[BSD-RP] The Valley of Screams

[Shinigami]

The last thing to grace his vision was a flash of green and silver. Despite the brief inkling of pain—something inconceivably foreign to him—the whole exchange was rather.. beautiful. An opponent hadn’t made him feel this way in several decades. The will. The passion. It was exhilarating, euphoric. His body was thrown backward from the force conjured in the heat of battle. Each of his limbs twisted to regain his center of balance, his fingers—like claws—splitting the stony clod created by the force of their energy, the grime and muck skulking beneath his fingernails. His favorite sandals, shredded to their base form of quilted wheat, no long supporting his weight. His strength caused the ground to rupture in response to his sharpened skin sliding against the rough terra.
The Valley of Screams would condemn them for this day, with each earth-splitting wave of energy dissecting the dimension and its innards. Higen’s attempts to stand his ground ultimately failed, the state of his body and his location in comparison to a few seconds ago were proof enough. The tarnished side of his figure caught his gaze, acting as the catalyst to an unforgiving grimace.
My- .. My skin! My beautiful skin!!!!! His eyes widened as he fell completely to his knees, consumed in agony. No.. this cannot stand. It can’t.. It- It couldn’t possibly be permanent.. the quicker I get back to the Fourth Division the less chance there is for this to be unfixable. The sight of possible scarring to the adonis’ perfect image was worse than anything Young Maho could make him feel. The spew of lights had barely subsided, yet he struggled to focus on anything but the peeling black flakes that slowly scraped away at the surface of his skin. I’ve seen more than enough.. His thoughts entrapped him, and the moment the dust would begin to blow away Maho’s frame could be seen limping toward him from the opposite direction, his figure emerging from the cloud of dust like a victorious hero. Maho Kojima hm..? you couldn’t tell that he was impressed by his face, but inside he was accepting young Maho under his tutelage. Despite Higen’s age and experience in comparison to the testee, he still viewed him as an adversary without the slightest bit of bias.
Realizing that sitting there frail and somber wouldn’t fix his skin any sooner, he rose to his full height. His senren, along with the Gakepuchii fading into his interior. Blood trailed down the side of his lip, his only good hand rising to wipe the red from his mouth. He’d slowly inch towards Maho, who he’d hoped wouldn’t instinctively attempt to release an unrelenting barrage at the old man once more. He had spent the day taking advantage of his languid, less agile nature after all. As a precaution, he’d yell out.
Young Maho! I have seen enough today. Come now, there is much to discuss.
He made sure not to wear how impressed he was on his face or lose the professionality in his tone. Each piece of the land had been damaged beyond repair, besides one. Little. Spot. His Haori remained folded in a perfect square on an untouched patch of dirt. He limped toward it, hoping Maho was in close proximity. He dusted it off so that it returned to its former ivory, slinging it over his shoulder as the butterfly that lead them there fluttered its way back to land on the nest that his head had become. The sliding doors of the senkaimon revealed a light of insatiable luminance, casting the duo’s silhouette across the rubble.
The Prodigious Dragon and the Shining Knight.. what future would come of the pair? What bond was created from the blows exchanged today? One thing was for sure, soul society and its dominion were to be protected by two pairs of undaunting fists.

 

[Shinigami]

護廷十三隊

 

[Shinigami]

So it was finally time, there was no backing out, no rethinking the situation, now or never. He was well aware that now was not the time to doubt himself or reconsider the situation he had gotten himself into, of his own volition, yet he couldn’t help but do exactly that. Would he do well or simply embarrass himself, he didn’t need more fuel to ridicule himself, that was for sure. A deep inhale through the nose, three seconds and an exhale through the mouth for another 3 seconds following that. A momentary pause followed by a repeat of this breathing pattern, this would go on up until the very point where he would face his opponent for this trial and continuing into the actual combat itself. An attempt at keeping himself both relaxed and focused on the task at hand.
From within the Senkaimon he had taken to reach this desolate pocket of space, the wooden framed paper doors would open to reveal the landscape. Barren, as expected of a place with such a name as it’s own. As far as they eye could see, a stoney surface that formed the floor on which they would fight upon. The skies above, unexpectedly contrasted the bleak landscape below, they were a soft blue tone, littered only by a few puffy clouds that lazily traversed their seemingly endless home, a sight that would calm most individuals. As his feet departed from the comfort of the Senkaimon’s basic but humble interior, he would be embraced by, nothing. Nothing pleasant anyway. Adorned by nothing but his usual, run of the mill Shinigami Uniform, his rings and the sash that carried his Zanpakuto, he was almost ready to go into combat, physically anyway. His mentality was a whole different one of course, but once again he had no plans of backing out either! Alongside his less than intimidating composure, there was something that perhaps was even less fear inducing, his height. For someone of his age, to be stood at only five feet and four inches, it was down right hilarious to most, especially when in combination with his constant expression of exhaustion. Clearly visible bags under his eyes and eyes that seemed to only open half way for most of the time, matched with his stark white hair, eyebrows and unruly thick eyelashes, he seemed as if he was just sickly. He would not even remotely fit the description most would give when thinking of a Captain of a division, much less of the 11th! Though, perhaps his Zanpakuto would make up for it, being a full five feet in length, it nearly matched it’s wielders height and while it might have been threatening itself, once again, in his hand it just seemed goofy.
In comparison to who he was meant to be meeting and being tested against, Nibui’s appearance was that of a harmless child perhaps. Kyomu Mukuro, a man known specifically for his efficiency and skill in the arts of stealth, assassination and in general, a force to be reckoned with. As was expected of a Captain of the second division. Nibui was never hopeful, but there was always a drive to succeed. Only few steps from where he had initially entered the Valley of Screams, he had stopped dead in his tracks. Feet firmly planted to the solid ground beneath him, his breathing seemed to grow in intensity, almost palpable. He had no intentions of ridding himself of his Reiryoku restrictions for the time being, after all, even with such limiters, he was still very much at a similar range as any Captain. Just as it was with every other waking day of his life, he couldn’t hide himself and would not even pretend to try, the Reiryoku that emanated from his body was of great density and vigorous.
Soon enough the Shinigami had found himself with his blade drawn, both hands firmly clasped around the hilt of the blade, the left hand to the lower half of the hilt, nearing the very edge of it, whilst his right hand remained on the upper half. The blade itself remained at a downward angle whilst being pointed out behind him. Much like the environment he occupied, he was motionless, ready to proceed. Calming himself with his breathing, all the while, a whisper had begun to chatter in the back of his mind, which of course was as helpful as one might imagine. Jubokko (樹木子, "Tree Child") was a demented thing after all, growing excited with the use of it in combat approaching.
As if speaking to someone just in front of him, in a hushed but audible tone he would finally speak.
”Come, let me prove myself once and for all.”

 

[Shinigami]

He could still remember the message relayed to him, orders handed down from the Head Captain himself. There was one who wished to wear the haori of Captain, for the Eleventh Division no less. He had narrowly passed his first assessment by the skin of his teeth to reach this mark. That was the first and the last miracle he would experience from this point forward.
Nibui, that was his name. A man, no...he was hardly such, a boy short in stature. Short, quiet, jittery and lethargic—and he was right in front of Kyomu. Captain Mukuro said not a word as they both traveled through the Senkaimon, the Jigokuchō (地獄蝶, "Hell Butterfly") glowing and fluttering up ahead, guiding the passengers within the bridge between worlds. Geta silently stepped in cadence with Nibui's own rather weak strides, pupiless eyes sizing the boy up as they traveled. His every movement muted, his presence non existent. Watching him it was difficult to tell if he was even breathing, his chest remained still, no signs of breath being taken in or expelled, his heart beat was incredibly weak. Even in the agonizing silence one needed to strain their ears to hear....no, even then it was lost to their ears.
BA-DUMP BA-DUMP BA-DUMP
It was there, just barely. With such youth, strength and vigor how did one operate with so weak a pulse? Yet, operate he did, and efficiently so. Reiatsu remained insulated and confined within the fabrics of his ensemble, the unique fibers that composed it restraining the Captain's power, what little could not be restrained was completely suppressed by his own subconscious will. The man was certainly like a Phantom, demanding a second look to confirm the man was even truly there. He gauged his examinee, still the proctor remained unimpressed. His posture, weak. Presence, weak. Amber painted hues glanced at the rings that adorned each finger of Nibui's hands. Given the boy's disposition and the quality of the rings, they were certainly not worn as a choice of aesthetics. He leafed through the information he had his subordinates gather about him, a sense of understanding glinting within his eye. Still, it was not enough to pique his curiosity, or rouse an iota of interest from the young Captain. The zanpakuto being toted on his back was just about equal in length to the boy's height, truly a sight to see. With Nibui being so short, and his sword being so long one dared wonder how exactly he would fight. No matter, the extra reach would be of little help to him. It posed no risk or danger to Kyomu.
The stylized paper doors of the Senkaimon began to open up ahead, blinding streaks of light piercing through marking their journey's end. Nibui was naturally the first to step through into the Valley of Screams. An interesting choice in naming, and appropriate for what would take place within the realm on this day—if Nibui did not concede, screams would certainly fill this Valley. As Nibui hopped out, so too did Kyomu. They landed in kind, Kyomu's landing as silent as his every move. Muted, completely. He continued to study the examinee, studying his erratic labored breaths. Still at the boy's back he watched as he drew his blade, had he been noticed? A second passed, and then another. Nibui's hold upon his sword grew stronger, firmer as he continued his ritualistic breathing exercise. No, it didn't seem to be the case, the boy was merely preparing. He was willing himself for the match to be had, mustering up a modicum of courage for the trial before him. How...inconsequential. It was far too late for false bravado. If he hadn't the courage, the strength of will at this point, he wouldn't find it in these last fleeting moments.
”Come, let me prove myself once and for all.”

He stood with arms folded, his face hardened in a mask of indifference, no — wait..there was a hint of annoyance within his eye. He still did not understand why it had to be him, of all people, of all available Captains. He wasn't suited for such tasks, he imagined either Captain Kagayaki or Captain Kojima would be a better suited match. Either would have been a more merciful option. Still, he had his orders, he would fulfill his duties, even at the cost of Nibui's life.
"You have nothing to gain, and everything to lose if you continue."
He finally spoke, calling out to the prospective Captain from nearly two meters behind him. He began to walk, circling around the shinigami towards his front, allowing the boy to properly face him. His strides remained steady, there was no urgency in his quiet steps as he maintained the same distance, only altering it once completely before him, increasing the space between them by another meter or so. Nibui was brandishing a rather long blade after all. Kyomu's own Zanpakuto, the unimposing looking Genzōken remained secured to his left hip, roughly 2.5 shaku long reflecting the appearance of a simple bokuton, it remained ever at the ready. His captain's haori was half worn, exposing his right arm and the right side of his chest completely. The haori housed the tools that were ever present upon his persons, the tools of trade for an assassin. Where Nibui stood at the ready, sword already drawn, Kyomu remained planted with arms crossed. With a cursory glance it was easy for one to assume his lack of stance and his folded arms would be an encumbrance to him should his opponent launch a sudden and preemptive attack. It was sound reasoning, but the quickest path to one's execution should they attempt to test those dark, cold waters.
"I will be frank, you're not ready. You believe yourself to be strong enough to overcome your own shortcomings, that if you simply don't give up and persevere some sliver of hope will present itself, or some chance opening will be revealed. Don't let your naivety be the death of you. Yield now, and you may yet leave this place unharmed, with your life still intact. If you choose to continue-"

His eyes narrowed into an intense stare, fixing the shinigami within his gaze.
"-I will cut you into so many countless pieces it will be impossible for even your spirit to reincarnate. Surrender, and leave now. Don't make me have to kill you."
It was unusual for the Captain to give an opponent a chance to surrender. True, he cared nothing for the boy's life...but the Gotei 13 still had need of personnel. As feeble as Nibui was, he could be of some use to the Seireitei. But...if the boy didn't even understand his own limits, and foolishly wished to charge ahead...then he would show to him the price for his recklessness. His hands finally unfolded gripping the handle of the bokuton secured at his side. With a swift pull the blade was revealed, instead of wood, cold steel glimmered in the light. Yes, Genzōken was certainly no bokuton, a common misconception on those unfamiliar with the man and his sword.

The blade was brought up, parallel to his chest, angled towards his opponent cloaked in doubt and uncertainty. Would he yield and live to fight and try another day...or would stubbornness override reason in the face of overwhelming odds? If he chose the former, that would be the end of it. Kyomu would say nothing of the matter, and think no less of the boy, sheathing his blade and escorting him back to the soul society. There was no shame in being a Vice-Captain or Third seat after all. If he chose the latter, then so be it. He would stay true to his words and deal with the aftermath once he returned. It was better to ask for forgiveness than permission after all.

 

[Shinigami]

There wasn’t much waiting to be done it seemed. To think that the Second Division’s Captain was this gifted at his art, it was most definitely impressive. But of course, what else could one expect of someone who had landed themselves in such a position? Even then, for a Captain of the Second Division, this display seemed to be a cut above the rest, different. This would be a troublesome encounter, that was for sure prior to this example of the Captain’s aptitude for his craft. Now? The challenge presented seemed to be a bit tougher of a climb than he had anticipated.
The first moment in which the Captain had spoken, most would have jumped, their heart skipping a beat, or more than that. Nibui was no exception, but, in the more or less controlled mental state of his, there was no reaction, just an acknowledgement of his presence. The very first thing said to Nibui by Kyomu, it left little impression, his own critiques of himself had already taken care of that area. Briefly following first contact, Nibui would be given his first chance to inspect who he was about to fight, in greater detail preferably. On first viewing, there was very little to note that would be of use later on, at least of what he could see. A relaxed posture with nothing to give away but a confirmation that he was in fact, as nicely as one could put it, rough around the edges. This was no bad day of his. Other than that, visually, there was not much. Audibly though, the lack of sound created in his movements was expected but once again, an issue for Nibui in the moments to come. And there it was again, the voice of the harsh Captain, once again with nothing new to say, all thought Nibui would have had at some point. Other than of course the clear and very real threat thrown his way, perhaps there was a bit more of emotion in this husk of a personality of the Captain’s. Not a positive emotion in any manner. A shame.
Nibui was not a man of many words, he did not have much to say in comparison to Kyomu, and what did come from him, it was as honest as possible, too honest in some cases.
“Nothing you’ve said is new. I will respect you due to your position and strength, but I dislike you.”
These were not words meant to do anything, simply his thoughts given a verbal form. Even if they were intended to harm the Captain’s ego or how he was feeling today, from what he could gauge, there would be very few people who could get such a reaction out of him.
Three meters between the two, it was a negligible distance. Taking from the fact that Kyomu had not made the first advance, it seemed it was down to him to do so. Continuing on his little breathing pattern, Nibui had taken the first step towards the Captain. Both of them, blades drawn and Nibui refusing to forfeit here, the inevitable outcome was now obvious. His advance was slow, considering the situation at least. It was a simple stride. One, two, three steps. Closing the distance down to half of its original size. One and a half meters between the two now. With a fourth and incomplete stride, his right foot would step forward, leaving his left behind. That half step would in turn reduce the distance between the two by a lesser amount, but enough. Taking a full two seconds to get to this he had placed himself at a now, meager meter and a quarter between the two, it was time to move into action.
At the very moment that right foot of his had made contact with the floor, not a streak of silver but rather, a flash. As if a refined bolt of lightning had struck at that very moment with Nibui’s motion, for most being perceived after that actual event had taken, their eyes picking up the seemingly lingering effect of the flash of silver a blade. From his arms original position, they had taken to action, in a single and pinpoint motion, his blade had been launched in an upwards diagonal arc. The trajectory of this mostly useless assault would have been targeted directly at Kyomu’s torso, crossing from his hip and upwards toward Kyomu’s closest arm to follow along the forearm, nearing the hand before ending it’s path. With how much of his blade was in range of Kyomu, in the unlikely case that this blade would make contact, it would leave little of a wound, a superficial cut. This was but a test to act as a control in this following occurrences. Regardless, the speed and power behind the swing were no joke Had he taken another step forward the aim would not have been a test but instead a complete bisection of the captain. This attempt at putting a mark on the Captain would not have moved past it’s mark at all, being halted at the very moment that it’s destination was met and within a similar scope of time as the ‘attack’, about a fifth of a second, his blade would have been retracted to his side once more, reverting to exact same stance he had taken moments before, his left foot also coming to the side of his right foot to stand straight once more.
Throughout this advancement of his, Nibui’s eyes had been completely focused on the man’s body. Feet, legs, arms, hands, torso, everything but the head. Watching such a blank stare from the Captain would be pointless and even if there was emotion behind that mask, there would still be little reason to focus on that as opposed to the body. There was little he could do without first witnessing the reactions of the Captain, though that would assumedly prove a harder task than one would hope. Meanwhile, Nibui’s expression and breathing had yet to change, he was dead-set in his ways and regardless of what the Captain had said, he would continue to the very until. Death would not come to either party this day and that was a guarantee.