BSD
Administrator
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Marcos stares at the fleshy blob, clearly intrigued by the grotesque thing, odd seeing as he held no true interest in the equally disgusting creations of his deceased predecessor a century ago. While odd to some it was only natural, the Primera was prone to shifts in his mood and demeanor at the drop of a dime seemingly without rhyme or reason. His eyes light up hearing news that this...I-zeeeeel, potentially held his own fleshy ugly blob thing. That settled it, Marcos would go see this person who could identify the blob and provide him with his own.
Max begins his ascension, that first step serving as both an announcement and a warning. The Godking was coming.
His reiatsu spirals about his form and even from afar, it reaches out and touches all within Las Noches. Not a hint of warmth is reflected in his spiritual pressure, no it is only anger, rage, and malice. Izeel from afar, tucked away within Las Noches, busies himself with trying to heal and restore the fallen Cero Espada. Garganta Broadcasts linger around him, allowing him to view the ascension as well as the thing that had terrorized their land and its people not so long ago, now resting snug in Max’s hand. At the touch of the Godking’s reiatsu the scientist is frozen before he forces himself to continue. He accepts his inevitable fate to come, whatever it may be.
STEP
Max continues to climb, venturing ever higher towards the heavens that is both his kingdom and his throne. The newly birthed Arrancar and Yandiel exchange looks. Santana in this moment is forced in a position where he feels like prey before a predator, rather a vassal preparing to meet his lord. He questions his recruiter, doubt seeping into the Arrancar’s core, wondering why he agreed to follow the Mantis, and what world of trouble he was dragged into. Yandiel does his best to pacify his new friend while secretly confiding his devious little plots and schemes..or, at least a portion of them. Words perceived only by the single soul the Fraccion currently trusted.
STEP
Emilia, like the others, can feel the weight of Max’s reiatsu growing larger, denser, heavier the closer he draws to them. Unlike many of her former peers, Emilia retains her status as an Espada, and rather questioning what Max is thinking, feeling or what he will do, she instead inquires to the whereabout of Elliora’s entourage. Fear, curiosity, recklessness, intrigue, and schemes; the Arrancar in Las Noches are certainly a diverse bunch.
In the midst of the Godking’s journey, as if lighting the sovereign’s path, comes the lobotomized Helliodoro. His arrival lights up the entirety of Las Noches along with much of the surrounding desert, the neanderthal touching down at the very base of the steps of heaven.
"MAAXXXX!!!"
The star bellows, his voice unchecked reaches those afar off awaiting the drawn out arrival of Godking Max. The arrancar makes his intentions known, he’s once more come for Maximiliano.
"DID YOU THINK YOU'D GET RID OF ME THAT EASILY!?! HUH!?!"
He continues to rage about, a reckless move for an injured man lacking regenerative capabilities. Eager to get to Max yet again, he emulates the very object of his obsession as his spiritual pressure erupts as he places his foot on the first step. The light is, for lack of a better word...blinding, drowning Las Noches in the Vasto Lorde’s light.
"COME OUT HERE AN-"
”ARE YOU THE ONE WHO WOKE ME UP EARLIER?!
Marcos’s annoyed voice roars directly in the ears of the shining Helliodoro. Like the Vasto, Marcos is unstable and unpredictable, the embodiment of chaos. The Espada stares intensely, his body enveloped in fluorescent pink, one eye widened more than the other. The glow surrounding his body is inconsequential, at least in comparison to the fact that Marcos is staring directly at Helliodoro who’s light is so bright that even the glow of the false sun is smothered under its radiance. Why then, is he capable of perceiving the Vasto Lorde without averting his gaze or his eyes exploding or melting away? Perhaps he was similar in nature to the rampaging Kassius and had simply evolved to be able to endure and perceive through the brightest of lights? No, that was impossible, the Espada had no such ability like that after all. Then perhaps Helliodoro’s light was simply not as bright as he thought it was. No, that too couldn’t be the case. It wasn’t just with Helliodoro, the Primera seemed equally oblivious towards the anxiety and stress wrought by Max’s reiatsu, the intensity in the fluorescent glow fluctuating in increments.
TAP - TAP - TAP
A single finger taps away at the Vasto’s injured skull on one side, then the other, then both — the man perceivable in two different locations nearly every other moment. It is in this moment that the Espada truly appears like a cat, pawing away at whatever has captured its interest.
”Hold up, Hold up...who are you? Did Maxy promise you a squishy thing too?!”
Marcos draws distance from the stranger, his eyes wary of the Arrancar before him. He narrows his cat slitted eyes, the image of his form glitching and fluctuating like a distorted picture. Coincidentally enough, his body is now positioned in a manner that seems to block the Arrancar’s advance towards the person he had come to see, the one who’s attention he so desperately craved.
”Well get in line bastardo! No cutsies!”
Marcos snarls out, snapping his fanged teeth. He was Primera, HIM. If anyone was going to get their ugly fleshy ball first it had to be him and no one else. If he couldn’t be first in line, what point was there in even being Primera after all?
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Marcos stares at the fleshy blob, clearly intrigued by the grotesque thing, odd seeing as he held no true interest in the equally disgusting creations of his deceased predecessor a century ago. While odd to some it was only natural, the Primera was prone to shifts in his mood and demeanor at the drop of a dime seemingly without rhyme or reason. His eyes light up hearing news that this...I-zeeeeel, potentially held his own fleshy ugly blob thing. That settled it, Marcos would go see this person who could identify the blob and provide him with his own.
Max begins his ascension, that first step serving as both an announcement and a warning. The Godking was coming.
His reiatsu spirals about his form and even from afar, it reaches out and touches all within Las Noches. Not a hint of warmth is reflected in his spiritual pressure, no it is only anger, rage, and malice. Izeel from afar, tucked away within Las Noches, busies himself with trying to heal and restore the fallen Cero Espada. Garganta Broadcasts linger around him, allowing him to view the ascension as well as the thing that had terrorized their land and its people not so long ago, now resting snug in Max’s hand. At the touch of the Godking’s reiatsu the scientist is frozen before he forces himself to continue. He accepts his inevitable fate to come, whatever it may be.
STEP
Max continues to climb, venturing ever higher towards the heavens that is both his kingdom and his throne. The newly birthed Arrancar and Yandiel exchange looks. Santana in this moment is forced in a position where he feels like prey before a predator, rather a vassal preparing to meet his lord. He questions his recruiter, doubt seeping into the Arrancar’s core, wondering why he agreed to follow the Mantis, and what world of trouble he was dragged into. Yandiel does his best to pacify his new friend while secretly confiding his devious little plots and schemes..or, at least a portion of them. Words perceived only by the single soul the Fraccion currently trusted.
STEP
Emilia, like the others, can feel the weight of Max’s reiatsu growing larger, denser, heavier the closer he draws to them. Unlike many of her former peers, Emilia retains her status as an Espada, and rather questioning what Max is thinking, feeling or what he will do, she instead inquires to the whereabout of Elliora’s entourage. Fear, curiosity, recklessness, intrigue, and schemes; the Arrancar in Las Noches are certainly a diverse bunch.
In the midst of the Godking’s journey, as if lighting the sovereign’s path, comes the lobotomized Helliodoro. His arrival lights up the entirety of Las Noches along with much of the surrounding desert, the neanderthal touching down at the very base of the steps of heaven.
"MAAXXXX!!!"
The star bellows, his voice unchecked reaches those afar off awaiting the drawn out arrival of Godking Max. The arrancar makes his intentions known, he’s once more come for Maximiliano.
"DID YOU THINK YOU'D GET RID OF ME THAT EASILY!?! HUH!?!"
He continues to rage about, a reckless move for an injured man lacking regenerative capabilities. Eager to get to Max yet again, he emulates the very object of his obsession as his spiritual pressure erupts as he places his foot on the first step. The light is, for lack of a better word...blinding, drowning Las Noches in the Vasto Lorde’s light.
"COME OUT HERE AN-"
”ARE YOU THE ONE WHO WOKE ME UP EARLIER?!
Marcos’s annoyed voice roars directly in the ears of the shining Helliodoro. Like the Vasto, Marcos is unstable and unpredictable, the embodiment of chaos. The Espada stares intensely, his body enveloped in fluorescent pink, one eye widened more than the other. The glow surrounding his body is inconsequential, at least in comparison to the fact that Marcos is staring directly at Helliodoro who’s light is so bright that even the glow of the false sun is smothered under its radiance. Why then, is he capable of perceiving the Vasto Lorde without averting his gaze or his eyes exploding or melting away? Perhaps he was similar in nature to the rampaging Kassius and had simply evolved to be able to endure and perceive through the brightest of lights? No, that was impossible, the Espada had no such ability like that after all. Then perhaps Helliodoro’s light was simply not as bright as he thought it was. No, that too couldn’t be the case. It wasn’t just with Helliodoro, the Primera seemed equally oblivious towards the anxiety and stress wrought by Max’s reiatsu, the intensity in the fluorescent glow fluctuating in increments.
TAP - TAP - TAP
A single finger taps away at the Vasto’s injured skull on one side, then the other, then both — the man perceivable in two different locations nearly every other moment. It is in this moment that the Espada truly appears like a cat, pawing away at whatever has captured its interest.
”Hold up, Hold up...who are you? Did Maxy promise you a squishy thing too?!”
Marcos draws distance from the stranger, his eyes wary of the Arrancar before him. He narrows his cat slitted eyes, the image of his form glitching and fluctuating like a distorted picture. Coincidentally enough, his body is now positioned in a manner that seems to block the Arrancar’s advance towards the person he had come to see, the one who’s attention he so desperately craved.
”Well get in line bastardo! No cutsies!”
Marcos snarls out, snapping his fanged teeth. He was Primera, HIM. If anyone was going to get their ugly fleshy ball first it had to be him and no one else. If he couldn’t be first in line, what point was there in even being Primera after all?