[BSD-RP] Hueco Mundo

[BSD]

“Ah…”
Well. Vincent did say not to interfere. Not that he wanted to anyway. With a heavy exhale through his nose, Nicolas had turned. Facing the rest of the party with a tired look, he grimaced. The two Adjuchas were a hindrance, and wholly an eyesore, however, the Primera thought otherwise. Whatever. They were his problem. With his hand stuffed into his pockets, he glanced in between the floor and them as they went back and forth at one another. Kicking at the fallen rubble, the gluttonous Espada sighed heavily.

Seeing as that he was the only party unbothered, he took a seat on a large broken piece of what he assumed was the ceiling and yawned. As relaxed as he may have looked, Nicolas could even follow the looming party that stretched across the dunes as they marched forth towards the group. Aragon was the first to go and meet them. Nicolas could see the hesitation in the two adjuchas and scoff loud enough for them to hear.
“If you want to run, then run. What use are you other than bait?”
Climbing down from his mini-pedestal, the ninth Espada had leaned back far enough to let his back crack with a satisfying hiss escaping. Dusting off his pants, he was really just delaying time before he had to go help. Looking back towards the open horizon in the direction of Aragon and the Menos, Nicolas began his very leisurely stroll.
In the opposite direction.
What? Did you think that he would jump in no problem after his fight in the forest?
Weapon strapped to his back, Nicolas went on his merry way away from there. If Aragon or Vincent wanted him, they’d find him one way or another. Now was the time to go while the larger players were busy. Had the minor party choose to get in his way, Nicolas just may have to exert some force in order to provide the pecking order for them in full.

 

[BSD]

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Many a hollow existed within Hueco Mundo. Many primitive, driven only by an unnecessary lust of power, evolution. This base drive was important, but above all else one required resilience. Even from a wondering soul surviving the agonizing process of hollowification required this resilience. As souls amass and develope into Gillian they must be resilient enough to survive the countless centuries. They must endure the hardships of life as an adjuchas, constantly hunting for battle, to evolve. All of it required the endurance of countless souls lost. In becoming lost, they became fuel for the strongest of them all. In time, the most resilient soul gains control of this being, awakening into the state of an Arrancar. This process was especially enlightening for Vasto Lorde, who's origins were a mystery. There came a higher sense of self with these irregular beings. For them, because of their proximity to the state of being known as an Arrancar, there required a much more intimate circumstance to awaken them. It is what sets their potential apart from the likes of others.
Helliodoro would need to call upon this endurance this day.
His drive to gain contiguity to the king was admirable. In many ways, it was the right call. What he could not accurately see with his eye, he would attempt to hold positioning with his alternative senses. A rather animalistic means of survival, but one vincent still used to this day. Evolving does not mean casting away what one has used, but rather building upon it, adding to it.
Those peculiar protrusions on his back allowed him a consistent change in positioning. Rudimentary, but effective. The only issue being that its control lacked the finesse of vincent's naturally maneuverability. centuries of careful consideration of one's physicality have crafted an uncanny level of agility and dexterity. Even without the likes of sonido, the Vasto Lordo did everything it could to keep up with vincent's basic movements. To keep pace, he was meticulously releasing large bursts of spiritual energy from the protrusions on his back. With this shift, he managed to curve his path just inches from direct contact with death. Vincent's momentum carried him upward, but the slash he enacted would not go unnoticed. Their height difference made Helliodoro's maneuver a dangerous one, leaving him far to close to Estragos unfavorable edge. He was adjacent to the floor, although he managed to avoid direct contact with the 'boshi' of his blade, he had failed to discern what lay underneath, countless miniature slashes were obscured behind the grandeur nature of his whirling slash. Just by being in range, several moderate cuts suddenly surfaced on his arms and legs. A single horizontal scrape etched into his masked face. All were spot-on, however, neither were lethal, but they would call to the Vasto Lorde's immediate attention. By the time he had relocated below, Vincent was now above, his first rotation complete.
From here, no second rotation would occur. Instead, the blade twirled in his fingertips, counterclockwise. There was an abnormal sway in his moves, able to complete a seemingly complex array of dexterous motions before one could correctly perceive it. This was the benefit of centuries of careful consideration for one's body. Never step too firm. Never express too emphatically. Never forget one's temper. All in the hopes of preserving the very reality around him. There was something poetic about raw chaotic destruction, but when this phenomenon matures, becomes focused, targeted...it becomes viewed as evil. Destruction with deliberate intent becomes ruin upon those it is inflicted upon.
And then came the sudden surge of reiatsu.
In no way would it go overlooked. A large torrent of bright light erupted from Helliodoro's right arm. He had attempted to take Vincent at the right, but the king's battle instincts would not falter. His body adjusted ever so insignificantly as to face him. In response, Estragos bladed edge cascaded downward with ample physical exertion. Just this action alone was able to generate substantial force to deter the strength displayed by Helliodoro. Acting as a counter, the wall of pressure caused the area around them to burst asunder, the complete thick formation beneath them giving way to this intense slash.

sixty yards in diameter, a large hole sunk into Las Noches. With his timing, the blade would collide with his fist, causing the two to clash. Good... there was enough power behind it to hold up against destruction itself, but for how long? Any lapse in focus, any delay in muscle, any drop in his spiritual pressure and the blade would come cleaving into him. He would need everything he could muster to deter Estragos. Helliodoro was up against the full authority of Vincents might, A tug of war of sorts. Sparks clashed between his rocketing fist and the the bladeRuin.
He managed to stand firm upon the open air, there was no need to adjust. With his left hand. He pressed his sword onward, attempting to advance. Below, debris fell upon the others, particularly just above where Nicolas had been moving in his attempting to sneak off. Vincent hadn't the forethought to care, too absorbed in the battle to take any notice to any others. Space below would fill with the pressures of both the King and the Vasto Lorde. Winds rushed, dust blew in. The very fabric of Las Noches shook.
His right arm raised, translucent sparks began to form raging for an instant around his digits. Their eyes would meet, and the darkened Hues of Vincent low yet focused peered into the Hollowed eyes of his adversary. In that moment he saw all that the Vasto Lorde was and for the first time since the battle began, the King would speak.
"So what will it be Mijo? Are you satisfied with this form of yours? Or will you become more" What has all this struggle up until now amounted too?
His tone was unfamiliar and casual. Though they seemed locked in this exchange of concentration, Vincent's demeanor was rather indifferent...passive. Their difference in power was clear to him but the point had to be made. There could be no competition against the King. Only allegiance. Those who sided with destruction would, in turn, be enhanced by it. Helliodoro would need to learn this lesson as the others had many centuries ago. A genuine grin formed on his face. He was enjoying himself.

An instant later, the time for the wind to displace a grain of sand. The time it took for Helliodoro to redistribute his spiritual pressure for a different means, and it would be over, a single shot was all it would take, colliding with his mask it would send him crashing into the ground, a small Bala, compact with a larger degree of spiritual energy would connect. Pain, undeniable in its essence would run its course. Only the most perceptive would see it, let alone sense its course. The others, even with all their focus, maybe even Helliodoro would only notice after its path was completed. With only a foot or so between them, It took well under a fraction of a second to reach.

 

[BSD]

In a reality where power dictated the flow of society and fate of others, there wasn’t nor had there ever been a place for the weak to thrive. The only possible path available was to grow. Be it strength, intelligence, speed or even companionship and alliance, these are all venues one can explore and exploit to thrive. Some would excel in but a single of these, some would choose to delve into multiple and regardless of what choice was made, who made the choice to advance and grow, would thrive. This however, cannot be so simple, in this climb, there are always those who stand above with a greater power, the absolute peak. To some, a motivation, to some, a deterrent. To few, a quarry.
Helliodoro for the most part, had always placed himself at the peak. To him, there were none who stood above him, perhaps this was true for a great deal of time, who could really tell him he was wrong? This mindset however, had just been shattered. It took but a moment for his personal peak to be brought to nothing but dust. A single man and nothing else. This supposed King. Whether Helliodoro had previously known and simply forgotten or ignored this fact, it would soon be made clear to him that he was not what he once believed.
And what was the cause of this? As though he had been through countless battles at that very moment, a multitude of wounds formed and opened along his flesh. Each seemingly ignoring the armour that clad the Vasto Lorde’s body from head to toe, although, in truth, the King had unintentionally been assisted by the Vasto Lorde in delivering these successful slashes. On closer inspection, the damage that was dealt to the Vasto Lorde’s left arm and the front of his torso, were minute. Even so, none went unnoticed as those that truly managed to dig their way past the seemingly superficial armour had been made obvious. Pain, something that for the longest time, had been an estranged concept for Helliodoro. His blood, how long had it been since he had seen it too? With each opening gash along his form, were he able to express his emotions clearly through is masked face, there would be a distinct change in demeanour. ”Oi oi oi! This isn’t right! I’m the TOP” That was he believed, it was. Now, with the final gash presenting itself along the masked face of his, he seemed to break. The physical damage, irrelevant to him, what is gravely wounded however, is his pride.
Whether or not it was intended as a message or not, those gashes he suffered from, they were a bigger blow to his mental than his physical form. Despite being physically unable to display the anguish he had dug himself into due to his shattered pride, the truth would be known and clearly so. With no intent to synchronize the clash of his fist and the blade, a roar. Although, the roar remains the same, a clear difference had also been presented. A mess of emotion was thrashing beneath the surface. Rage. Sorrow. Fear. For the first time in.. Centuries. He felt these emotions once more. Familiar, but unknown.
Despite all of this, this was no time to back down, no time to rethink the situation. He wouldn’t make or even be able to concoct any genius tactic to approach the opponent before him. Simply it wasn’t in his nature. Instead, he would push further into the conflict. Multiple continuous jets of his Reiryoku flared, along the Vasto Lorde’s entire left side. Simultaneously he would shift his body, rotating to the right with the entirety of his being and using Estrella Voladora along a majority of his being now to add to the force being applied to the blade of the King. With this, it seemed as though a second collision had occurred at that very moment. A second wave of pressure washing over the surroundings and adding onto the destruction caused by the first. What seemed like an eternity had passed in the blink of an eye. The clash was brief, potentially it could have gone on longer but a this was no longer the same conflict it once was. At least not in the eyes of Helliodoro. Desperation was a potent fuel but a dangerous one, leading to rash decisions. A fifty fifty split on whether it would play out in his favour or not.
Though the time frame was short, from the initial clash to the moment in which Helliodoro would choose to act. There was a great deal of thoughts rushing through the creature’s mind. He was one of impulse and a rather dull intelligence but he was not completely inept. The current situation was clear. The possibilities and outcomes too, were obvious. Be it subconsciously or consciously, ideas and paths flip past like pages of a book, dismissed in an instant on sheer instinct and nothing else. Perhaps, some of those would have lead to a greater result, perhaps he could have achieved his goal had he taken a different path but the choice was made and what remained in the past would stay in its place.
Helliodoro was completely and honestly unaware of what the Arrancar before him had planned to do as the right arm of this Arrancar began to rise and he wasn’t too keen on sitting in place and finding out on his own time. The Vasto Lorde at this point, was already a lightshow. Vents of Reiryoku expelling from a great majority of his body, it was intended for power moments ago, but it was time for a change. Again, a shift of weight and position, before the right arm of the Arrancar had managed to raise even roughly twenty degrees toward Helliodoro’s form. This shift in weight and positioning was accompanied by a change in trajectory from Estrella Voladora and now utilizing the force he had been conflicting with, he would reposition himself completely.
The arm that had been clashing against the blade of the King would be deflected away from the blade in combination of forces, his form disappearing in a familiar trail at the very first tell of his arm being deflected away. To Vincent’s left, his body seemingly in the midst of a spiraling motion, a clockwise rotation toward the Arrancar but at this moment, he was facing directly toward his target. Another adjustment. With a familiar flash of light expelling from a multitude of angles along the Vasto Lorde’s body, his left leg was launched with the same might as his fist had originally been launched, the shin of his leg aimed toward the very back of the Arrancar’s skull. Much like his previous attempt, in most cases, this would lead to a complete mutilation of the body, what would not be knocked off, would be incinerated to nothing. This of course, was not your usual case. However, there was something that would embolden the blow or attempted blow. With essentially no tell, a Cero was formed at the foot which was launched toward the Arrancar. This Cero was by no means, great, nor was it much in comparison to his previous Cero but it was impressive nonetheless, the speed at which it was formed and released were its strengths. Despite it’s weaknesses, it was still a threat in most cases, possessing the same heat the larger form did. Afterall it was not that of your average Hollow.
Regardless. The moment in which his body made contact with anything, be it the blade or body of the Arrancar, he would shift once more. The same was true had his leg missed the mark entirely. This time, away from Vincent. His trajectory was straight up, toward the skies where he once believed he reigned. The same trail that followed him elsewhere was present, and so was another screech of his. That same roar which once was perhaps cocky, eager and challenging, it was filled with an unparalleled rage and a twisted form of melancholy. This sound was drawn out, reaching beyond the horizons and into the skies as he continued upward. Seemingly unstopping. Strangely enough however, the further from Las Noches he drew, the louder he became, the brighter be became. As if losing control of himself, his Reiatsu exploding outward. A blazing display, perhaps outshining even that of his previous flex, despite the different natures. The sounds of the encroaching Menos and unfamiliar Hollow were drowned out for him. Present, but ignored, lost in his tantrum. As he continued without a true destination. As each second passed, miles were put between himself and Vincent.
He would return eventually. Today would be a stepping stone for the Vasto Lorde. He had no intention of becoming a pawn for the King. To evolve? He would find his own path. A reason had been given to him. For the time being, the Vasto Lorde, coated in fresh wounds, his entire form riddled with these veins of white, except his mask. Perhaps they represented more than a fragility of body, but of mind too in this state of his?

 

[BSD]

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Helliodoro made haste, a shift in his forward trajectory saw him rearranging the protrusions on his back. A grand flash of heat and light enraged about from his right arm and the entire area behind him was engulfed in its blaze. However, none of this was of concern to Vincent. He had good thinking and movement was decent, however...
Vincent had long since evolved behind these petty tactics. Even a fraccion's Sonido could keep up with such rudimentary methods of movement. If he could combine the abilities of both, he would be dangerous. He was an incomplete piece. One that could prove beneficial for the end game. Vincent quickly grew disinterested in their spout. He had seen what he needed. It was time to put this dog on its back.
Before he could fully Raise his free arm, Helliodoro was on the move. Had he been that much swifter he could have interrupted him, forced him to change his actions. Instead, Estragos was thrust to its edge, giving the wide end of the blade the role of buffer. His fist came griding along the edge of destruction, the grating sound of sparks flying filled the air. In a flash, Vincent's blade turned horizontally so that the blade faced down. He could withstand the sudden change in pressure with minimal effort, Motioning with his right leg as an anchor. His left leg swept counterclockwise.
"...!"
Then, his left arm came thrusting downward with the totality of his might. The force alone caused both their hair to flutter erratically. Although he had humored his challenge, he came to the conclusion that it was insolence all the same. And that was nothing something that would go unpunished. This downward cleave, though similar to the one before, was much more focused. A singular line was formed, leaving behind a lengthy crevice in the very structure of Las Noches. It extended further into the very depths of the palace, deep into its foundation, unto the desert floor. It was only about four or five inches thick but extended into an unforeseen distance. It goes without saying, that such monumental force is enough, with Estragos undeniable edge, would be sufficient in severing the very likes of Helliodoro's arm. It would be difficult to avoid, with his immense speed, the twelve-foot blade would be extremely difficult to avoid, his arm had rocketed forward, meaning his trajectory was directly in the sword's path. His left leg had only just begun its efforts, he was locked into his demise so to speak. It would have been an equally simple task to separate his head from his shoulders, had he willed it. Escaping free of any damage was nearly impossible, and highly improbable. What glimmer of hope would have to come from incomprehensible means, though, whether or not he escaped with his limb or not mattered little to the King. He would allow the creature to flee in disgrace.
He would accept whatever came his way in the process, no longer convinced the creature could do much to actually harm him. He was finished playing around. Then, Vincent would lower his right arm, simultaneously twirling Estragos, majestically, in his embrace, then came to rest at his hip, its edge, stretched out casually before him. Behind, his black cloak swayed, with grace in the desert breeze. The defeated roar shook the wastelands once more. Intense radiance burnished in the Horizon. It was a pleasing sight despite the circumstances. He knew full well what this roar meant. He would return again, soon. His eyes closed as he scoffed to himself. He refused to give chase or to pay him any more mind. Evolution would find him whether he wanted it too or not. This was the way of Las Noches, Of Hueco Mundo in general. All that was needed was time.
Eventually, the Vasto Lorde and his light was long out of view. Las Noches stilled itself once more. The Menos, still closing in were all that remained. He would turn and face them, his expression had grown lethargic.
"Aragon, Nicolas...It's time..to FEAST!" he howled.
This was a call for them to come to his side. They would defeat these creatures and feast on the remains. By now he was sure they would have recovered from the destruction wrought by the previous battle. It seemed there would be no rest. He had only just returned home and already the very laws of this place were thrust upon him without warning. Where one problem ended itself, a new one surfaced. Once they were assembled, he would lead the charge against these intruders.

 

[BSD]

The sound of roaring interrupted his stare, Aragon would flick his eye over into a corner and peer at his King's battle. It seemed it was coming to an end and swiftly after, Vincent gave call a brutal shout and cry to arms. He turned to face the Arrancar and as he did he was met with a loud. "Aragon, Nicolas...It's time..to FEAST!" he howled. With this his body would blur with speed until it was standing to Vincent's right. His Sonido leaving visual ripples from the burst of speed. He came to a rest beside the king and gave a slight bow.
" The Meno's are different variants than any i have seen before my King. " Aragon at this point would be ignoring everyone in the desert except Nicolas and his King, as they were the only beings of actual rank in sight. Aragon's eyes drifted back towards the Menos and his left hand came up to rest upon his teal Zanpakuto grip.