Shinigami
Administrator
The steps of a titan severed the thick silence that swept through the Valley of Screams like a rogue tumbleweed. Although his mass was normal, his presence was simply forceful, as if he’d been a walking fortress of dead weight. Toes wiggled on the boundaries of socks dipped in alabaster, each strain of the fabric being pulled at by the split of his sandals. To everyone’s surprise, he’d been fully dressed; the black of his Shikashuhou and Hakama against the pearl of his Haori presented an irrefutable contrast. One look from head to toe and one could easily assume his Captain Status. Covered by the length of an unruly, fashioned ponytail was the Tenth Division’s insignia, worn proudly on the back of his coat. With the amount of solace he found in his duties it was better off tattooed into his flesh, though he refused to host such an imperfection.
Throughout the entirety of their journey here it had also been silence. The odd man—whom Higen had heard a bit about—seemed to stay to himself and his disguise. He could only wonder about the monstrosity that lay beneath. It was a natural curiosity after all; the garments of the candidate were completely unconventional, to say the least. Despite there not being a word of talking, Higen’s mind ran wild with thought, completely and utterly dissecting this man with his eyes. Although he wasn’t a man of vast intellect, Higen was still a man of detail. He paid attention to every sway and anomaly beneath Yamato’s coat, using the extent of his imagination to conjure what tools could be hidden below. He acknowledged his pace, while simultaneously matching it, attempting to form a rhythm with the combatant before the actual combat had even started. Fighting was a dance, an art, a display of one’s talent, and this was the mental process that occurred nearly every single time.
Their entrance into the new plane was hardly grandiose, the cracked, barren landscape welcoming them under a pale blue sky. It was nothing like he remembered, mainly because it wasn’t in pieces. He was sure he had a large part in destroying the dimension the last time he’d been but was happy to find it intact. As Higen stopped upon entry, Yamato continued, the distance between them stretching a mere ten meters. Had he not been careful, these were distances that Yamato would come to find menacing against the Shining Captain. Once the opponent’s feet were planted firmly and all motion ceased, Higen had continued to take a gander at the scientist. His vision caught wind of an eerie green luminance around the eye sockets of the strange mask, perhaps an ocular enhancement of some kind? He’d hardly finished his once-over before muffled words bled through, the pitch and tone seemed to suggest that he was speaking to a form of ventilator; it was dark and eluding.
“So Captain Higen, if I what I’ve been told is true during this Captain Test I’m supposed to come at you with everything I’ve got correct? Nothing is off limits correct?”
Amidst Yamato’s Sentence Higen’s right hand traveled along the length of his torso to graze the fabric of his zanpakuto’s hilt. With a firm grip, he drew it in a quick, decisive motion. His grip loosened, the blade spinning in the base of his hand before he secured it. To those familiar with him—which he was sure Yamato was not—this would be surprising, as he often opted to only use his body as a weapon. Wielding his Tanto-Kodachi fusion tightly like a combat knife, its edge faced the direction of his small finger, the emerald handle somewhat vanishing in the grasp of a gargantuan palm. Each of his hands balled into a fist, the right rising to about shoulder height, the shine of the blade forcing a glare onto Higen’s person. His left rose concurrently, extending somewhat further in front of himself, his elbow positioned at about a one-hundred twenty-degree angle. His full height dwindled in the lapse of a second, his knees bending at their joints and spreading out to accommodate a wider and more grounded stance. His left foot scurried against the dirt to be stowed just shoulder-length in front of the right.
“Correct, nothing is off limits. It’s important to remember that this applies to both you and myself. Now.. Let us begin.”
Upon the conclusion of his answer a breeze briefly swept through, ruffling the strands of his lengthy beard, causing them to flow in unison with those of his mane. To some, Higen’s statement would sound like some sort of warning, though it was simply information he figured the man should have. Reiryoku coursed through his body constantly, a portion of it surfacing on the follicles of his skin, visible in a sort of polish. Under his own command, it flowed heavily into the base of both hands, humming under the meat of his flesh. His eyes never abandoned his opponent’s frame, muscles loosening in preparation for rapid, countering movements. More specifically his gaze was fixated upon his opponent’s lower area, a shift in leg posture or the press of a toe could give away one’s intentions of utilizing shunpo, giving him the ability to respond accordingly. His pristine physicality allowed him to keep up with most of those who were proficient in Hoho techniques, able to push his body to limits foreign to others. In the end, he was still a proctor, prepared to gauge the true extent of this Shinigami’s ability along with his famed intelligence.