The boy showed defiance and it shows from her tone of her voice had lightened, “Aye, that’s right.” She remained reserved with a wry grin, but she glee’d as Fionn stood ever so close as to square up. Was he going to fight me? She thought to herself but it all washed away when he wanted information. Her grin dropped into a neutral expression. She was disappointed really, here she was thinking that she could get something more out of it but really it all gone a bit boring. He wanted information, he wanted extra ears. She groaned when she heard him say that, but she listened.
And listened till he finally stopped. Her answer was simple. Deflated and bored. She doesn’t anything from him. If she does want something, she could just grab it herself.
“You’re on your own,” She concluded. She could no longer have any fun escorting the Quincy. A shame, not even watching him gurgle and scream as swarm of Hollows eat him alive. “Good luck.” She ended her dialogue as she departed. Distancing herself from the Quincy. Sooner or later he will reach Las Noches or maybe not. Either way, it is no longer her problem. -exit-
“Really? that’s a shame,” her Scottish drawl oozed out of her mouth like irritant venom. Quincy council and their monarchy still stands tall even after pathetic display of keeping them from losing face. They didn’t even try – why bother existing? If she was on that queen feet, bloods must be spilled – Shinigami and whoever side with their ilk. They made their move and they made it clear that their contempt towards the Quincy and their kin are an abomination. But there was something else that the demon gunwoman that made her turn to look back at the Quincy. With an observant glare she took note of his dull and singular tone of his response. She then cranked back to face the view with a backdrop of Las Noches. A long walk, but not long enough to leave her guest a permanent painful reminder.
They were approaching a dune as the red-haired Quincy. Average looking, not fat just good enough figure in keeping up with her pace – which mind you, is not something to sneeze at. A slow pace but the sheer gravity of the phantoms lurking in the shadows failed to brick this Quincy. Then his voice changed. The monotonous tone washed away with a flash confidence. His heart pounding made her grin. The first thing he said with such exposure. His uncontrolled emotion – sprayed about all over the warring Arrancar. At last she thought.
He’s ditching rational thought.
She let him unleash a stream of conscious unfiltered dialogue, though not deep within his heart, but enough to spread it across the air like cold butter to toast.
Then his next words melted the butter. He wanted to rebel. He really wants to let the butter to sink long enough for the toast to taste delicious! Who is this man, she exclaimed thoughtfully! Her singular gaze loomed back at her Celtic brethren, her mouth agape with a light curl at the ends of her lips. Is that how low he thinks of humanity? Had he stumbled further away from Garganta, he could easily succeed in witnessing the fall of Quincy and, who knows, the Humanity itself - Helen of Troy did not think her beauty would cause the fall of Troy. The wiles of human being cannot be measured by their greed, but their lust.
He prattled on and on till his train of conversation took a different turn. By then her opened mouth was shut and her blue eye locked at the sight of Las Noches. Slowly, inch by inch it rose, towering far beyond their heights. They were near, yet so far. The kingdom’s notoriety rears its ugly head.
Speaking of head. The Quincy of the Red simmered down but provided enough entertainment by delivering a quip regarding the Las Noches’ ill plight. What more, he wondered if she, the Arrancar in its entirely, are monsters. It was a question.
Upon been delivered a question. Her spotless and groomed officer coat draped over her shoulder ruffled. Her shotgun firmly gripped to her right side, like a loyal and trusted mongrel quaked. Her boots made her abrupt pause, pressing the ground, lightly sinking, warping the natural shape with her own destiny. The air cracked and caved with her booming hysteric. Her cackles reached as far as she demanded, and she demands the three planes listen to the outcome of the Red Quincy’s humour.
Her turn was smooth, natural. “Us?” Her voice dripped out with a coyishly rebuttal. Her head swiveled and righted as her body catches up. “Monsters?” For all those years, people who have the privilege to witness the forbidden world thought of Arrancar’s being monstrous?
“Don’t be silly,” she paused with the crooked and ill-boding, toothy grin. She really wants this demoted boy to realise the question that he tossed away like a out of fashion toy. Her pace slowed, moving towards the boy as she continues. “Are there any other beings in this living universe, live, eat, be disappointed, gain resentment towards progress, greed, protect, joy, love, honour,” Her pace in speech was slow, but she continues till her own frame stood before him, staring up. “Kill, slaughter, massacre,” she whispered but each word holds a heavy tone, “Genocide, fratricide, regicide.” She let the last word linger long enough before gazing deep into the eye of the Quincy of the Red. The stench of cordite lingered on her uniform became profound and her hostile beauty became alluring up close. For the gravity of the question is feeble and light in the minds of the Arrancar whose souls filled with warring beasts.
“Oh, if you say so,” with a shrug and a light mumble. There it goes again. The pride and their ignorance of the Quincy rears it ugly head. None less, it is her fun now. She watched the Garganta crackled and bricked back to its natural state which isn’t as much if you consider it, sealing the fate of the bloodshot Quincy. Though he may think he was glad that he was behind her, but A.H knows that he was quaking. It takes a person of greatest calibur to waltz into darkness and expect to leave afterwards at their own volition, something that this spiritual world was lacking. She wondered what happened to those people? Did they all bricked it and escaped to whatever shithole they hail from, hoping that misery and despair catch them?
“How is your Queen? Is she still nursing her ego?” That? Oh, she heard about that. All it took was one loose word and the Gunwoman was all over it. With pretty please and a removal of one’s limb was enough to get all the information she wanted. Shame, really. She expected a lot more than just a loss of limb. “Boy, you got to wonder who the real enemies are,” Her Scottish tone lacked the ringing bite compared to her tone back in the human world, but followed it with a dry, brief cackle. “Not even I would go out of my way to kill her children,” a lie, she concluded. If they were exposed and no one is protecting them, she would gladly spare the world from the monstrosity that are Freylief’s spawn. This Shinigami on the other hand, was someone worth fighting against in the future.
The Quincy spoke and pointed at the direction and A.H was not at best pleased. He want to go to Las Noches? The problem with Las Noches is that unlike five years ago, it was an empty husk of a palace housing weaklings and cowards. Her head turned, and her single eye slowly target Fionn’s face. The place had become a political warzone, a filthy kind of war.
“Found a place to die?” Her mischievous grin widens, but it wasn’t at her usual widest. The edge of her lip - though brief - quaked. She let herself shrug once again, “Mind you, there won’t be any grave to mark. Oh no, no. Hollows will eat you down to the bone and let the bottom feeders eat the scrap.”
She doesn’t think that this would scare him. After all he should soon realise that only way is out is forward. Her biggest threat was would be those miscreants who self-proclaimed themselves as Espada.
“Las Noches is still your destination? It is a long and dangerous trek – at least for you, that is.” With a turbulent environment in Las Noches, it could be safe for her to assume that she too, was in danger.
She never understood Quincy. Not even the fact that there isn’t a plural for Quincy. Just Quincy. She never understood why they insist on keeping monarchy, or their blue-blooded nobility. It is all pox for the Demon Gunwoman.
But this man…
This man stood before her and had the audacity to tell her to take him to her land. At first, she tried to shoo him away out of pity, but the man continued to press even more. His bloodshot eyes was determined enough to warrant the Arrancar a disgusted look on her face. It had been five years since she last set foot on the human world and nothing much had changed. It amused her, the world not changing: It reminds her as Hueco Mundo. Though the tide of sands constantly changes, the world still looks the same.
So why? She thought to herself? But then her mind wanders to her revolver. Last she saw it, it was in the hands of a boy on the verge of breaking. In all honesty she doesn’t remember why she gave it to him in the first place. ”Boy,” she thought. A revolver would be very handy in situations such as this.
Her officer attire untouched from the last time she was spotted which was five years ago. She wanted to get stronger and slinked back into the deepest part of Hueco Mundo and made her a tasty bait for all starved and greedy hollow alike. She came back to civilisation believing that she would become stronger, but it left her even more riled. New Arrancars popped up out of nowhere was not her problem. It was their refusal to change structure. She wanted this pathetic Espada power structure to fall and replace it with something spawned from Arrancars instead.
The only difference between now a before was that there wasn’t a single Shinigami busting down the gate.
“I never met a Quincy who want to die so quickly,” it only been ten minutes travelling and already she was hating it. Why can’t she just shoot him dead and be done with it? Her restraint revealed another reason: what happens if a Quincy set foot in Hueco Mundo? She had heard rumours that Anything hollow does things to a Quincy – bad things. Her mind went back to the time she “toyed” with the two Quincy and left them into an empty pate, already she had concluded three things from the Quincy:
They’re squishy, they’re obnoxious and most certainly are not strong as they like to consider themselves.
The bloodshot Irish was walking at a distance, but not too far away to miss the timing of Garganta splitting the scenery into two to reveal the blackness within. She skipped and hopped without missing a beat and he too followed.
“Dead man walking…” she too, can be obnoxious with a thick accented sing song tone (and she wasn’t too bad at singing) regarding the Quincy eventual plight. “You probably lived longer if you decided to walk into Shinigami little headquarters,” she dirtied the air with her cackle.
Maybe, maybe not. What does it matter to her? All she wants to see is how long this Quincy can last in a desolate world of hers – and why are Quincy are all over the place? Cockroaches, she mused. Bloody Cockroaches!
It was brief, but the fist collided against the raven-haired beauty was memorable. Even her balled up fist was throbbing in pain, pounding like pneumatic drill plying through the knuckles. She should’ve remembered not to punch like that, there’s no value in punching recklessly like a brainless yobbo. But another reminder pounded through her body like rippling waves.
She was weak. She could almost feel her knuckles rend into shards. The surging vibration swallowed her momentarily recklessness. She felt the sense of remorse of throwing herself at the nameless Arrancar. She wanted to hide her damaged hand but with the embrace by the punched woman caught her off guard. The bubbling noise and the deranged hiss and giggle unnerved her. It wasn’t too long that she rose above her provocation and now she stood there wondering what exactly going on with her self.
No. There’s no time to think that.
She drowned the ponderous thought by focusing on her own self-inflicted wound. Pain was a helpful reminder that she’s still alive, but she wondered why didn’t she retaliate? She felt the cold draft on her shoulders. She had remembered that her Grey Trench coat. She paced towards the coat sprawled on the sandy ground, watching the powerhouse approaching towards Crowe. There were so many emotions riled up inside her, but none were of hate towards the Arrancar.
She dusted off the coat as she watched her approach towards Crowe. There was nothing witty that she thought up. She swung the coat over her, so the coat is loosely attached to her.
Activities among the population in Las Noches had burst into life. A strange Pale faced beauty with a turbulent Scottish accent had been travelling from one pocket to another, rebuilding parts of the wall all by herself. Many had asked why, or what is the point, but she did not reply. As much as the Scottish female soldier wanted to reply, she knew that her words are embers to the dry structure. Actions is what needed. She would spend days, weeks or even months repairing the ruins of Las Noches. To guide the future to a certain path, one would cleanse the sins of the past and cast away the misery marked on these crestfallen residents.
Slowly, her perseverance grew root and sapling spouted with a smack of these Residents coming to assist, at last. She was able to talk to them and her first word to them was always the same, no matter what pocket of civilization: “Help yourselves!”
With the time skip looming, I thought we should start preparing for it with a nice Hollow/Arrancar only event that spans over the five years. A.H’s determination was to rebuild Las Noches back to what it was.
My aim for this was to provide an opportunity for new Arrancar characters and remaining Hollow-breed to partake in progression or just something for their character to do during those five years. However. Due to the timeskip not being revealed. I will accept the first lot of thread to start just before the five year timeskip.
For the first time in what would seem to be forever. She felt thankful for Crowe’s words. His wanting to stay really mean a lot for her, even if it him staying for a few days. Her candours posturing dimmed like a romantic light. The relaxing of her shoulders showed. Perhaps tonight there won’t be any death.
A.H had not only revealed her name but managed to tame her tempestuous behaviour even if it was ever so briefly enough to save his own life. What did she get in return? Not food, it was never food. Friendship? Well, that sort of things doesn’t gel with the warring Arrancar. Comrade-ship sounds much better for her.
“Crowe,” she spoke softly, gazing at the fire, “The revolver is now yours, a memento of what took place here.” She would normally have felt enraged for losing something that was rightfully hers, but tonight. Tonight, was different. She had lost and by his right, she should surrender her revolver to the victor. “If you lose it. I will hunt you down and kill you.”
Her nostrils flared when she uttered her threat. Normally her threats would be direct and menacing but for once her voice was lightly laced with satire. Another book tossed to the fire and there were little more to say. A flicker of fire and a pop she made her conclusion. She was hungry.
“I’m going to get some food. I’ll get some for you.” She stood upright looking over to Crowe with a neutral glance. “You don’t have to come with me, but I expect you to keep feeding the fire, comrade.”
Speaking of fire. She realised that she left a book that she was reading behind. She took a sharp turn and extended her arm out to grab the book. Her look at Crowe was once more neutral but just for a moment, just for a millisecond. The edge of her lips moved positively before shifting into a frustrated scoff before vanishing into the darkness.
Maybe Las Noches future will look awfully bright with him and that woman being there.
“Aye, I did…” she lightly grinned. Cayo was a mischievous little thing. A sack like hollow with a mask unique even to all, “Aye that I did.” She repeated. With a gentle swag, her demeanour shifted from angry, annoyed to a natural expression. It’s up to the dear hollow to decide which way she goes.
“I agree Cayo.” Her soft Scottish sotto tone brought calm to the once hostile area. She wanted something out of this hollow. A feast? No. She was not hungry, and despite the hollow pressure almost the same as hers, she doesn’t find Cayo at all appetising. No, she wanted so much more out of him, an investment. “I do like a good game,” Her shotgun zanpakuto found itself impaled against the ground. The blade was rooted to the ground with just the lacquered wood sticking up into the skies like a sorry example of a tree. She reminded herself to clean her gun thoroughly once she done fighting him.
Next was her overcoat, the grey trench coat draped over her like she was a queen, but that’s so far from the truth. She liked the idea of warmth and concealment, but today, it is not the day to carry a large stick. She pulled It off from her shoulder and over the shotgun butt to hide its shame of being soiled.
Next was her sleeves. She took a few steps, unbuttoning the cuff and rolling them back to show the smooth, pale arms of hers. Rolling them up ever so gentle. One big fold after another till her sharp looking elbow was laid before the ever so curious Hollow.
“I got a game that we can play,” this was going to be messy she thought. She hoped that her uniform doesn’t get ripped or blooded. Her heavy footsteps began to pound against the ground, kicking up dust to trail behind her. With a curt grin she began the bloody mess with a reckless haymaker aiming towards the Hollow. It had been years that she relied on these two hands along with her legs. She envied this little hollow. Still have their instincts for survival, something that she solely lacked.
“It called impress me!” She scowled. Her single gaze looms on the little Cayo.
“Well…” the sound of Crowe asking her the question comes off as duh to her but judging from her lithe like appearance, it’s difficult to tell what exactly she’s capable of. The shotgun and the world war one highlands replica uniform, it come to no surprise that the first assumption that she lacked the capability to fight close combat, but they are terribly wrong. She was a fearsome monster with a lust for battle. The things that she wailed though to become what she is was something to behold. She looked over to Crowe with a wry, wicked grin that would make a child cry at a glance. Her Scottish bellowed lightly in jovial.
“Aye? I covered wars, y’know? I am good…”
Then the sudden realisation that she was nothing to behold. The grand stage was not at all low. The billowing smog bellowed through out the ruins of Las Noches. The eyewitness scarped out of fear or perhaps something much worse? The roaring snarl of the pressure got her head turning to the young woman, but her craning has become even harder, heavier to turn – like crushing a bottle full of water. She felt the weight of the world clawing her down onto her knees, her legs buckled yielding to the insurmountable power. At last her eye glinted at the blackened gloop massing at the finger tip of ragged girl but that did not frighten her.
It how easy it was to dispatch her was her deepest fear.
Her wicked grin shifted to discomfort and stress as she felt the smog compressed her very being, suffocating her, cramping her. The foul Arrancar stood before her looked upon with a smile that trumped hers. The smile was riled with death. A.H imagined that smile was on her face as she razed all who crawled beneath her down into an overcooked pate. She struggled to stood upright as the weight of Gatekeeper’s agony pinned her head down to the ground. She exerted as the air squeezed from her lungs. She felt her grubby, silky smooth hands clutched her insides and held it tightly.
’Woman…you should learn not to play with food.’
She wanted to move, she want to wail at her with everything she got. If she going to die, then she better died delivering fear to her predator, but the pressure bounds her down to the ground. Her knees bent, slowly laying towards the soulless soil against her will. She grunted. Strange memories flashed through her mind of men slumping over to the ground after being executed with the single bullet drilled into their head. Was it going to be like this? Her dawn, her reprisal failed and the world against her. All she could do was yield and accept it.
Deep within her boils. The thought of the world against her flashed through her mind and it brought her thrill. Rational thought tossed aside like yesterday newspaper why bother thinking about the dread and death. Her head slowly began to shift, tilting up to gaze at the deliverance of death and the facial discomfort slowly began to swing. Out with the newspaper. The blood boiling and bubbling. Discard the death and fear. The joy rising. Her primal urge was her officer. The whistle blows. In come this month Porn Magazine!
She felt hard.
Her thigh muscles tensed, her foot dug through the soil. The aging shotgun glistened against the lonely moon. Her lung expanded with its brute force. Her blue eye sparkled. Her soul opened the doors. The mist of air escaped from her nostrils. The whites from her enamoured, wicked grin gleams.
Her officer jacket draped over her escaped from her form. Dust kicked up with a rumbustious energy. Her footwork quaked, soaring towards her merciless predator and with a sudden loud abrupt roar she buzzed across the distance and there she stood beside her with the right cranked back with such elasticity. Her fist balled up and with the explosiveness. Her release was swift and her best work. It had been a long time since she last threw a punch with such vigour, without a single thought coursing through her mind. She had forgotten that Crowe was behind her. She had forgotten what she asked the mysterious woman. Hell, she even forgotten her name. The ugliness of the nameless’ cero faded along with the commanding aura but that doesn’t matter to A.H.
A little bit of purple would look beautiful on that predator’s cheek.
Seireitei is crumbling and the Gotei is a shell of its former self. Ravaged by the plague, the surviving Shinigami struggle to maintain the balance, but with so few of them left, the work is taxing and their fortress-city has fallen to neglect. Spread thin across all fronts, their diminished presence has been noted by friend and foe alike.
The Arrancar have rebuilt Las Noches and are rallying. The throne remains empty, but self-styled Espada have risen up from among them and are vying for control, each one endlessly testing the others’ weaknesses. Too evenly matched for any one of them to claim the crown, they bide their time, waiting for the opportune moment.
On Earth, all seems well—but there is a war being fought in the shadows as the mortals find themselves lacking the protection they once had and so sorely need. The Quincy, having realized the oppressive specter of the Shinigami is no more, are flourishing, and are fighting the Hollow-breeds with renewed vigor.