[BSD-RP] The Valley of Screams

[Shinigami]

What could be more pressing than the invisibility aficionado’s avertable chatter? Perhaps, dozens of thin cords that hiked across the rugged domain, or the additional swarm of wires, declining from the static sky was far more effective in relaying what Itsuki was all about. As the Captain chatted away, Jatiri came across the assortment of faint strings, mingling with Itsuki, as well as hordes of other strings, descending from the imposing hive of threads, suspended up above. Interacting with sectors of land that Jatiri once occupied, the mob of threads proved to be lengthy; they mobilized with a touch of liveliness, so much so that the slothful coercion of these extraordinary cables became apparent, and the one compelling them must’ve been their lone, illusive master, Itsuki. Jatiri, learning of the captain’s indiscretion, officially set the battle in motion; at an earlier time, Jatiri stood around idle, but, as it turned out, the young shinigami withdrew from his station, situated a hundred feet outside of the swooping thread’s influence. Because his circumstance called for expeditious action, he found Shunpo to be a viable tool.
Even so, the vibratory resonance of these invisible, guided wires was not lost on Jatiri. Should they continue their deliberate pursuit, he would remain prepared to act accordingly. All in all, the captain was a sneaky one. If Jatiri was to face Itsuki, he now knew that the bestial’s underhanded tactics must be factored in. This meant that just about anything went. Still, did the captain truly believe the young lion would willingly allow himself to be caged, even if it were for the test’s sake? At no time would Jatiri voluntarily fall prey to an observable machination such as this one, especially because it was preventable. Had the shinigami been imprisoned, there was no question that Itsuki would’ve temporarily secured the upper hand. If he could manipulate the very fabrics of a potential, threaded cage, attempts to bind the young one would’ve been inevitable, and while Jatiri deemed himself more than capable of overcoming a trial like this, he could make better use of his powers unfettered. As time went on, Itsuki was sure to find his deceptive schemes falling short; Jatiri’s convenient departure was the first example of this.
Nonetheless, the captain’s veil of invisibility raised two important questions: how was he concealing his threads, and for how long could he keep it up? Unlike Jatiri, who possessed a Zanpakuto that vibrated at indiscernible rates, flowing with spiritual energy, at present, Itsuki’s Zan couldn’t be distinguished through ordinary, or spiritual means; although, all things in existence were subjected to motion, vibrating. It was for this reason that Jatiri was always aware of Itobeni, sensing it’s subtle, yet inescapable oscillation. Because he failed to detect Itobeni’s spiritual energy, he believed that the kido spell, Kyokkō, might have been at play, owing to the spell’s function, which was known to bend light, masking an object’s physical appearance and Reiryoku.
By repositioning himself, not only did Jatiri deviate from the path of the countless threads, but he also happened to be farther away from Itsuki, and rather than standing at the captain’s six o’clock, he was now posted at his eight o’clock. Moreover, even though the gap between them widened to a great extent, Oni Dekopin could still be feasible, yet one must acknowledge the threads that engulfed the captain when rambling. Was Itsuki planning to blast through these indistinct fibers? Could these wires withstand such a powerful, concussive blow? Would they interfere or hinder his attack at all? Whatever effect the attack would have on Itsuki’s strings, Jatiri would be sure to uncover just how resilient they were. Should Itsuki rattle off the vigorous, hakuda technique, Jatiri’s tremors would counteract the force all the same. Meanwhile, Jatiri itched for the opportunity to invade the captain’s space; however, hostile wires were in hot pursuit; therefore, rushing Itsuki without thinking wouldn’t be a wise choice. In addition, the active blockade of threads, which prevented easy access to the canine, suggested that there was a conscious effort to prevent the shinigami from getting in close to the captain. Seeing as though Jatiri also opted to uphold his newfound distance in response to this, the onslaught of cables didn’t have the opportunity to intercept him just yet. At this point, if the invisibile threads wanted him, they must continue to go after him from where he stood.
While a portion of the young shinigami’s spiritual pressure had been revealed to the captain already, assisting him in locating said shinigami, Jatiri went on to abort the operation to maximize his field of energy, burying it. The same way his far-reaching reiatsu took almost no time to manifest, it up and disappeared without any formal warning, relieving the environment of its enclosing burden. There was no trace of its presence, leaving Jatiri naked, so to speak. Although the captain acquainted himself with the shinigami’s spiritual pressure beforehand, whatever judgement he held after the fact was out of Jatiri’s hands, yet Jatiri hoped his brief display sufficed in asserting his mastery; If not, suppressing the totality of his reiatsu might’ve got the hound’s attention.
All things considered, he began to explore the idea of torching the accumulated threads. While concussive force had its place, there was nothing like a great, big shower of flames that would bring about incineration.
“Hadō #31. Shakkahō!”
Concentrated, crimson illuminations spawned from both of Jatiri’s upraised hands, enlarging. These high-temperature infernos raged on, blazing through the sky, inciting a firestorm. The wide-spanning columns of flames were directed at the nearest flocks of threads. Since these threads were intertwined, the fiery torrents would’ve progressed along each piece of string overtime, and due to the fire’s extreme heat, annihilation was most likely the byproduct. From afar, Jatiri kept his upright composure. The heaviness of his aspiration didn’t fold him. Instead, it challenged his will to overcome the obstacles before him in hopes of projecting the resolve of a solid leader who was worthy of the title, captain. Additionally, when Jatiri peered at his adversary, he didn’t see a blood-thirsty, ruthless killer, he saw a seasoned shinigami who must’ve endured many hardships to stand as a proctor, no, a captain, on this enchanted stage. This alone called for the young one’s respect.

 

[Shinigami]

Itsuki appeared puzzled as the young candidate made his retreat; did he believe he was some elusive speedster? This was arrogant and needed to be corrected. Itsuki hung his head disappointedly as this retreat would prove to be the second step Jatiri made towards his own grave— the first being the mistake of thinking he could comprehend any semblance of this tactician’s plan let alone foil it. Even behind his glasses, the Captain watched him hawkishly. Many-a-man have sought to flicker beyond his sight… to outpace the Bloodhound and escape his threaded maw… and Jatiri, like those before him, would come to find their delusions rudely awakened. Not a single moment passed that Itsuki wasn’t aware of the Candidates location, his eyes more than capable of keeping up with the jettisoning retreat of the Shinigami— suppressing his raging force was a trivial & frankly pointless action at this point. Though Itsuki being the conniving man he was only slightly moved his head… just enough to capture the settling figure of Jatiri at his 8 o’clock. Though in the same moment that Jatiri had landed, Itsuki would return his head forward creating the illusion of never moving and the misconception that Jatiri had outmatched him in speed.
“Ain’t ya want ta’ play lil mouse?”
Itsuki teased, his eyes seemingly steadfast in their fixation forward. He was still as a statue, and this stillness came from confidence— a confidence that struggle as he would Jatiri could not reach the Captain. Not now, and maybe never. Itsuki, despite the illusion of inaction during Jatiri’s retreat, had been thinking… what gave away his threads? Kyokko had suppressed both the physical visage and spiritual force of the threads. So it had to be something else? The Captain recalled the trembling force of Jatiri’s own Zanpaktou… was it acting in the likeness to some sonar? Very curious. Itsuki was so very curious… and when he becomes curious, he can become overwhelmingly cruel to his experiments. Even a theory needs a chance to be put into practice. Far above the Golden Boy in the great lonely sky the woven root of Itsuki’s might stirred… suddenly sprouting an additional length that covered two more miles upwards the great spooling thread of Itobeni then sprouted three wryly tendrils no thicker than a sewing needle & let them drift forward toward Itsuki’s seven o’clock… eight o’clock… and nine o’clock at least by three hundred yards. Itsuki wanted to test whether this atypical sensory of Jatiri could detect these miniscule threads swimming so very far above his own body.
Itsuki had abandoned his attempt to use his Hakuda technique, not out of failure or foil, but because the battle had taken another direction. Adaptability was a weapon that without a warrior will suffer damnation, and in the coming moments the Captain hoped to impress the gravity of such thinking onto his examinee.
“O’ DEAR, WOT IN TARNATION HAPPENED TO DAT LIL FELLA? DID HE DONE GOT SCURRED AND RAN ON HOME?!”
The Captain looked frantic, or so it seemed. He made sure not to turn his head into the direction of Jatiri even as the boy uttered his spell. Itsuki could feel the throbbing force of the Kido swelling, impregnating the air around Jatiri, and wasting his attempt at concealment. Itsuki could only wonder if the Shinigami was dwelling only in the immediate... the idea that Jatiri wasn’t capable of thinking steps ahead profoundly disheartened the Bloodhound. The Captain pleaded silently that this wasn’t true. As the fireball was cast and sought to devour the threads, a singular thread jolted forward in the same moment they had released the Kido intent that they would meet it.
This single thread represented two things; the line that must be crossed for Jatiri to even hope to become considered a slight challenge, and the thread which would bind his fate should he fail to take that step forward into this bold new world. This solitary thread wagged excitedly, and with a weight of ten tons infused within its oddly flexible fibers, spun like a turbine. As it spun in the first second the Kido was fired, it thickened to a girth comparable to the rope often used for anchoring vessels at sea and splintered, creating an almost blossoming image— a beautiful red threaded flower spinning… and repelling. The unique twists and angle of the threaded petals created a mighty gale that easily pushed back the great inferno Jatiri had hoped would set forth a blazing path to victory.
“Now, now ain’t you got something mo’ clever?”
Itsuki twisted his head back, his long doggish tongue hanging tauntingly to the side as he cackled at the blast being thrown back to the Shinigami at double-time because of the mighty winds Itsuki forced the blast to ride upon. This was happening in a matter of seconds, and the Captain was interested to see the reaction of the Shinigami to both his own rebounded attack but also the sudden gale. If his Zapaktou, or perhaps something in his arsenal yet unknown, depended on the unseen vibratory waves that rattled from every action would this sudden gust become a sensory overload? Itsuki wasn’t sure. Though he was curious to find out.
In the same moment his threaded creation swatted away the boy’s spell, Itsuki would again place another piece into play. He hadn’t yet made a direct attack yet and decided he’d tease this morsel before placing them on the butcher’s block; without a second passing the Bloodhound had hundreds of his threads that swayed absently along the perimeter by his seven o’clock, eight o’clock, and nine o’clock fixate their tail-ends towards the outside like the muzzle of a gun. Suddenly these threads began thrusting forward in quick succession, packed with a similar density to the thready flower, these bursts of highly pressurized air sought to make quick mince meat of Jatiri if he could not avoid their successive blasts that spanned thirty-three yards in a crescent formation— though again he wondered if this would overwhelm whatever aberrant sensory organ was at work here. He watched carefully despite his pose, his eyes taking in the whole of Jatiri’s body, every twitch & twist noticed by the Captain.
His kido had been repelled, a massive fiery gust had returned to him at twice the speed, and now Itsuki had released a barrage of blasts. The Captain using the same speed often attributed to the Senmaioroshi technique; a thousand slices turned to a thousand thrusts. The tides appeared shifting in Itsuki's favor as this all unfolded in a matter of seconds; and yet the reality of the situation was simple... Itsuki never lost the favor of destiny to begin with.
“IF YER LOOKIN’ TO RIDE WIT DA BEASTS YA GOTTA SHOW YER A MONSTAH IN YER OWN RIGHT! KAKAKAKAKAKAKA!”
Itsuki howled, his head still hung back and looking with an impish expression, excited to see if this would be the push needed to bring forth a revolution in this desperate soul. Itsuki gnashed and gnawed at his own bottom lip as he revelled in the excitement he brought to the stage, ever the monster, Itsuki could feel his own amusement was rampaging through him with an electric force. This storming sensation only made him more hopeful— would Jatiri make it to the next scene or would this be his finale?

 

[Shinigami]

The elusive speedster eluded the foreign army of threads, which foiled Itsuki’s scheming attempt to entrap him. One moment the cables were closing in on him, the next he was out of reach. When giving thought to the nature of this fleet-footed withdrawal, it should’ve been obvious that Jatiri’s sudden, momentary absence was far from ordinary; there was something great at work. Shunpo, a technique attributed to allowing a shinigami to maneuver faster than the eye could follow, was the culprit. Proficiency in a skill like this varied from user to user; so naturally, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that some, inexperienced practioners might fall short of living up to speeds that exceeded a basic sense of sight. In addition, onlookers’ heightened, visual perception must also be accounted for, since said enhancement would assist in distinguishing speedy imagery. However, if Itsuki, relying on his eyes alone, was without the aforementioned clear-cut, visual heightening, how was he having such an easy time following the expert’s flash step, or discerning him at all for that matter? To be frank, the youthful shinigami was economical. His pace sufficed in beating out the invisible wires, so there was no need to over exert himself and accentuate his speed; although, even if Jatiri’s efficiency happened to convince the curious captain that he was battling against a tortoise, it didn’t hamper the young enigma in the least, yet it did ensure that The Bloodhound was in for a rude awakening.
Facing Jatiri’s prior whereabout, the static beast failed to act, remaining stationary, despite the change in Jatiri’s locality, which set off red flags in the boy’s mind. Being of the opinion that Itsuki was a trickster, he questioned whether the bestial, who was skilled enough to seize a haori, was either plain sluggish, or up to no good —leaning towards the latter after reflecting on the unseen strings. Beyond Itsuki’s almost happy-go-lucky impression, there was a devious side to him. To discount this would be a grave mistake because from the looks of it, nothing about the eccentric shinigami was candid. If given the chance, the captain seemed well equipped to swindle his way into a dreary victory. In the same breath, so far, aside from the stakes being higher, the bout felt no different than the typical battles that Jatiri grew to overcome; even so, Itsuki found a way to grab hold of the boy’s attention.
“Ain’t ya want ta’ play lil mouse?”
Itsuki, still refraining from acknowledging Jatiri’s current settlement, stayed put, raving. The Golden Boy raised a corner of his lip, sneering at the inactive giant, who embedded himself within a clandestine fortress of threads, if only for a moment, before straightening his face. Preferring to acquire the most bang for his buck in a pass-fail examination like so, Jatiri starved his hands-on tendency in an effort to learn more about the threads’ proclivity, as well as the activity of any, other major tool from the Captain’s kit. If not for Jatiri’s masterful patience, rashness would’ve dictated his actions. Beating the drum for perseverance in the face of intense scrutiny, he was determined to go the distance, no matter the length of the test. The high-powered, fighting machine commanded enough fuel to keep at it for a long while, if need be, though the match was still in its infancy, which was why intel gathering needed to be stressed.
“O’ DEAR, WOT IN TARNATION HAPPENED TO DAT LIL FELLA? DID HE DONE GOT SCURRED AND RAN ON HOME?!”
Food for thought, even if the captain was outclassed, he should’ve still got wind of Jatiri’s new position, since the enigma’s unapparent Zanpakuto continued to emit spiritual energy, unhindered. To perceive the foregoing Reiryoku, all he needed was a modest level of sensory skill. At that point, if Itsuki so desired, adjusting to the turn of the events wasn’t outside the realms of possibility. That being so, the idea that a notable, reactionary delay was responsible for the captain’s lack of bustle was preposterous. In fact, there was a strong chance that he‘d always been aware of Jatiri, playing the fool to get a rise out of the candidate; although, taunting the tight-lipped shinigami wasn’t accomplishing much, as he appeared unchanged. Having dammed up his reiatsu emission, leading the horse to fire, Jatiri inspected Itsuki’s inaction, in addition to the slightest hint of activity around the rocky domain.
Passing up on Oni Dekopin, Itsuki forfeited the chance to familiarize himself with Jatiri’s shikai ability, leaving him in the dark on potentialities, concerning its vibrations and things of the like. While Jatiri’s disengagement might’ve alerted Itsuki on the youth’s possible awareness of the malicious threads, for the time being, the captain had nothing substantial to go off of, nothing to recall. Had Itsuki garnered a solid lead to carry on and formulate a theory, which could then be tested on the examinee, Jatiri would’ve rose to whatever challenge posed. To this end, if the indistinct wires were to swim through the empty sky, their stringy anatomy wouldn’t obstruct Jatiri’s ability to sense distant juddering, as the vibratory resonance of said strings would integrate with the resonance of the larger collective of strings, running through the air, and venturing beyond, notifying Jatiri. Despite Itsuki showing signs of ineptitude in his deficient reaction, had these threads began to circulate, they would give away the fact that he’d indeed been up to something.
Giving life to the broad, scorching rods, Jatiri conceived larger than life flames that were dying to feast on the incoming fiber. Like a moth to the aforesaid flames, Itsuki’s singular, valiant web acted on his behalf. The lone thread spun at great velocities, revealing it’s capacity to shapeshift, as a sizable, imitation of a flowery configuration took its place. On one hand, ten tons reinforced Itsuki’s thread; on the other hand, Jatiri’s boundless reserves of Reiryoku powered the kido spell, Shakkahō, birthing not one, but two expansive, fiery columns. Breaking the ice, Jatiri’s swelling infernos didn’t beat around the bush; they greeted the rotating rope with open arms, jolting into the opposing thread. The fiery, concussive torrents, acting on either side of the thick rope, stalled the rope’s rotation. Meanwhile, the initial, catastrophic impact from the collision, blanketed the circumambient airspace with an enduring wave of pressure, as the rival forces battled for dominance, clashing; neither party was letting up. At last, the temporary spell’s burning factor was Jatiri’s claim to fame, eating away at the bulky rope. By the time the flames met their inevitable demise, dispersing as a result of the time constraint inherent in any and every, kido spell, not a shred of the antagonistic rope was left. Jatiri, remaining cool as a cucumber, cracked his knuckles, smiling. The individual thread kicked the bucket, in a manner of speaking, but one had to wonder whether the colony of them would do the trick or not.
Zeroing in on the shrouded, wiry frenzy, Jatiri felt that Itsuki was upping the ante, as the semi-circle entanglement flourished, thrusting. The wires’ sporadic movement alluded to just that, yet such forward gestures couldn’t be taken lightly. Utilizing his effortless skill in recording the mass’s fundamental structure, communing with its captivating pulsation, Jatiri’s feet flitted across the terra firma, as he tied the knot, arriving at the structure’s nine o’clock with his left fist out in front of him before said structure could reach its destination. At this angle, the threads were especially weak because Itsuki had them dead set on meeting the apparition that stood ahead prior to evaporating. Jatiri’s outstretched fist unleashed a heavy burden upon Itobeni’s hefty strings, as an influx of pressure nudged them every which way in recurring, rapid spurts, stripping their wherewithal to thrash against, or resist said pressure. Recalling the deceased, splintering string, the Golden candidate wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the strings’ ability to split apart and shift forms, yet, being contorted at every front, the current circumstance would render a practice like this unserviceable. The rocking strings gave Itsuki a glimpse of his fate, if the force that acted as a buffer between Jatiri and the space around him, was willed to pluck the Bloodhound from his threaded doghouse. Needless to say, these weren’t the only threads on the block, which is why Jatiri remained on the look out for any new developments.
“IF YER LOOKIN’ TO RIDE WIT DA BEASTS YA GOTTA SHOW YER A MONSTAH IN YER OWN RIGHT! KAKAKAKAKAKAKA!”
The fire in Jatiri’s belly couldn’t be cooled, nor was he one to be held back. Without clutter, he was a shinigami on a mission, and the light in his eyes was brighter than ever before.

 

[Shinigami]

It was an unfortunate symptom of the weak to revel in the works of fiction… to cling helplessly to the delusions of grandeur built desperately by their arrogance. Itsuki thought of this as he watched wistfully as Jatiri made the unthinkable decision to remain steadfast in his course as they cast his attack back at him with increased force & fury.
“Yer not gon’ make it far if ya’ think yer a golden god”
Itsuki said with just a hint of mourning in his voice.
HISSSSSSS
CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK…
Jatiri’s body was suddenly aflame ; the still air filled with the stench of cooking flesh & the deafening sound of crunching bones. These unfortunately resulted from the Shinigami’s own inaction; Itsuki himself remained silent as the lesson became all too real for the hopeful Candidate. He challenged a mighty gale summoned by Itobeni & thought his incantationless Kido could compare to the volatile force of a ten ton wind. Itsuki even wondered what he thought would happen if he somehow overpowered the sweeping current… did the boy actually think his flames would catch onto the web of Itobeni? Itsuki grit his teeth hard; arrogance & mercy shared two things in the Bloodhound's mind… a limit.
“Keh…”
Itsuki scoffed as he beheld the beauty of his work; as no stranger to the art of torture, he always reveled in the chance to appreciate the contestable emotions that come from a freshly skewered victim. The Captain gnashed amusedly at his bottom lip as the cooked body of the boy became a mangled, twisted, and hairless freak-show. It was a captivating sight... a series of deep bruises & burns painted the canvas of the Shinigami— accented by jutting bones now desperately fleeting from the ‘Golden’ Boy like the quills of a porcupine rendering him more of a ‘Golden’ Roast. It was truly a shame that the boy did not think to avoid the spell that Itsuki impregnated with the great winding force of his turbine-esque rope creation; but this deep pain would forever be a reminder... Itsuki thought, his own bloodied eyes throbbing as memories of his own mistakes were dredged up. Quickly the expression of Itsuki twisted; the euphorically haunting grimace fading.
“Dis test is over, if ye want I can bring ya back to the Seireitei.”
As Itsuki began, suddenly the secondary assault he’d originally planned ground to a halt immediately— Itsuki saw no need to antagonize this poor boy further. Even without being a trained medical professional, the Captain could feel the pulsating presence of a life-force throbbing from Jatiri; as feeble as it may be, the Captain could still assuredly be in the clear as the match was now officially drawn to an end and Jatiri was still technically alive— though perhaps the semantics of whether this was living could be argued. He stepped forward; and with each step the world itself seemed to tremble as Itobeni rescinded. As Itsuki finally closed the distance, no remnants of Itobeni’s stringy essence remained lingering… the blade itself returns to its slumbering sealed state. The Captain crouched down and reached out… his large calloused hand bathing Jatiri in a deep crimson mist.
“Believe it or nyot, I ain’t too fond of all dis violence… Kakakaka…”
As the Captain spoke a deep sadness saddled his voice; even as he laughed it seemed more like the repenting chuckle of someone recanting at past darkness with jaded eyes. The Captain hoped to ease the torment the boy was undergoing… pumping his body full of a deeper concentration of his Reiatsu than he would usually offer to somebody. Itsuki feverishly gnashed his bottom lip… as if to hide his hollowing grimace, yet his eyes betrayed him. These deep blue hues reflect an anguish as mysterious as the ocean deep— Itsuki was truly a man of immense dysfunction; a psychopath able to switch from the mind of a hungry beast to a concerned father within a heartbeat. The mangled corpse that just seconds before brought him deep excitement now only hurt him.
“If ya can’t speak, I’ma assume you won’t mind my hijackin’ ya and bringin’ ya back.”
The Captain drawled as his still drawn Zanpaktou was juggled between his index & middle finger, the Captain patiently waiting for any semblance of an answer from his most recent victim before he summoned the Senkaimon that would bring this poor broken soul back to the safety & comfort of the Seireitei.

 

[Shinigami]

Scrunching up his fingers, Jatiri remained rooted, as the radiance of the vigorous blaze casted a vivid, red glow in his broadening eyes, prompting him to shield his face.
At the outset, he had been convinced that his blossoming flames would consume the nearest congregation of threads; his faith knew no bounds, even when the rope-like turbine made itself known. It wasn’t until Shakkaho backfired that he was able to come to terms with his terrible blunder. Although the twirling cable got the better of the kido spell, returning the inferno with twice the vigor, Jatiri kept up appearances. Being a Kido expert, he lacked the skill to infuse the spell with sufficient Reiryoku to frustrate the ten ton thread, enticing him to bear arms. Far removed, the captain took the lead, watching the steadfast candidate; as he did so, one could imagine a rowdy crowd cheering him on after implementing his successful countermeasure. When all was said and done, the Bloodhound proved that he wasn’t some pushover.
Now, the ball was in Jatiri’s court, and while time wasn’t his teammate, his keen observation was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Having recognized the slightest shift in the fire’s disposition the instant that it met the superior current —a feat afforded by his accelerated perception— the unyielding shinigami hesitated as his fiery creation retaliated against him, booming. Lost in the crimson illumination, asleep at the wheel, he tended to a familiar vision, which occupied his line of sight, recalling a time where he hoisted a four hundred ton, rocky mass. Having been robbed of blood, sweat, and tears, the miniature strongman teased out that struggling corresponded to living, only this go-around, self preservation was his motivator.
Jatiri, coming to his senses in the nick of time, interacted with scorching heat from the suspended firestorm. Contrary to what Itsuki might’ve presumed, the up in arms combatant vowed to bite the bullet to the bitter end. Coming apart at the seams, the ferocious cannon drove the warrior several feet back, forcing him to skid along the rugged terrain, as he let out a groan. Pronounced blisters along segments of his legs and mid-lower torso pointed to an unforgiving killer, yet his unscathed, shielding arms were sure to turn heads; in brief, it was as if the storm had been battling against an unseen, burgeoning element that had yet to be accounted for.
“Yer not gon’ make it far if ya’ think yer a golden god”
Itsuki was right. The man before him, youthful in appearance only, wagered his transient spell on faith alone —A rookie mistake, if ever there was one, suggesting a level of arrogance. Still, straining to keep his body and soul together was how he planned to right the wrong, if only to ruminate on his error of judgement at an appropriate time. In the meanwhile, a waggling pressure, originating from Jatiri’s Zanpakuto, coursed through the air, by and by stopping the conflagration in its tracks, as said pressure’s forward tendency shortened the fire’s reach upon arrival, hindering its burning effect. Spreading his arms in a fervent fashion, Jatiri, fueling his climbing force without let up, cleared out the fleeting flames, obscuring the unfettered shinigami in the midsts of a smoky aftermath. The moment he looked on at the far-off captain’s blurred figure, his tightening fists fluttered; his cold-eyed stare was treacherous to say the least.
Few fought back such a godawful force and carried on as he did; then again, scarring and irritation was the price he paid for conceit, and to make matters less pleasant, he puked his guts out. All in all, his vengeful stance should come as no surprise. What it boiled down to was the how? How would he go about inflicting pain on the captain? As he pondered, a touch-and-go idea came to him. What if he lost out in the end? What if he convinced the captain that the tolerable burns along his body rendered him a fish out of water? What if he face planted his stinking vomit to sell the act? Could he compel the captain to do the unthinkable, catching him off guard?
Sure enough, when the smoke cleared, the roughened shinigami would be found laying in his chunks, gagging, as his tremors passed away.
“Dis test is over, if ye want I can bring ya back to the Seireitei.”
‘It worked! Shit.’
Itsuki neared, and as much as Jatiri wanted to continue testing, it was clear that the captain’s mind was set, so masquerading became pointless. Any semblance to anger was gone with the wind, as he forgave Itsuki for the damage incurred. Springing to his feet, Jatiri’s energetic bounce and composed manner, alluded to an underlying sham, inconsistent with his impaired state, displayed just a moment ago, but he never spoke to it. In any case, although the enigma had a stellar poker face, the fresh scars, brought about when resisting the two-faced blaze responsible, taxed his system. In the end, resting, reflecting on his slip-ups, and washing up were far more fitting pursuits.
“I’ll take you up on that.”
He teased, and the two drew out of the valley.