[BSD-RP] Hueco Mundo

[BSD]

Among the nigh-on endless spectrum of emotions available to those capable of them, there are few as powerful as anger. The planes of reality are rarely shifted by those that wield happiness or excitement. However, sorrow and rage are both immense driving factors for anyone. Given the right vessel, anger can fuel unrivaled destruction. Given the right vessel, sorrow can lead to an unquenchable thirst for vengeance. Vice versa. It is no surprise to see Helliodoro overcome with a fiery, blinding rage once more. It seems that every visit unto the God-King's steps are either fueled by rage or bring forth the welling fury.
Of course, Helliodoro is equally as unstable a being as he is an angry one. His half brained head, while physically recovered, has no memories of the moments following his fall into the sands. There are those that might question his intelligence, especially those who have no prior interaction with the beast, but those that are familiar with him might wonder, has he become duller yet? It hardly matters, he was barely capable of reasoning or any such intellectual process, now he seems almost identical, or perhaps such stupidity is imperceptible by the minds of others.
"ARE YOU THE ONE WHO WOKE ME UP EARLIER?!"
The tricksy Arrancar roars at Hellidooro, finding not his ear to scream into but instead Helliodoro’s permanently scowling face. Not for a moment does it cross Helliodoro’s mind that the feline does not falter under the heat of the star, that much is beyond his train of thought at this moment.
TAP - TAP - TAP
Marcos' digit taps away at the skull of the Vasto Lorde. A skull in perfect condition, if not a bit too thick for his own good. Seemingly in a pair, the cat glitches about in odd bouts of movement or no movement at all. The display put on before Helliodoro is unique and this simple minded creature, is entirely lost, he lose focus on the reason why he set foot on Las Noches once more.
”Hold up, Hold up...who are you? Did Maxy promise you a squishy thing too?!”
As Marcos speaks, the words reach Helliodoro, the only reply the Primera espada gets however are blank stares and confused blinks. One question has an obvious answer, the other not so much.
”Well get in line bastardo! No cutsies!”
The man now snarls, less like a man and more like a beast as that maw snaps. It is only then that some clarity returns to Hellidoro. The flow of words and fluctuating position of Marcos rattled the dullard's mind. The snap of the shutting jaws, clears the fog. His head shakes from side to side as if to disperse physical, real fog as the immense purple mane of his sways with the motions.
"Who the fuck are you!? And what squishy thing!?"
Just as he has done countless times before, the Sun's voice raises once more. Mixed in now with the rage, there is an intense confusion regarding the one that stands before him.
"Why are there two of you!?! Why won't you stop moving and if you're not gonna stop, get out of my way!"
All he has are questions and In truth, there is very little that can be explained that would make sense in his mind, not only that, Helliodoro does not intend to stand around and listen.
Mere moments after his barrage of questions, he takes his first step, followed by the second and more, intending to continue up the stairs and at that, ignoring the cat in his path. Each step of his is documented in the landscape as the surfaces he steps on are burnt to nothing. Marcos would either move or be walked through, literally.

 

[BSD]

It was as if every word he spoke to him was an insult to him, Izeel indeed possessed the knowledge and equipment, along with the wherewithal as well as the cognitive common sense lacking by some of their other peers. Clearly both beings are driven by different things, one craved knowledge in the pursuit of preserving and advancing the race of Hollows as a whole at the back of the God-King wishing to see what world would be created in his image. While the other….was it clear on what his goals were? Does Abraam have selfish goals such as his peers? It would have yet to be seen from the seemingly mild mannered and most particularly agreeable Arrancar within Las Noches' walls. However, that does indeed come with a price. A special tax anyone and everyone has to pay when employing his services or help, except in cases where his own goals and aspirations are concerned. These are the only times he acts for himself, very slothful in this way, but he gathers more information and wisdom in this way as opposed to being the first to charge in and learn the hard way. He felt Max's presence closing in quickly as he and Izeel spoke, although it wasn't his Forte Abraam could feel, the Sonìdo of the God-King was surely something to be marveled at. His own Pesquisa and radar clashing against the very King of the White Sands. It felt as though they stared each other in the eyes, though they stood on opposite ends of the palace. He stared blankly into Izeels eyes as he came to interrupt the lizard like Arrancar.
"First off let me stop you there poor misinformed soul, I successfully managed to create what I seek, but yes our fearless leader do share the same interest in this device. I heard your attempt was thwarted by some strange mock soul of a creature...maybe a mod soul perhaps or some type of sentry constructed. Again correction I am not just ‘more than capable enough with technology’ as you crudely put it, I am an unrivaled genius when it comes to anything this world has to offer for me to dissect bit by bit."
Normally, he'd be taken aback by such a blatantly worded comment, however, he noticed that Izeel felt as though his intellect was inferior just sheerly based on the words spoken and utilized by the Arrancar. His own facial expression changes none and neither his body language, but takes in every ounce of Izeels personality and mannerisms. Abraam made the choice of making himself seem foolish and unambitious towards him as it could prove to be a difficult obstacle to navigate later on should he have to change his approach. He couldn't help but separately eye the corpse of his mistress just strewn about in the lab, he also wasn't particularly sure if she would have wanted in such a dire and deathly situation. She certainly died as she lived, with a pop. But he was certain of one thing. But he would have to tell her that face to face should she survive the Mad Scientists experiments beyond this day, this hellish day. Carrying on where Izeel had cut him off, Abraam simply smiled and played the part I'd fool since he was already apparently doing it so well, and not to his surprise the offer made to the scientist was taken in full harmony. But not without his own choice words of course.
"Despite your lack of insight on who it is you are truly speaking with and constantly insulting my intelligence, I can at least see you are not just some simple mindless imbecile. What you speak of is already accomplished. We will form an alliance to help each other achieve what they desire the most. I am bewildered you even know what the Hogyoku is called, but let me be clear to you it is insulting to refer to this miracle as some simple device."
Oddly enough, the patch-worked face of the Arrancar looked ironically genuine after agreeing to ally himself with the former Fifth of the Ten Swords. Sticking out his hand in what would appear to be a handshake motion, Abraam with his own hands tucked into his pockets and looking down in confusion. What was he supposed to do with this? Did he expect to shake it? Was this supposedly omnipotently intellectual being before him reducing his magnificent words and action down to a mere handshake? Hypocrisy certainly exists in all forms, even in "superior" beings. Before Abraam could even react to the gesture in front of him, there appeared the ruler of Hueco Mundo. The King of Las Noches, and the God among all Hollows, his reiatsu filled the room and felt as though he was everywhere as his sonído crept up on both of the Arrancar within the lab. He carried the being he took his aggressions out on Elliora and then potentially Las Noches himself had Max not had stepped in and saved his home. Abraam has felt this similar aggressive energy from him a century prior, nothing good ever came from it as it signified the King's disapproval of what he sees of his own army. Wasting little time voicing his own curiosities, he quickly and sternly addressed everyone present within the laboratory.
"Izeel, give me a reason why you dare think it is a good idea to save the lives of the weak and why you think I should let her continue to live even after being defeated. Abraam, don’t say a word or I’ll kill you and her both. You weak little drones follow her as some sort of queen, forgetting you owe your allegiance to your God.”
He only merely looked blankly at the king and analyzed the words that were spoken to him directly. Should he answer not in defense of Elliora, or just not say a word period? Regardless of that fact, he truly thought that the God-King walked into the tail end of a conversation which was ultimately about advancing his position and goals. However, he glanced back at Izeel, then Elliora's corpse and then finally at the ball of meat within the palm of his ruler's hand. Sighing then shrugging, he would soon bow to Max from where he stood, then used his Camouflage and removed himself from the laboratory, without saying a single word. He decided not to stick around for Izeel's answer and utilized his Sonìdo with great effect to wait at the entrance of the lab. There was clearly nothing to even be said on the topic, and he the King would simply just disregard his presence entirely. Spurring no winds or alerting those around him that his presence was indeed gone. Regardless of what he would have or might have said, it would've resulted in his death, Izeel should know to carry out their discussion without any repercussion of whether or not he shook his hand. He simply waited in the doorway with his back turned to the situation should it go south. As if it could get any more weighty.

 

[BSD]

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Pushing everyone into a metaphorical corner Max waits for Izeel’s response for why Elliora still lives. Taking the hint, Abraam leaves the room seeking to preserve his own existence over Elliora’s. Now only two lives sit in the palm of the scientist’s hands and with a devastating Bala being prepared he will have to strike true with his words in order to convince Max to stall his rage. Then finally he begins to speak and when he starts, he does not stop.
“My reasoning on why I put a value on saving her life is simple, despite her loss against the hands of the monstrosity, is her life still serves a purpose one way or another. As for how she stands yes she was weak against this new threat, but against an army of Shinigami or Quincy, she still serves a valuable purpose in the grand scheme of things. We have already shown our hand to our enemies on the procuring of the Soul King’s blood, and our enemy is now fully aware we are a threat to be reckoned with. I assure you while we had hundred years to prepare so did the opposing sides; Shinigami, Quincy, Fullbringers, and those who called hell their home the Togabito. Even the weak can be used properly to further your plans be it causing distractions in a game of misdirection, a sacrificial pawn to obtain something of greater value in return, or with proper technique, you can easily manipulate her impulsiveness by presenting her a new shiny toy you want dealt with in one form or another….

Maximiliano is instantly reminded by another Arrancar who is no longer with them, a man who spoke often, always having something to say but never really saying anything, from Max’s perspective anyway. A flurry of words assault his ears, word after word, sentence after sentence reverberating off of his ear drums as he now starts to think about just killing Izeel for his word vomit. Perhaps it’s in the nature of a scientist to speak in such a way or maybe it is something else?
”... It is why the Espada amasses Fraccion of their own to follow them, why you assembled the Espada, and many other rulers all do the same. There will always be somebody stronger but in the end, it’s not about who is the strongest or weakest, but their potential to overcome their shame of defeat to grow much stronger than they were before. Weakness is the failure to achieve one’s potential and remains in a pathetic state becoming forgotten by history. That is what it really means to adapt, evolve, and strive. Since I joined your ranks and offered my services I have never lost sight of what is important, how to best bring our race where it belongs in history. As of now this specimen on the medical table still serves that purpose where she is more useful alive than dead. We are fighting a multi-dimensional war on many fronts, and we will be the ones to come out victorious.”
Ramblings of a Mad Man
It is not as if the words are going into one ear and out the other, he listens to every word and understands them. Then without warning the Bala is let loose, destroying the wall above Elliora but sparing her life in the process. Followed up by this is laughter, the God King laughing hysterically at Izeel so much so tears well up in his eyes. He wipes his eyes with his free hand with a smile returning to his face.
”Settle down amigo, there wasn’t a single break in your words there. Assaulting me with such a long spiel about things I already know, are you so terrified that you missed the point of my words?”
Max begins to walk around the lab, looking at the different odds and ends, giving himself, and indirectly Kassius, a tour of this Arrancar’s place of work. He even picks up a few things here and there to closely observe them.
”Being weak is bad enough but to be weak and defeated is even worse, on my scale their value is already so low as it is and to add on defeat to that drops them even lower, so low they fall off of my radar. Hmm, that one Arrancar you traveled with to the human world… Which one was it now? The one with blue hair or was it the weird one who always hid? Heh, see, I can’t even recall their names and barely any distinction between the two of them.”
He continues the tour, slowly making his way back towards the scientist while taking another moment to lean in close to look at some vials of liquid. He raises a brow inquisitively then raises up to walk away from them.
”An army of weaklings can be felled by a single strong warrior. Cabrón, the numbers advantage will NEVER beat skill. While she was strong, she only appeared that way due to those who worshiped and followed her. She seemed untouchable and there were none who dared challenge her in fear of the lackeys who may interfere. Her only feat I witnessed was her killing my friend Aragon. And did you never look closely at her tattoo? Three zeros, Arrancar with triple digits are Privaron Espada. Put two and two together Scientist, the woman was a former Cero, so that begs the question, what happened to the current? Most likely died during the Shattered Dimensions event, no doubt, leaving the position vacant and open for her to take once again. Why did I never challenge her or call her out then? I was hoping you lot would be smart enough to do it yourselves. I guess I'll have to be more hands on with the ranks than I originally thought, with that being said...."
He holds Kassius up into the air to bring more direct attention to him.
"By my decree, this ball of meat in my hand will become the new Cero Espada.”
He lowers the ball and continues the tour, picking up a scalpel, looking at the edge of the blade and wondering how sharp it is. To sever flesh so easily, much easier than any sword it should be able to cut through Hierro then, right? Of course not, it is not a weapon but that doesn’t stop the God King from trying, running the blade along his index finger with the end result dulling the scalpel. He makes no expression on the results since it was one he expected but it never hurts to try such a thing. Not being privy to the ways of science this place was like a world of wonders for him to observe and explore, for the time being at least.
”As for those we are fighting well, heh, we are only fighting ourselves right now amigo, we have yet to declare war on another race so what fronts do you speak of? The defeat of you lot in the living world worked to our advantage, the strongest among you was that one Arrancar and his whales. If the Shinigami saw us as a threat they would have descended upon us already.”
He completes his tour and approaches Izeel, leaning in close before speaking with a low menacing tone in his voice.
”And for the record, there is no one stronger than me, for the past one hundred years I have ruled at the top as the absolute strongest. Not even this lump of meat in my hands, that was born today, could topple me. Although, he gave me quite the fright hehe.”
He readjusts his posture to stand at his full height once more, taking one more look around the lab. His eyes finally fall back upon Izeel. It seems like his earlier outburst of laughter brought him back to his senses, leveled him out mentally and emotionally. Izeel, without realizing it, quelled the God King’s rage.
”Now, make haste with the containment preparations, on top of that I’ll need a specially created Caja Negación that can keep this behemoth contained when I need to transport him somewhere. There are things I wish to do other than babysit this monster. Lastly, where is the Hogyoku casing you were tasked to create, I’d like to see it.”

 

[BSD]

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Helliodoro and Marcos, on the surface seem like minded. They are perceived as fools, ignorant, nuisances in their own right. The Espada rambles on, it is his own perceived notions on his fellow Arrancar’s actions and motives that leads him to his baseless accusations. Helliodoro is forced to stare blankly, for him Marcos is a new entity. The Vasto Lorde has been faced with those proud and powerful, those careful, timid and weaker than himself. But what of Marcos? What of the Primera Espada? Marcos does not shrink from the seemingly overwhelming presence of the wild Arrancar who ever only operates off of instinct and ignorance, nor does he seem to be trying to overwhelm, overpower or intimidate the Vasto. There exists no sense of weakness wafting off his being, nor is there a sense of pride and arrogance often found within the strong...or, those who at least perceive themselves to be strong.
Marcos’s words, actions and behavior serve only to confuse and further agitate the irritable fool of an Arrancar. He shakes his head to ground his mind and thoughts that had been unconsciously drifting from him, heavy mane swaying, growing slightly wilder and more disheveled from the action before the man bellows out in his annoyance.
"Who the fuck are you!? And what squishy thing!?"
.
.
.
Hellidoro’s enraged voice bellows out, and for a moment Marcos seems taken aback. The Espada appears stunned as he stares blankly at the Arrancar, he who would claim himself to be the sun of Hueco Mundo. Marcos hiccups, his body blurring for a moment as his eye twitches. His body is now repositioned as if it has always been that way, bladed towards the Arrancar with his right shoulder leaned in, his left shoulder angled behind him — it was as if he was attempting to see if he had heard correctly. A single brow is cocked, one eye widened more than the other, the blank stare shifting into confusion, and from confusion-
"Why are there two of you!?! Why won't you stop moving and if you're not gonna stop, get out of my way!"

-into rage.
As Helliodoro takes his first step the Espada’s spiritual pressure detonates like a bomb, exploding from his person to encompass himself, Helliodoro and the space around them by several dozen meters. Helliodoro takes another step and the Primera’s reiatsu ripples out further as the ground beneath the Arrancar’s feet are burnt away. With each step Marcos’s eyes widened, his face growing more distorted by his blatant anger, his breathing heavy evident by the heaving of his chest. How dare he! He really asked who he was? HIM?!
The Primera was seething with rage, as if everyone by now should know who he is, despite the Espada having honestly only actually met a few individuals, let alone announced he was an Espada. His pupils along with the slit in the jewel of his sheathed zanpakuto appear to grow increasingly more dilated.
With every step Helliodoro does not appear to be making any leeway in drawing closer towards the entrance of Las Noches, let alone Marcos himself.
STEP
The heat surrounding the Arrancar appears scorching and intense.
STEP
Marcos’s reiatsu swarms around them and along the steps of the massive Las Noches both behind him and before him.
STEP

With the next step taken Helliodoro should find a new induction to his persons, an extra appendage protruding through his chest. It is a limb that does not belong to him. Further observation would show it to be one that shares a striking resemblance to the arm belonging to none other than Marcos himself. A look at his bladed form behind him, shows the Espada is missing an arm from the rest of his body. Perhaps it is during his distorted movements that he left the limb behind, knowing the Primera he is ever one for pulling pranks. It is only when Helliodoro announces he does not know Marcos that his intentions turn more...hostile. Not unlike the Espada, Helliodoro is one who has not sacrificed to reinforce his Hierro, and despite his confidence in his speed it meant little while enveloped in a figurative bubble where depth, distance, timing were distorted. When adding the perplexity in the Primera’s rather bizarre movements, the advancing “Sun” that is Helliodoro is hard pressed in not only defending but properly reacting to the detached limb, with claw-like nails, their sharpness and durability seemingly comparable in power to a Captain’s released blade.
”DON’T ACT LIKE YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM PENDEJO!!!”
Marcos howls in rage, his reiatsu fluctuating violently in response, his spiritual double appearing to also be seething stomping furiously, the bodies of the two nearly intertwined giving the illusion of the Espada swaying back and forth to the point of creating a double. While Marcos had lashed out in anger, it was not done so with the intent to kill. No, the Espada even when faced against the former Godking, when battling against the former Primera has not shown or reflected a desire to actually kill. While one might interpret this to believe he is adverse to the thought of taking a life, or has no desire to kill...they would be incorrect. The reason no one has died at his hands thus far
Is because there hasn’t been anyone to play with the Cheshire grinning man long enough to die…yet. If Helliodoro truly wished to advance, he truly would need to go through Marcos somehow...or, like the Godking, divert the Primera’s attention elsewhere.

 

[BSD]

"Who the fuck are you!? And what squishy thing!?"
These words of Helliodoro are of the very same kind that might drive Helliodoro himself into a rage. To question who Helliodoro is, with such aggression in their tone. These are the words of a fool that angers a fool in return.
"Why are there two of you!?! Why won't you stop moving and if you're not gonna stop, get out of my way!"
Again the sun howls into the deserts, the same aggressive nature that fills his action backs these words. By this time, the very essence of the Primera Espada seems to have given way to something else entirely. Previously he was upset at the raucous presence of Helliodoro, seemingly having prematurely awoken the cat. Now the inconvenienced Marcos is filled with rage. The reasons for Marcos' fury are about as warranted as Helliodoro’s own anger.
As Helliodoro takes his first step and without warning the unpredictable Marcos unleashes a torrent of reiatsu that assaults and batters the mostly blank scenery. Whites, purples and pinks fill the surrounding area and with that, this impressive explosion of power shifts Helliodoro's one track mind onto a different target. In that moment the Amber hues of the Sun narrow and become fixated on the blade like pupils of the Cat.
As though to mimic the actions of the Feline Arrancar, the instant his foot makes contact with the sands, a solar flare erupts from the star. Washing out over the same expanse that Marcos inflicts his punishment, and further a bit further still. Not as a wave but as a constant radiating inferno. The maddening aura enforced by Marcos is turned to nothing as the searing heat consumes the desert in its stead, doomed to the same fate as the sands below and the steps ahead, either that or the Arrancar fights back to sustain his maddening presence. Then there is Marcos himself, and his arm of course. The Primera is fated to suffer the same fate as everything else surrounding him, or perhaps those near peerless regenerative abilities of his would leave him to endure what should be death after death.
"MOOOVEEEEEEE!!!
In tandem with his second step and the unleashed fury of the fiery Vasto Lorde, he let's out an enraged roar, a single word. Depending on how you look at it, he either screams at himself, at Marcos or at both. Helliodoro is a simple creature but not simple enough to miss that his first two steps felt pointless, without any forward motion, something he is far too familiar with to miss out on. Was it ignorance that fueled the cat or perhaps his own lies that allowed him to proceed how he pleases? Regardless of the truth, he is a puzzling figure to most and completely dumbfounding to Helliodoro. This confounding nature of the Cat and his intent to stop him from reaching the Palace above feed into the bubbling anger beneath the surface.

STEP
The third step launches Helliodoro towards Marcos with a blazing speed, free of the confusing Reiatsu of the Espada, he finds himself moving forward as is normal. With his permanent scowl adorning his bronzed face, now there is an even greater intensity to his expression. His right hand clamps inwards into an impossibly tight fist. The left hand cups a hovering orb of light that crackles with spiritual energy, the intensity of the light and the energy gathered within the orb growing immensely with every passing moment. The clenched fist is driven towards Marcos' ribs, with a curling trajectory. The already muscular arm of the Vasto Lorde almost seems to expand as skin becomes taut against muscle and vein, that limb becoming a vessel for but a portion of the brutality he intends to inflict upon the supposed God-king.
On impact, the raging fist shatters to pieces and burns away the resilient Hierro of the Primera Espada. Helliodoro is capable of impossible feats of speed, but only a fool would assume that his strength anything less than titanic. Following the fall of the armour is the flesh, bone and organs beneath. Like a red-hot spear, what ever enters the path of Helliodoro’s fist is torn asunder or turned to ash. And much like a delayed reaction, it is only after his fist stops its forward momentum that a shockwave rockets outward, upheaving sand and stone out like a tsunami of rubble. Either the body of the Arracar sustains the damage and remains with a hand planted within their body, or they are blown apart in wake of the violent force.
Even in the moments following the crash, his eyes do not leave that of Marcos', his focus remains and on the one that robbed it. As dust settles in their surroundings, there is no faltering in the layer of intensely hot Reiryoku that covers him, nor in the Reiatsu that burst forth and remains as an emanating force. As the dust settles, still a growing conglomerate of energy remains in his free hand, thrumming with power previously untapped.