”hehe...hehehe...haHHA..GWWAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!”
Crazed laughter escapes the self proclaimed King as he stands before the wave of the mutated Menos Grande. It is an echo that spreads across the vast deserts of Hueco Mundo like wildfire.
Another Arrancar, similar to the would be King in height, lowers himself further to the ground in reverence to his chosen lord. The man opens his mind, his senses to perceive his surroundings of any and all spiritual signatures within the scope of his canvas. Perhaps he noticed it, the discrepancy in the reiatsu of the towering hollows in accordance to their bodies. It was as if both body and spiritual power were slightly out of sync, a brief lag between physical movement and that of their reiryoku.
Odd
”I want you both to enjoy this. Savor the moment. This will prove valuable to growth. You’re free to act as you please from here on..”
Like a master holding a leash, he releases his subordinates, or a least those subservient to him. He himself unleashes his own restraints and any inhibitions that would hold him back, propelling himself towards the obelisk-like creatures. A single arm is catapulted like a heavy spear through the bone mask of the foremost creature, piercing into flesh. An iridescent storm, quickly conjured and swallowing the body of the King’s victim.
Concurrently, a flood of sand shot up into the air like a spiraling geyser, turbulent spiritual pressure forcing each grain to defy gravity itself. The alabaster sands, once pristine was transformed into a fragile grotesque black, shattering like glass.
CRAAAAAAAACK - SHIIIIIIINNNNNNNG
The staticy eruption of the Arrancar’s Sonido resounds across the desert, accompanied by the sound of metal being drawn; a duet of death and mutilation. The blade twirls nimbly along its master’s fingers, and gently through the air like a dancer, slashing through flesh, drawing a boisterous cry from the mighty tower.
The third evolved hollow seemed less enthused than his counterparts, and less subservient than the one who kneeled. Like the other, spiritual pressure swells within his form, its force enough to shred the top layer of his clothes asunder, engulfing both his hands and the crown of his head. He rushes forward, his steps absent of a static boom, as he’s brought before yet another of the beasts. He grips his blade, lifts it and with all his might
Drops the guillotine.
Sand erupts on either side like parted waters, a deep incision travels up the body of the behemoth, and before he could study or admire the fruits of his labor….he flees. An act similar to the previously bullied hollows, choosing to leave rather remain and endure any further abuse to their bodies, one just at the cusp of death.
All things transpired as should, the first creature to be attacked by now, fully assimilated into the spiritual power of Hueco Mundo’s proclaimed sovereign. Once assimilated he begins to perceive all that his prey does, experiences all that it did, tapping into the depths of the creature. The image is distorted at first, like a window fogged over. The picture begins to stabilize, colors and shapes becoming more defined, and then he sees it
Himself
The God King witnesses his every recent action, from his time within Las Noches, to his scuffle with the Vasto Lorde, and even his manic laughter. He viewed these actions not as himself, but as a distant observer. Was his life flashing before his eyes?
…..no…
Perhaps some manner of outer body experience? Everything seemed so vivid, so clear and through it all, there was light chuckles and giggles, the laugh and voice genuinely foreign to him, yet coming from him all the same.
The King’s loyal guard lingers in the air upside down, and by then he notices that the creatures also notice them, and the sparks of pink energy wisping from their mouths. He thrusts his arms forward, hurtling twin spheres of destruction towards a group of the Menos Grande right as their mouths part, each one now firing aggravated blasts of destructive power, their combined cero illuminating the entirety of the landscape, visible from across the desert.
The blasts collide, and an explosion occurs. There is light, and there is silence as the countless grains of sand tremble and vibrate along the ground as they’re forcefully repelled from the colliding forces. The silence, is fleeting as a deafening crash. All is blanketed in white, not even silhouettes visible through the blinding veil. Too loud to be ignored by distant denizens, and far too bright to simply avert one’s gaze, let alone notice the incisions and lacerations formed by the two arrancar were absent from the bodies of those they had attacked.
The loudness, the brightness seems to create a world all its own, as temporary as it is. And slowly, it begins to fade, its force dies out, the brightness receding at a snail’s pace, barely regranting visibility to those observant few.
Had the hollows and that lone arrancar fled far enough, fast enough? Had the Arrancar and his King protected themselves while in the heart of this catastrophic explosion? Did instinct force a speedy retreat? Were they maimed, or even worse...dead? What of the hollows? If the Arrancar couldn’t survive, there was no need to even question the probability of survival for the unevolved. Still, strips of black began to take form as the bright curtain continued to draw back.
Had the King even gotten the opportunity to ponder upon what he had seen? To dissect whatever vision he had experienced upon ingesting the spirit of the hollow? What answers had he obtained, if any?
