cared not. What he cared for was a grand show, a spectacle that he could put on for himself. He began to cackle as the events before him unfolded. Certainly, they had resisted him, right? Reality was often brutal and bleak in the same way that life was fleeting. How many years had these Shinigami lived? More than a century, of course. And yet, they were still young. Far younger than he. While age was not a defining factor when it came to one's ability, there were exceptions from time to time. An exception was being made in these fleeting moments within the 7th Division. As soon as Ensō had appeared, those before him that he targeted had fallen. How foolish of them it was to assume that they could resist by doing the bear minimum. Words came from the twisted lips of the madman as he watched the events continue, knowing full well what was going to happen.
"It is better to be proactive rather than reactive, my poor children." An insult or a lesson? A mixture of both. These pitiful souls had failed in their attempts to circumvent his "test."
His ears were attuned to the environment around him as they always were given his enhanced natural senses, the distinct thud of all three Shinigami hitting the floor was easy to follow. Their bones had been restricted, yes, but their jaws had been shattered into pieces as well. Just as he had suspected, their mouths were teeming with blood, putting them on the edge of aspirating because they were being forced down so hard that they were inhaling the blood. It would fill their lungs, but not enough to kill them. Not yet, at least. Their bodies were undergoing tremendous amounts of pain on a physical and mental level and while the mental terror was much worse than the physical, there was no questioning the potential lethality of his Reiatsu pressing down upon them given the other facet of the assault. In the same instant that he had released it and coordinated his attack into three points, increasing the output with each passing heartbeat, Ensō's cackle continued to escape him. Their jaws were swimming in blood. For the man in the tree, Ashura, he undoubtedly had it the worst. His elevation working in tandem with the Reiatsu that brought him to the floor, paralyzing and terrorizing him, would ensure that he'd receive more than just trauma to the jaw. His trauma would reverberate throughout his cranium, causing a fracture of the skull while the damage crept up towards the top of his spinal cord. Gravity was not on his side. As for Daiki and Katsuo, their lovely little noises that came forth as they spat out blood and their bodies instinctively worked to expel the blood from their throats and lungs. Such a wonderful noise — a painful death. There was nothing more satisfying than watching the helpless die without hope. They hadn't known exactly who was attacking them, or why it was attacking them. The terror that befell them hadn't been resisted properly, meaning that their attempts to ward it off were rendered null and void. Had they reacted properly and not brushed off the initial effect of the Reiatsu, maybe they would have survived long enough to see the man draw the blade. For now, a blank face that they couldn't even recognize towered over them.
In the moment that ten figures attacked each of them individually, along with the hallucinations of their family members, a sigh escaped the clown. When he had assumed his initial stance, there was an inkling of hope that these younglings would challenge him enough to make him draw his katana. This didn't mean that if they had resisted the effects properly that they would make him draw the actual blade, but maybe, just maybe they would make him stop using the katana while it was sheathed and make him get a bit serious. Alas, that was not the case. They had taken initial precautions, but had taken the man far too lightly. Whether or not they thought they could resist a Lieutenant or Captain mattered not. Even a 3rd Seat had potential to reach such a position. This was determined by skill, not sheer power. Power aides skill, not vice versa. Attempting to brush off his tremendous projection of Reiatsu that was aimed at the three of them would have aided them if they had gone about it correctly. Unfortunately, they had underestimated their opponent and taken the wrong course of action. Out of the three, there was one that was close to the right idea, but he did not execute his plan properly. They were too focused on the insanity that had now incapacitated them. It would still plague their minds even as their consciousness faded. The physical effect of his Reiatsu forcing them down from their current and creating trauma across the entire body by taking advantage of gravity working in tandem with them being "pulled" and restricted to the ground was enough to make them lose consciousness, and yet they seemed to have forgotten that it was working in tandem with the Madness, not separate from it. This fatal error would lead to their deaths on this day. Ensō was feeling particularly kind and would put them out of their misery. As their bodies continued to be assaulted by his paralytic Reiatsu more intensely with each passing heartbeat, it was indeed the right thing to do. Murdering them would be their salvation. The hallucinations that plagued them had dug their katanas into their bodies while their beloved family watched them perish, their respective emotions and thoughts remaining as they watched their relative fall victim to these nameless foes. The three eyes that would linger over them was to become their God before they died. In their insanity, one thing was clear — God was executing divine justice upon them. But why had God done so? The answer for each of them would be clear; the family members that appeared before them had pleaded with God to smite those who had deviated from the proper path. Their spirits had been broken, and their minds had experienced such madness that they would not recover from being pushed over the edge into the endless depths of insanity.
Within the same instant that their jaws were subject to being shattered, the instructor's Katana had been withdrawn from its scabbard. Aion was a simple Zanpakuto when sealed. They had no particularly stylized features — something that aided in the man's masking of his true prowess. In just three heartbeats, the terror that had overtaken them along with the weight of the Reiatsu and Paralytic effect had done what it needed to do. A pinpointed strike reminiscent of a nuclear bomb had been condensed and reeled into the 7th Division barracks. Katsuo, Daiki, and Ashura were feeling the full effects of what his Reiatsu could do, while others within the Division were experienced hallucinations that were rather comforting, they had not screamed or shouted. In a way, they were closest to Nirvana while he had exerted his Reiatsu. Just as with the three that he was attacking, any who could even possibly look his way would be blocked by three eyes that would push them back into their sweet dreams of vainglory. It was odd how terror could exist yet not exist simultaneously. By the third heartbeat, Ensō had already compressed more Reiatsu into his blade, it glowed pale violet as a few words escaped his lips as he made the final move. While the Shinigami had been blindsided by his attack, he never stopped his breathing methods.
"Engetsu no Kokyū (Lit. 偃月呼吸;”Breath of the Crescent Moon”): Hametsu-tekina Arashi (Lit.破滅的な嵐."Catastrophic Crescent Storm")"
His right hand that held his Katana moved fiercely. Originally, the bladed side of Aion faced him as his Reiatsu gathered itself. Upon the third heartbeat, as he had intended, he flipped the hilt of the blade and thereby the serrated edge toward his foes as his left hand came forth, placing itself under his right hand and on the hilt of the blade, releasing the tempest on his foes. From his position, a myriad of Pale Violet crescent shapes had come forth and descended upon his foes, fully intent on cutting them into a fine pate indiscriminately. These crescent moons were carried by his Reiatsu that looked as if it were a wave, but it too was sharp to the touch just as the miniature moons were. With that, their bodies would be alleviated from the pain they had endured. Their receptors would've already been overloaded given what had occurred, thus putting them into a vegetative state, but this was would rid them of their mortal shell entirely. Finely chopped pieces would make them unrecognizable, but that didn't mean that it would be safe to simply leave them thereafter they had been diced up so violently. There was a certain beauty to behold in their executions. This was no lesson, this was their death. Defective toys had no place in his toy box, he was throwing them out. But he didn't want them to taint his other toys, so he needed to dispose of them discreetly. Needless to say, the area beneath them that had received the attacks had also been destroyed, meaning that whatever kind of organization the barracks had in their locations. The concrete below them, the courtyard location where Katuso had been, and the tree that Ashura had been on had all been diced into fine pieces. Keeping the destruction to a minimum was a tad difficult, but nothing that was impossible to accomplish. After the Shinigami had been finely diced, the clown's katana would have been put back into its sheath. No blood had corrupted his blade and therefore he did not need to wipe it down. A small advantage and time saver, his Zanjutsu techniques did not always require him to be in close quarters. He had demonstrated just that. A mere moment after sheathing his blade, the man had brought his left hand upward and pointed three fingers outward towards those who he had slaughtered.
"Goyōgai" He muttered, his expression now blank as he looked at the small traces of Shinigami before him. Each of their bodies and their blood which had been confined to 3 meters around their body during these assaults had been confined to an orange barrier that put these pieces and blood into stasis. His fingertips continued to glow orange as he brought his right arm forth now, palm outstretched with all five fingers facing the areas of destruction.
"Bakudō #37: Tsuriboshi. A blue light emanated from his right palm as he had utilized a much less powerful yet fitting variant of Tsuriboshi for the events that had unfolded. In each of the three areas that had experienced his especially concentrated Reiatsu that had been projected from his body and blade, an azure ball of energy had come forth and spread itself to each location, bringing together pieces of rubble and even the tree that had been cut down back to their former states as if nothing had happened. This was more than a bandaid being put over a wound, as the spell would embed itself into these areas so well that they looked untouched. Perhaps they even looked better than before. After all, the instructor paid attention to detail.
After finishing his second spell, the man would vanish along with the pieces and blood that had been finely contained. He had compressed them down into blocks that could fit into one's pocket if they so wished. Vanishing from the scene with another swift and efficient Shunpo, Ensō had arrived in his personal quarters within the Southeast Seireitei once more, circumventing any physical barriers before him. Class had long ended and it wasn't uncommon for people, including himself to practice their skills. The barrier that confined these three victims had been let go as the man readied himself to go into the depths of the barracks. Once the orange compressed balls had been dispelled, they fell right into a simple garbage bag. His Reiatsu and controlled presence had vanished from the 7th Division entirely. Those that had been subject to sweet dreams would "wake up" out of their daze with rather good memories, there was nothing to worry about. No one of importance had gone missing. After all, had they even existed? Perhaps not.
With dwindling hope and many obstacles to surmount before reacting to the Zanjutsu techniques, the situation was rather grim.
