[BSD-RP] Hueco Mundo

[BSD]

The proud Aragon, loyal servant to the God King, boastful warrior. His confidence in his strength and power — ever constant, and though subservient to the God King he lorded over all others with the air of a mighty sovereign. His power has never failed him, never been brought to question. The Glow of the fluorescent arcs bathe the espada in its calm yet ominous light.
Instinct and pride tell Aragon to face it head on, that he could endure such an attack and crush it beneath his might. However, Aragon is now released and believes himself above such base instincts. He drowns out the excessive noise within his mind, and allows his Pesquisa to ripple out — and though the glow from behind does not give away the concurrent attack blitzing from his rear, the peculiar reiatsu of Marcos is felt and perceived.
A smirk traces the espada’s lips, a snicker escapes the confines of his mouth. He believes he has caught Marcos, that he has figured out his ploy, his pattern, the method in which he moves, thinks and fights. With senses kicked into overdrive he believes that now he’s got the Arrancar, successor to his number.
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Aragon finds himself inexplicably besieged — flanked from the front and the rear by the pink fluorescent claws of Marcos. Five from the front, five from the rear and each individual one strikes with the full savagery of the grinning schemer’s cero. Their bladed edges gyrating at an incomprehensible rate, striking repeatedly at both blade and hierro like a chainsaw.
Aragon’s reasoning was sound, seeking intelligence and planning over instincts — unfortunately things like reason, planning and strategy mean nothing in the face of Marcos. Where instincts would harm most, it is almost the better ally and tool when pitted against the Cheshire Grinning man.
Still gauging and learning Marcos’s personality, his habits, and his abilities Aragon makes the error of not only deploying his Pesquisa, but now, in his Ressurecion he does so with his senses heightened into overdrive. Vision now sharper, hearing more astute, nose more sensitive and touch greatly increased — all base senses magnified a hundred times over, and when coupled with his spiritual sense would normally make him a force to be reckoned with against his typical opponents. Marcos was not his typical opponent.
In making each sense hypersensitive, and in actively employing his Pesquisa to seek out the reiatsu of Marcos the Espada inadvertently exposes himself to the uncanny abilities of Marcos reiatsu — its powers, unknown to Aragon, passively active at all times, compromising the very tools he sought to rely on.
The hypersensitive Aragon Larggarto feels the spiritual pressure of Marcos and his attacks. He hears the wind being cleaved by the eviscerating claws as they travel through air, the beating of Marcos’s heart and feels the vibrations in the air — all information which he uses to gauge the speed and distance of not only Marcos, but his attacks as well. Typically with enhanced senses the espada would make use of enhanced reflexes...unfortunately for him, every piece of information gleaned...is wrong.
The sounds heard, the vibrations felt all delayed by no more than a few inconsequential seconds, as both distance and timing skewed. Even with heightened reflexes and augmented speed with his senses in disarray the espada moves a moment, an instant too late.
Sandwiched between five claws each they continue to grind into his invisible armor, pressing, further, harder, jagged edges gyrating faster.
Wrong, everything was all wrong. This was certainly not the way Aragon perceived things would go...but what is perception when standing before Marcos? Instincts warned Aragon to endure the attack, to brace himself for it so he could weather the storm and press on with his own attack, a warning Aragon ignored.
The claws continue their aggressive advance, sparks flying off the iron skin which guards the soft flesh of the espada.
Instincts might have also warned Aragon to instead instantly move up — to not pause, to not hesitate, to not think or seek his opponent out; just ACT. A warning that would undoubtedly have fallen onto deaf ears, no matter how enhanced they were.
The Espada’s senses would doubtlessly quickly catch up to him, would he then realize where he had erred? Would the mighty Aragon push past the deception, past the confusion to brace himself properly and push past the attack? Would he even be able to trust his own body, his senses that have normally never failed him now so eager to betray him at every turn? A frustrating turn of events, facing an opponent who’s actions, thoughts, powers and even spiritual pressure were all incomprehensible, but perhaps more frustrating was a single unmistakable fact-
Not once has Marcos taken this fight seriously. Where Aragon saw this contest as a glorious battle of strength and power, Marcos only saw a fun game to pass the time. Where the espada saw a strong and worthy opponent, Marcos saw a playmate. Was this what the Terror of Las Noches was reduced to? Something for another to amuse themselves with? It certainly seemed as if Marcos believed so.

 

[BSD]

The moment he prepares to counter attack, Aragon's senses are hit as if by a flash. Instead of employing Sonido he was suddenly crushed under the force of Marcos' attack. Aragon's brow furrowed as they dug deeper and deeper into his iron skin. Grinding and sparks as if fire works exploded off Aragon's torso. An explosion of reiatsu, a grunt of pain and a small pat pat pat of blood splattering the ground, then silence. The smoke from the explosion of an attack started to dissipate off Aragon's body. He stood hunched over grabbing a laceration in his chest. His smirk still apparent on his face.
His left hand would work its way up, scorched from the attack, to his mouth. Where he would smear his arm against his chin. A small trickle of blood wiping away onto his wrist. Aragon couldn't focus his Hierro in time to block the attack, so he was tattered a bit from it. He never lost ground however, he stood exactly where the attack had hit him. Bringing his arms to his chest and arching them inward as he lowered his knees. The area that was now infused with his Reiatsu and Reiryoku would start to spark in small pink and black fragments. With no scream, no shout or plea of warning. Aragon Ignited the area within Hueco Mundo. A globe of black fire exploding inward consuming all three of them.
Fifty feet out and a hundred feet high, The entire well of Reiatsu inside Aragon explodes out. The black and pink flames so intense with heat the tarnish the structures remaining and consume the sands whole. Marcos would surely sneak his way out of the blast of dragon blight, but it was meant to consume the man. Vincent would be covered from his location but the heat would merely wash over him like a sunny day. His senses coming back to him, he would shut off his primordial sense and start to focus his regeneration ability to heal the lacerations covering him and his flanks. The dome of flaming cero shortly after forming would flicker and fade into the night sky once more. Revealing Aragon in his sealed state.

" Enough games. You're a strong soul. Any further and we will likely destroy too much of our home." He would then wave his hand over his face, his white framed glasses forming slowly, piecing together flake by flake. He would then walk over to Vincent and await his his commands on the matter. " We have much to do, sorry for wasting so much time, He is defiantly suited to hole the rank of Primera. " Aragon would shift over and stand beside Vincent on the left hand side. " I don't want to make it habit of testing every new Arrancar we run into to see if they are worthy of taking a title, i feel like i have a rather aggressive reputation about myself so far. If it suits your tastes Sir if i may, There is Three Notable Arrancar, I will take the Espada Tres if you allow it. The number Three seems to be calling to me. "
Aragon would then cross his arms over his chest and keep his smirk from before, brightly lit on his face. The Arrancar were filling up slowly, but surely. The strength the new ones have is apparent and incredible to Aragon as well. Marcos is just the kind of personality this place needed. Now the Horizon has new beings ready to emerge as well. Aragon would wonder what abilities they would have. This made him, feel, something. He didn't understand the feeling but it was there. A warm, welcoming feeling, one that made him have hope their race would thrive once more. Aragon would then start to picture a new Las Noches, inside Hueco Mundo. Visions of a castle fitting for someone like Vincent, the God King.

 

[BSD]

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Vincent turns from his newborn creation, as it is dragged along by Tiran. He leaves the creature to its own fate, allowing it to serve its masters' needs as it so chose. For now, he knew the creature, dead or alive would be a valuable test, though even he had to think just how volatile the creature could or would become. He could see whatever he wanted at any given time anyway.
He would then turn his head, giving Marcos and Aragon a direct look, all before the very skies became blanketed in light. A great flash of heat and energy makes the desert appear as if it is the day, a sun engulfing the moons timeless form. He is able to discern the source of this energy, to the point that with his acute senses, it is as though he stands amidst the burning haze of energy. Helliodoro's form, emblazoned in the center of the core of his souls' fire, eventually snuffs itself out, the bones around his body cracking and shattering, burning away as he crashes down to the dunes, smoke trailing behind him. Hmph
It just so happened, that Tiran and his creation were heading in the same direction, meaning that a fleeting enemy was of little of his concern. the defeat he faced earlier was all Vincent needed to provide him in order to fuel his growth. Whatever path that took was irrelevant. For at any time, he could peer into the creature, and experience what he saw.
Even as Tiran snaps a twig from its resting place and hassles the "sleeping" Heliodorio, Mi'ojo stands a good fifteen feet behind him, eyes aloof but watching, observing the events as they unfold.
Again, his consciousness places him right within the action. The battle rages, Marcos and Argon continue their exchange. For a moment there is an exchange of words, as brief as Vincent's return to Hueco Mundo. He accepts the role of Primera offered to him by Aragon. What is that Dragon thinking... Didn't he favor such a role heavily? Or...had he had more wisdom than Vincent currently gave him credit for. Truly intriguing.
Marcos thankful goofily, the act itself was somewhat unnerving. Was his aim truly just to covet such a role? Did he actually even care? did it matter? All would find an end he, regardless of affiliation. One needed to tower above all others in order to accomplish such an aim. But there needed to be tools in place. Pawns, knights and towers. Bishops. Vincent was a King, with many pieces missing from the board.
He watches, seemingly standing amongst them, amongst the clawing and scratching. Everything he has needed, he now knows.
As the cat's claws descend upon Aragon, battering him from both sides. His released form, sparking against the grating cero. His hide is torn at until it falters, compensating quickly for the damage received. His form reverts amidst the bombardment and seeing no other way, his voice cries out,
" Enough games. You're a strong soul. Any further and we will likely destroy too much of our home."
His arm reaches out, in this imaginary space. slow and graceful his limb reaches for Aragon, closer and closer until finally.
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"Very Well..."
His voice carries itself from directly to Aragon's left. Even should the grating blades have continued, they would have suddenly met a superior force. There is no warning, or tell. His form seemed to come into view as if from behind a mirror, quick enough that an imprint solid enough, very much so living remained in place. All before he is able to finish his speech.
Then that means you have admitted defeat and the role of Primera, will fall to Senior Marcos.
His heavily accented voice carries with it the weight of Aragon's decision. There could be no going back unless he fights for it again. Vincent was fully aware he knew that and the consequences. Though he would take this one time only to remind him.
"If you want it back...I am aware that you know what that means... Do not regret it now. Aragon."
Vincent then fixes his gaze on Marcos. His eyes baring with it no malice, no sentimentality. Only another request.
I would have Aragon aid in the restoration of Las Noches. How would you like to have even more fun?
His plain expression shifts and turns into that of a grin. Had the cat any idea what the God-King meant? Or did it not matter in the slightest. One could never truly say. Vincent came to appreciate that nature of his. Well enough that a droplet of that unknowing personality seemed to leech itself onto him. Hueco Mundo had again added to its forces, rapidly one may add. But it was still not enough. Only two spots had become solidified in the ranks of Espada. Two Arrancar, One being Tiran and the other, the fleeted Nicolas were all that remained un-numbered. Their roles had yet to be established.
"You're free to come and go as you please. I only ask that you come when the call is urgent. It will take some time to make the necessary changes. There is plenty to see out in the sands. I require more hollows..."
His finger points into the distance.
"No...More souls. We require more souls. Any and all you can bring. How that happens, is all for you to decide. Doesn't that sound fun?"

 

[BSD]

The eternal sky of Hueco Mundo becomes tainted. Painted along the skies, a black streak that follows a dying ember on it’s descent. Down further and further it plummets, it’s pace quickening with every second until finally, it comes to a stop with a tremor that rings out through the sands. Colliding with the sandy depths of Hueco Mundo like a meteorite, sending sand and stone into the skies. The fallen star lies still, left within an expansive crater, surrounded now by debris for hundreds of meters, the fallen star lies still. A plume of darkened smoke soon replacing the pillar of debris and almost completely blanketing the Vasto Lorde beneath it.
A charred husk now rests in the sands, undisturbed and unconscious. Yet, very much alive. Beneath the cloak of smoke, the body of the unconscious Vasto Lorde
Within the crater, all that moves is the smoke and sands… Or so one would think. Below the cover of black, within but a moment, the blackened mass of burnt flesh begins to writhe and move from the inside out. What was once crushed by the impact and incinerated by his own heat comes to life once more in the blink of an eye. The flesh of the Vasto Lorde seems to be consumed by a rejuvenated and lively version of itself. No longer cracked and scarred of blade or heat. The renewed black flesh contrasting with the bony carapace that reforms in a similar fashion, free of any scorch marks or wounds. Helliodoro is Revitalised, yet he remains motionless.
For what passes the unconscious Helliodoro as a split second, an hour rushes. His rest only to be disturbed by a curious buffoon. Unsure of the reality behind the cloak of black, the newly former Arrancar begins to prod and toy around with the smoke and whatever lay within.
First a stick that poked and stabbed away at the cloud, nothing meeting the end of this branch. Not a bit of resistance. At least until it was thrown into the crate itself. Past the plume it flies, little resistance meeting it and no sound of impact being heard. In fact there is no impact, as the wood approaches Helliodoro, as close as possible to hitting the Vasto Lorde, it is burned from reality. No dust. No ash. No remnants. And yet, no reaction coming from the body.
The Arrancar fleeing from the crater and hiding away behind a dune of sand, the creature seeming no more than a childish thing. Adventuring for the sake of it and toying around with potential threats? Perhaps the Arrancar was feeling giddy with the sudden increase in power he had attained? Regardless, there seems to be some sort of caution, taking to the distance and hiding. Then regressing to that same childish logic, flicking the carcass of a tiny hollow into the smoke, again, nothing lands. Incinerated before even coming into contact with anything.
Seconds go by and yet nothing shifts or stirs within the crater. An eerie silence hanging over the area, asking to be shattered. And so it would. Within the smoke, the intense white glowing eyes of Helliodoro come to life once more, only barely being obscured by the smoke. The Vasto Lordes senses returning to him completely in that moment. The Arrancar now within Helliodoro’s perceptive range...
The once charred remains of a body erupt to life, the once slow beating heart bursting into a fiery rush. The blood within boiling and firing through his system with fury. Each and every fibre of the Vasto Lordes muscles pulsing with an intense vigor. With that, earth and sand ruptures out like a tidal wave in the opposite direction of Tiran. Blotting out the moonlight over the freshly born Arrancar for a few seconds. Helliodoro has awakened.
In a destructive path of motion. A blur of movement. In a destructive charge, Helliodoro plows and bursts through whatever stands in his path. For the first time in a while, he relies solely on his physical ability to close the gap between himself and the Arrancar. In that instant, Tiran finds himself face first against the infernal grip of Helliodoro. The Vasto Lordes grip wasting not a moment as it collapsing inward, with more than enough to crush the Arrancar's head into pulp. In a cumulative effort, the reiryoku that coats the Hollow's body, the overwhelming heat, leaving the Arrancar defenseless in Helliodoro's grip. Hierro, flesh and bone, all comes under the same effect. Reduced to nothing instantaneously upon contact. A brutal display of the Hollow's true nature and the dread turned rage.
Tiran would be left with what could barely resemble a head anymore, what wasn't crushed beneath his fingers and incinerated, was left behind, the body dropping lifelessly to the sands. Helliodoro's piercing gaze watching over the corpse for a moment.

 

[BSD]

Well, some time had passed by after Tiran tossed those objects in there to see what stirred. Nothing did, probably for an hour or so. The smoke had never gone away, as if the sands were being burned nonstop for the longest time. He could feel it, pressure rising lightly. He stood up from the sand dune as a rumble shakes sands and a blast reveals Heliodoro in the flesh yet again. The ambush predator got ambushed by another predator, as he pulls his head back and moves his body to the left a bit, Heliodoro taking instead, a weaker object on Tiran's body, from the forearm down. Tiran leaps twice to the left further, creating a plume of sand to douse some of the remaining flames.
That's when the pain reaches him, his arm was gone. Again. This Vasto Lorde fought Vincent and lived. Tiran took a handful of sand and melted it with his breath, before sticking the acidic slime onto his new stub to stop it from bleeding. That was rude. Tiran watched as the Vasto Lorde crushed his hand instead of what could of been his head. This one going to be as rough as Aragon? Tiran could only do his best. He spread his own Reiryoku, making a coating of a strange chemical form on his tough Hierro. Tiran takes in a lot of air before unleashing it in a miasma of green smoke. Heliodoro would feel it's effects, weakening his own Hierro and eventually his body. The Miasma was also making the Sand melt, creating a green goo that would start sinking those who stayed on it, into the gooey hole. This puddle of goo beneath the Miasma cloud starts eating like a ravenous wolf, a gutton making itself larger and larger with each meal. One grain of sand equaled more and more. Tiran… can move freely in this Goo, as he growled and sunk himself into it like a shark. Heliodoro, if he caught his feet in the sands, would sink slowly into it, and feel as though his feet were burning, despite having his own heat. To unleash said heat now, with the cloud of noxious plumes about, would do more harm to Helio himself than good, a heated blast meant explosions before they leave his area.
Tiran would strike back after his Miasma took it's effect, bouncing right off the gooey goop walls of the once sand covered area, blasting himself up like a kid in a bouncy castle, before using a blast of that to fire Miojo up and catch the being, landing a bit of a ways away from Heliodoro. Tiran would yank Miojo with his only arm while at the same time now running away. Why did it come to this? Is he trying to prove something? Tiran understood not wanting to live under command.. but never has he understood what fighting first solved. It was probably obvious from the start he didn't want to fight. He panted in a little bit of a sweat, his new tinier feet running as fast as they could. Suddenly, he phased. He suddenly found himself back.. at Hueco Mundo, with Vincent's eye pet thing in tow. Vincent's eye pet flung across the air and into Castle rubble head down, as Tiran reappeared, his first sonido.
A rather ungraceful Sonido, hitting a pillar like a gong. His entire body flattens against the surface of the destroyed pillar. Peeling himself off headfirst, Tiran's eyes go swirly, his glasses all bent up. He falls over a bit dazed and confused as to what just happened, what he just did, and… how in the world will he get his arm back. He rolls off the pillar like paper, and flutters down to the ground. He pops back to normal and wobbles a bit standing back up.
"THAT BUTTHOLE STOLE MY ARM!"
He'd say before stomping over to Miojo and yanking it out of the rubble and dusting it off.
"Lesson number one little eye pet thingy, don't go in unarmed."
He said, waving the little stub he had left. He'd look back toward Vincent and the other two's general area.
"THAT VASTO'S BACK UP!"
He'd warn them all before mumbling to himself quietly and stomping off stage and going into hiding, within the rubble. He'd try to see what he could do about his missing arm, while at the same time, keeping Heliodoro's Scent and reiryoku signature locked in his mind. He could smell from miles away, and Heliodoro, smelled like fire, cooked flesh… cooked wood. Tiran kept his senses open in case he followed him all the way back for a second fight with Vincent… if he did. Was Heliodoro going to follow him back? Tiran licked his wounds and waited for a sign the Vasto had even made it out of the Miasma.