[BSD-RP] The Valley of Screams
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Shinigami
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Maho Stepped out into the Valley of screams along Side Captain Higen. The constant patter of feet hobbling across the barren surface was the only noise between them. He kept his steps in near unison, enough so that he never had his back to him. To that same point, he hadn't at any point been at Higen's back either. Side by side. They had been lucky enough to not have passed through the dangai, the black butterflies had done their jobs, thankfully. He was barefooted for comfort; His hands were resting comfortably in his pockets. His eyes scanned the rocky terrain. He was unnecessarily calm, even with the danger of traveling here. Despite the ease in his posture, he was entirely on guard. He marched approximately fifteen feet apart from Higen to his left. His senses were rarely as acute as they were here and now. He hadn't even brought a smoke along, wanting full concentration. Maho was more than willing to put the smoke down if something was important enough, contrary to popular belief. He took long clear breaths as he walked onward, not allowing a single change in spiritual pressure to allude him. And by that same token, he allowed no rapid changes in his own energy.
in...out
in...out
Each step brought them further and further from where they had crossed realms. He allowed his mind to momentarily think back to the challenge he had previously overcome. Saving the lives of all those who had been falsely accused due to mysterious hollows powers. he garnered enough notoriety that he was recognized as worthy of a captain's seat, that is if he could take it. There were no easy means of becoming a captain. The job was monumental in importance, and it was imperative that those who entered be pushed to their absolute limits. They would have to face a currently seated member in unrestrained combat. It made sense, despite the brutality of it. In order to preserve a balance between the realms of the living and the dead, one must be strong...
simple as that.
Maho was a modest Five-Foot-Eleven in comparison to the gargantuan Higen. Almost a Seven-footer. *whistle* His wingspan must be over Seven feet. Meaning his reach is even greater. I gotta fight that? Maho Silently observed the larger than life captain, gauging his overall physicality against his own. His locs hovered over his eyes, making it impossible to tell that his eyes were, as the streets called it, sizing up the opposition. Higen was a slightly more ancient one, Being Maho's Senior by nearly two hundred years. He surely had the strength to match that outrageous frame. Maho had an impressive display of muscle himself, for his size that was. if one without sufficient experience was to observe these two in a room together. Maho would look puny in comparison. Still, he is deceptively mighty for a young shinigami, having been praised for his impressive Hakuda aptitude. He had heard the rumors of Master Higen's Hakuda throughout the Seireitei, having seen it in action once or twice himself. Standing before it in this setting, was by far the most exhilarating. It made sense why they put him up against Higen. His only hope was that his hands would be enough to see him through this daunting endeavor. These doubts came and went like the seasons and in the end
he walked with his head held high.
Maho wore minimal clothing, just a sash, which he rarely ever removed, and his pants. His Zanpakuto, Ippai Kinzoku ( いっぱい金属, “Lit. Full Metal”) was a constant release type that could be manipulated at will. As such, its sword state is only a formality he employs for some unexplained reason. Currently, it was encased around his left arm, forming a gauntlet of sorts. Because what he creates is based entirely on his own imagination, there are intricate engravings along the surface. The black metal shimmered brightly as light danced along the length of his arm. On his right arm was a tattoo, one meant to match the dragon on his back. Today, the Dragon of Kojima would have his will tested, in order to see if he is worthy of becoming a captain of the Gotei Thirteen. He would only continue his strut so long as Higen did, stopping only when his senior saw it fit. Soon enough, the battle between the Soul Societies strongest martial artists would begin.
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Shinigami
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The lustrous rays beaming through the parted doors of the Senkaimon harbored two figures walking only feet apart. Their breath, at ease. Their pace, analogous. The massive brute condensed his strides to match that of his companion, leaving nothing to chance as they traversed planes. The bulk of both an index and middle finger rose gently against the lining of the infamous white coat, creating space between itself and the Shikashuhou. Wings, obsidian in hue, began to flutter silently from the Haiori’s interior, before expanding to their entireness. The `guides were imperative for avoiding the Dangai, a place frightening even to one as mighty as Higen. His Haiori wavered in an artificial gale, his arms crossed completely over a bulging chest. He cast’ a monstrous shadow that could fill this endless void, eyes veiled in deep azure scrutinizing every aspect of Mahō’s being as he crossed before him to acquire considerable distance. His stance—that of a titan—was stern and unmoving. A single breath was taken, louder than the others, bringing air into each nostril before expelling it with considerable force. The lids of his eyes closed in response, opening afterward in a slow, riveting fashion.
It was as if Mahō was brought into the realm of an animal, watching as it performed its ritual before a meal. Similar to how the male bucks flaunt their antlers, or an ape beats its chest; Higen’s very person was his own intimidation factor, his own display of unshakable dominance. Mahō—on the other hand—A man of average size, seemed tiny in comparison. Even so, the way he walked, the way he stood; Higen could easily identify the swagger of a fighter. A fighter he would have to be, there was no denying that. Few would dare step into a field such as this, with a man such as he, test or not. For his courage, Mahō had already acquired some manner of respect from his proctor. This transcended the term “test”, or “fight”. No, to Higen this was much more. Very few were more spirited towards the values of Soul Society’s prolific military or upholding its reputation in strength, than him. No, to Higen this was judgement, a true trial of one’s limits and their readiness to sacrifice. He’d find out how bad Mahō truly wanted this and test his resolve beyond measure.
A moment for the history books: Higen stood in full uniform; It was a special occasion, after all. His long-sleeve Haiori rested gently over his Shinigami garments, the insignia of Jūbantai (十番隊; Lit. “Squad Ten”) engraved into its back. A normal, black hakama trailed down his tower-like legs and lead to a pair of modern geta that sheltered a pair of feet covered in tight, white socks. A quick shift in position would reveal his zanpakuto, Hitsumishi (羊牛角石; Gem-Horned Ram) resting in the sash that sealed his hakama to his waist. Its hilt stood out in a vibrant, light emerald, an easily spotted contrast against the darkness of his attire. Bits of gold would begin peaking from behind the sash, shining radiantly without a single blemish or tarnish. When Mahō seemed situated, and the two were at least a good fifteen meters apart, Higen exhaled before his lips parted, allowing words to roll over his lips.
“Mahō, If you know anything of me at all, then you should know you don’t have to worry about hurting me. I’m not a fan of physical punishment or torture. With that said, deciding not to use the brunt of your might against me will be considered both of those things… approach me with your best, as that is the only thing I will accept.”
There was no lie to be told, nor were these statements a product of his own arrogance. As a proctor, and as a Captain, it is his responsibility to be as direct and informative as possible. Mahō’s very life could depend on it. Throughout the briefness that was his monologue he had proceeded to unclothe as he spoke. His Haiori was now folded into a perfect square, placed gently on the ground, and his Shikashuhou tumbled somewhere off into the distance. He slid his right foot slightly in front of his left in a slow, circular motion before stopping as his two feet were now at least three feet apart. His toes dug into his sandals, and his sandals dug into the ground. His slight barrel-chested frame caught light, not a single scar in sight, a rare occurrence in a profession such as his, and especially at his age. He brought two fists up to about shoulder height from their resting position at his sides. A serious, chiseled expression could still be identified beneath the entirety of his beard, his eyes now locking with Maho’s even through his dreaded bangs. Nothing else needed to be said, the test began now.
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The lustrous rays beaming through the parted doors of the Senkaimon harbored two figures walking only feet apart. Their breath, at ease. Their pace, analogous. The massive brute condensed his strides to match that of his companion, leaving nothing to chance as they traversed planes. The bulk of both an index and middle finger rose gently against the lining of the infamous white coat, creating space between itself and the Shikashuhou. Wings, obsidian in hue, began to flutter silently from the Haiori’s interior, before expanding to their entireness. The `guides were imperative for avoiding the Dangai, a place frightening even to one as mighty as Higen. His Haiori wavered in an artificial gale, his arms crossed completely over a bulging chest. He cast’ a monstrous shadow that could fill this endless void, eyes veiled in deep azure scrutinizing every aspect of Mahō’s being as he crossed before him to acquire considerable distance. His stance—that of a titan—was stern and unmoving. A single breath was taken, louder than the others, bringing air into each nostril before expelling it with considerable force. The lids of his eyes closed in response, opening afterward in a slow, riveting fashion.
It was as if Mahō was brought into the realm of an animal, watching as it performed its ritual before a meal. Similar to how the male bucks flaunt their antlers, or an ape beats its chest; Higen’s very person was his own intimidation factor, his own display of unshakable dominance. Mahō—on the other hand—A man of average size, seemed tiny in comparison. Even so, the way he walked, the way he stood; Higen could easily identify the swagger of a fighter. A fighter he would have to be, there was no denying that. Few would dare step into a field such as this, with a man such as he, test or not. For his courage, Mahō had already acquired some manner of respect from his proctor. This transcended the term “test”, or “fight”. No, to Higen this was much more. Very few were more spirited towards the values of Soul Society’s prolific military or upholding its reputation in strength, than him. No, to Higen this was judgement, a true trial of one’s limits and their readiness to sacrifice. He’d find out how bad Mahō truly wanted this and test his resolve beyond measure.
A moment for the history books: Higen stood in full uniform; It was a special occasion, after all. His long-sleeve Haiori rested gently over his Shinigami garments, the insignia of Jūbantai (十番隊; Lit. “Squad Ten”) engraved into its back. A normal, black hakama trailed down his tower-like legs and lead to a pair of modern geta that sheltered a pair of feet covered in tight, white socks. A quick shift in position would reveal his zanpakuto, Hitsumishi (羊牛角石; Gem-Horned Ram) resting in the sash that sealed his hakama to his waist. Its hilt stood out in a vibrant, light emerald, an easily spotted contrast against the darkness of his attire. Bits of gold would begin peaking from behind the sash, shining radiantly without a single blemish or tarnish. When Mahō seemed situated, and the two were at least a good fifteen meters apart, Higen exhaled before his lips parted, allowing words to roll over his lips.
“Mahō, If you know anything of me at all, then you should know you don’t have to worry about hurting me. I’m not a fan of physical punishment or torture. With that said, deciding not to use the brunt of your might against me will be considered both of those things… approach me with your best, as that is the only thing I will accept.”
There was no lie to be told, nor were these statements a product of his own arrogance. As a proctor, and as a Captain, it is his responsibility to be as direct and informative as possible. Mahō’s very life could depend on it. Throughout the briefness that was his monologue he had proceeded to unclothe as he spoke. His Haiori was now folded into a perfect square, placed gently on the ground, and his Shikashuhou tumbled somewhere off into the distance. He slid his right foot slightly in front of his left in a slow, circular motion before stopping as his two feet were now at least three feet apart. His toes dug into his sandals, and his sandals dug into the ground. His slight barrel-chested frame caught light, not a single scar in sight, a rare occurrence in a profession such as his, and especially at his age. He brought two fists up to about shoulder height from their resting position at his sides. A serious, chiseled expression could still be identified beneath the entirety of his beard, his eyes now locking with Maho’s even through his dreaded bangs. Nothing else needed to be said, the test began now.
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Shinigami
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There came a time eventually when Master Higen stood still, it took Maho by slight surprise. He leaped backward increasing the distance between them by a good extra fifteen feet, putting it at thirty. His feet skated across the ground's surface before coming to a halt. For some unspecified number of seconds, the two observed each other, that is until Higens voice broke through the veil of silence.
“Mahō, If you know anything of me at all, then you should know you don’t have to worry about hurting me. I’m not a fan of physical punishment or torture. With that said, deciding not to use the brunt of your might against me will be considered both of those things… approach me with your best, as that is the only thing I will accept.”
Afterward, the large Shinigami discarded his garments, then took on a combat stance, a fairly generic one, but a good stance all the same. Tch…Aint no openings was all that could come to mind upon initial inspection. Maho looked on with his usual shroud of apathy, or so many alleged of him upon a quick glance. His dry expression only made matters worse… yet if one could see the green hues beneath, ohh…what they would find but a pair of sharp jade daggers. His eyes were alive behind the shadows that shrouded his face. His gaze never once averted, even as his hands drew from the depths of his pockets in one fluid motion
In….out
In….out
This old fool really think Ima come here not fully prepared to throw the fair ones? Heh. He managed to keep his thoughts to himself, assuming that his little speech was a formality, or in his old mind, some sort of courtesy. Out of whatever respect or admiration, he did hold for his senior, his arms crossed in front of his pelvis. In one fluid motion, his arms thrust downward to his sides. His head bowed so that his face, lay adjacent to the floor.
” OSU!”
This was a martial arts expression that meant any number of things depending on context. He lingered in this position for several seconds, still on his guard, for beyond this moment lies, no room for formality.
He sprung upward to an upright posture; then one by one began to hop the tips of his toes.
Left
Right
Left
Followed by both at the same time. He kept a consistent rhythm as each of his joints loosened. He felt a surge of power flowing out of his vessel. His shoulders bounced; as his arms swayed freely. He maintained his controlled breathing, same as before. His locs sashayed about. A calm shroud of what felt like heat burst forth out of his body. His left leg swung upward on his final hop. Using this as his lead foot, he brought this foot down. There was initially no change, that is until he stepped forward once, causing a crack in the ground to form.
This truly was the first time in his life as a Shinigami that he allowed his energy to be…free.
Maho would lead with his left arm, having it bent at a near ninety-degree angle. His left palm was openly slightly. His right was bent similarly, though it hung adjacent to the first, the left. He kept his hands slightly open, not clenched too tightly, but not too open either. His eyes scanned from Higen’s shoulder to his lower arm then the upper arms and elbows. Down to his legs and knees. Each area a striking and defensive tool to be wary of.
That’s A solid stance. Going blow for blow with Master Higen could be dangerous. His reach is long, and them fists have got to hurt. Every strike I make will have to matter. I can’t waste any openings I create.
He allowed his spiritual pressure to erupt from his being, causing the stone beneath his feet to fracture ever so slightly in response to the heaviness of his energy. This stance remained for a second or so. His lips curled into a confident grin on his face as his voice erupted from his mouth directly in Captain Higen’s direction.
”IKUZO...! HIiiiiiiiiGEN SAMA!”
The gong was struck. His foot came hurling forward with the full brunt of his physical strength. The stone beneath his feet cracked and splintered. A massive plume of dust kicked up in response to this obscuring him from immediate view.
The distance between them was eliminated in a literal instant. Such surprisingly speed for one who had yet to utilize any Hoho. His movements were linear, in what most would call a suicide charge. it hadn’t seemed as though Maho would stunt or alter his momentum. As he barreled forward like ammo from a cannon, he came bursting through the dust with his arms crossed in an X shape. Both arms shimmered and reflected light, due to his zanpakuto casting itself around both arms. It took only a quarter of a second for Maho to be within a single foot from Higen's natural striking range.
Mid stride, Maho’s weight began to shift, ever so slightly as his feet came in contact with the ground, namely to his left leg. Though he could alter his course at any given moment, he was banking on his opponent’s confidence in their strength to remain still. Most likely he will go for the counter, there I will find a chance! was his initial assumption, though nothing was certain in battle, even after it occurred. Should Higen refuse to, “shake the spot” He would find that the sudden rush down would be unyielding. Being struck would mean having to take responsibility for an onslaught to which even Higen’s sculpted body would find unpleasant, to say the least. Maho knew not to place every egg he had in a single basket and so he kept his wits about him, his senses were peaked, focused on the oppositions spiritual pressure, ready to shift and sway beyond any dangers that lay ahead.
Maho Kojima had made the first move.
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Shinigami
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An eerie, encroaching silence enveloped the duo, inviting the sweet kiss of fists clashing to fill the Valley of Screams. He’d hoped his combatant hadn’t taken his words to heart; even if, it would be a testament to his own thin skin, something surely to be noted upon his examination. A second passed, then two, into three. Still, nothing. Osu!- The posture of the boy shifted; its stiffness converted to a fluid turbulence. Higen, a man of simplicity, held no interest in the flashiness that seemed to ooze from the pores of the youngster. Even so, his energy was invigorating; As more of it began to flow into the battlefield and even caused an upheaval of temperature Higen needed no adjustment. In fact, his expression remained the same, stale and unimpressed. He fed off his opponent’s excitement, however, and it was indication that his aforementioned spiel was taken with good faith. – Hmph. – His fingers fidgeted against his palms, anxious to meet flesh. The fancy footwork became old quickly, and could hardly keep Higen entertained through the seconds that it encompassed. Higen’s very own reiatsu could narrowly ever remain completely contained, a bit of it manifesting on a thin coat around his skin, even further reinforcing his armor. Its depth, on the other hand, was a different matter, enough to cause him to sink an entire foot deeper into ground, the presence of both his weight and spiritual pressure terraforming the area around him.
His eyes were still fixated upon Mahō, a tenuous gaze scanning endlessly around his person. They locked, engrossed with the black armament along his arm. Some sort of enhancement, he assumed. The thought was gone as fast as it came, only contributing to how careful he had already planned to be in avoiding his opponent’s strikes. IKUZO...! HIiiiiiiiiGEN SAMA! - There was no better indication that things were now underway. Higen remained completely still, in what Mahō would discover soon to be the Base Stance, something Higen would even share with the boy had he performed adequately. Lessons were to be taught here, and this was the first. To truly be deemed masterful, you must first understand that your stance needs to reflect an opposing force. There is no room for weakness in a fighter that knows to strike like a crashing wave, flow like a roaming wind, and burst violently like an insatiable flame at any given time. The participant exploded into battle, a coat of dust swallowing him whole for hardly a second. Despite vanishing from view, Higen had never lost him. After all it was impossible to ignore such potent spiritual energy. Mahō emerged, exemplifying an incredible foot speed, or at least a powerful first step.
It would be shocking to most, probably, but there was no way that they would pair Higen with anyone that couldn’t even slightly keep up with him physically.
His perception acted swiftly, immediately gathering the smaller man as he appeared from the cloud of dust. At first glance, the most perturbing detail was a second armament on his other arm, which brought a brief spell of internal confusion onto the man. Now he could appropriately take his stance. With little to no regard to what exactly his opponent was attempting to perform in his opening strike, Higen would spring into action near-instantaneously. In a volant moment, his right foot slid in the same circular motion as before, clockwise, to shift behind the left foot indefinitely. The left foot, unmoving, took a pivotal role. Concurrently—in one gentle, fluid drift, the entire right side of his body followed suit, almost making him completely adjacent to Mahō; the two of them resembled vehicles preparing for collision in an intersection of adjacent roads. His right arm extended slightly behind him now, his elbow creating the proper one-hundred-and-thirty-degree angle. The left fist never changed but would only propel slightly forward as his waist twisted and his shoulder bucked. Redolent of the famous “One-inch-Punch", an inexplicable amount of force was conjured in just that small movement.
From the base of Higen’s fist would come a wide-arcing, momentous shockwave that would—at such a small distance—attempt to collide with the opposition and send him flying backwards to recreate the former spacing between them. Unfamiliar with the boy’s durability, the shockwave was enough to cause an uproar of rock and stone far greater than either two of them had up to now, to put its magnitude into perspective.
Higen wasn’t holding back, but things still could have been much worse for Mahō had he been a millisecond slower. Reiryoku began to fester and coil in the base of both Higen’s hands, more so in the right than the left; He’d assume the boy was crafty and would prepare accordingly. Completely different than his base stance, Higen’s extremities would be more untethered. His footing inclined to shift at a moment’s notice, each joint loose and free. The area of focus for Higen were the oddities on Mahō’s arm, though he was no stranger to the thought of oncoming kick in a bordering future.
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An eerie, encroaching silence enveloped the duo, inviting the sweet kiss of fists clashing to fill the Valley of Screams. He’d hoped his combatant hadn’t taken his words to heart; even if, it would be a testament to his own thin skin, something surely to be noted upon his examination. A second passed, then two, into three. Still, nothing. Osu!- The posture of the boy shifted; its stiffness converted to a fluid turbulence. Higen, a man of simplicity, held no interest in the flashiness that seemed to ooze from the pores of the youngster. Even so, his energy was invigorating; As more of it began to flow into the battlefield and even caused an upheaval of temperature Higen needed no adjustment. In fact, his expression remained the same, stale and unimpressed. He fed off his opponent’s excitement, however, and it was indication that his aforementioned spiel was taken with good faith. – Hmph. – His fingers fidgeted against his palms, anxious to meet flesh. The fancy footwork became old quickly, and could hardly keep Higen entertained through the seconds that it encompassed. Higen’s very own reiatsu could narrowly ever remain completely contained, a bit of it manifesting on a thin coat around his skin, even further reinforcing his armor. Its depth, on the other hand, was a different matter, enough to cause him to sink an entire foot deeper into ground, the presence of both his weight and spiritual pressure terraforming the area around him.
His eyes were still fixated upon Mahō, a tenuous gaze scanning endlessly around his person. They locked, engrossed with the black armament along his arm. Some sort of enhancement, he assumed. The thought was gone as fast as it came, only contributing to how careful he had already planned to be in avoiding his opponent’s strikes. IKUZO...! HIiiiiiiiiGEN SAMA! - There was no better indication that things were now underway. Higen remained completely still, in what Mahō would discover soon to be the Base Stance, something Higen would even share with the boy had he performed adequately. Lessons were to be taught here, and this was the first. To truly be deemed masterful, you must first understand that your stance needs to reflect an opposing force. There is no room for weakness in a fighter that knows to strike like a crashing wave, flow like a roaming wind, and burst violently like an insatiable flame at any given time. The participant exploded into battle, a coat of dust swallowing him whole for hardly a second. Despite vanishing from view, Higen had never lost him. After all it was impossible to ignore such potent spiritual energy. Mahō emerged, exemplifying an incredible foot speed, or at least a powerful first step.
It would be shocking to most, probably, but there was no way that they would pair Higen with anyone that couldn’t even slightly keep up with him physically.
His perception acted swiftly, immediately gathering the smaller man as he appeared from the cloud of dust. At first glance, the most perturbing detail was a second armament on his other arm, which brought a brief spell of internal confusion onto the man. Now he could appropriately take his stance. With little to no regard to what exactly his opponent was attempting to perform in his opening strike, Higen would spring into action near-instantaneously. In a volant moment, his right foot slid in the same circular motion as before, clockwise, to shift behind the left foot indefinitely. The left foot, unmoving, took a pivotal role. Concurrently—in one gentle, fluid drift, the entire right side of his body followed suit, almost making him completely adjacent to Mahō; the two of them resembled vehicles preparing for collision in an intersection of adjacent roads. His right arm extended slightly behind him now, his elbow creating the proper one-hundred-and-thirty-degree angle. The left fist never changed but would only propel slightly forward as his waist twisted and his shoulder bucked. Redolent of the famous “One-inch-Punch", an inexplicable amount of force was conjured in just that small movement.
From the base of Higen’s fist would come a wide-arcing, momentous shockwave that would—at such a small distance—attempt to collide with the opposition and send him flying backwards to recreate the former spacing between them. Unfamiliar with the boy’s durability, the shockwave was enough to cause an uproar of rock and stone far greater than either two of them had up to now, to put its magnitude into perspective.
Higen wasn’t holding back, but things still could have been much worse for Mahō had he been a millisecond slower. Reiryoku began to fester and coil in the base of both Higen’s hands, more so in the right than the left; He’d assume the boy was crafty and would prepare accordingly. Completely different than his base stance, Higen’s extremities would be more untethered. His footing inclined to shift at a moment’s notice, each joint loose and free. The area of focus for Higen were the oddities on Mahō’s arm, though he was no stranger to the thought of oncoming kick in a bordering future.
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