We Share A Nightmare [R, NDE, Hard]

What was the definition of day? Was it that glorious time that some great god had set aside, where night and darkness were driven from the world? Was it a time for life, for neighbors to go and greet one another either in labor or in play? Was it those precious hours when light could warm the heart and the soul, as a reminded to all that they should be happy? Such definitions had not been true, no...not for some time. Day was not what it once was, having fallen from greatness. Shadows had set upon the world. Sunshine was lost somewhere in a stranglehold of clouds. It was not simply a weather phenomenon, the sky merely reflected the condition of the world. No, it was in the hearts of the people.

In every direction -as far as one could imagine- unhappiness held dominion. Like some creul new tyrant, which now controlled the lives of the subjugated masses. This was the scene which was set for him, upon his arrival. A dim, and depressing vista...that felt as if it had no end. Was the world of the living...becoming something else? A great scape devoid of light or joy? Were the days to continue fading, till nothing but the night remained? Was the ground to dry up, and all life receed? Would Silence and Darkness come to claim the remains of this world...and make it as Hueco Mundo? Seemed unfair, that such a realm of vibrance could display such potential. But alas, this was the seen that Marcelius was too arrive. Dingy and deserted.

What had called him to the Realm of the Living, was a continued search for more Hollows. Individuals who could be saved and returned to Las Noches, there to be given another opportunity at life. In his search for more of his kin, he became drawn to a deep and welling collection of blackened power. It was idle, motionless. The kind of thing that drew Masks such as him like moths to a depressing flame. With neither heart nor mind, could he reject the mysterious calling. There was a need, in his very bones, to seek it out. Along the way, he did not doubt the chance to see many of his kind, being pulled towards this source in much the same fashion.

For him; however, there would be a much greater distance to travel. His ability to sense such anomalies, was quite keen and expansive. It would draw him from some distant place, to this most peculiar town. At a glance, it mirrored that of Karakura. Builds built in the same fashion, streets aligned in similar pattern. Here, the density of sadness felt greatest. Whatever plague that had washed the color from the world...this place had contracted it the fullest. Yet, for all the life that should be present in such a place...all the souls that should sing so loudly in youth and life...there was a profound quiet. A stillness, a hush, so powerful that Marcelius lost all distraction and sensitivity to the environment itself. The Choir was awake.

Voices upon voices. Names, memories, identities, thoughts...more than just singers, they were people. They came to him whenever his focus faltered to far. When his own emotions dropped their guard. Singing songs beyond comprehension, but in a constant and unchanging tone. This mournful mass, was composed of every individual he had ever eaten. Upon their consumption, and addition, to the horde, they were given a place in the orchestra in which to perform. Once a part of the chorus, they would sing of their death and failures. Why would they do such a thing? To remind their host, who graciously provided them with time to perform, of his own involvement in their lyrics. They would never let him forget their death, and forever fill his thoughts with their final glimpses of life. There were times, when he devoured his own brethren, that multitudes of new musicians would be placed upon his mental stage.

As Remorse, he could never be allowed to forget. The best he could ever hope for, was the sweet distractions of life. Seeing others, living and writing their destinies...overcoming challenges and succeeding. Playing witness to victories and joious triumphs, would free him from the shackles of regret and guilt. It's why finding Las Noches was the greatest day of his immense life. It is why he scours for more Hollows, constantly. But in this place, where there was nothing except the looming dread, he had no such fixation to save him. To fight back the surge of conscience, and surpress the persecutors, he summoned the same strength of will...that allows Gillians to keep their names. Having done this for so long, so many times, it was becoming easier each time. So long as he did not add any more members to the entourage, that is.

With a deep, fulfilling breath...Marcelius would dismiss the voices which had arisen. The absence of players did not mean the stage could belong to them, so Marc reclaimed his focus. With his heart cleared and freed, he stepped to the building's edge. From his vantage point, he could peer into the distance beyond the city centre. It was out beyond civilization, where the uncertanties of the world might lurk, that he could make out the shape of a distraught, little shack. Outside the city, but distinct from the wilds. Truly, no other visage looked so misplaced. Like the moon in daytime, or a oasis a vast desert...it simply did not belong.

Age had been harsh, tearing and rotting with cruel and merciless efficiency. It did not mix with the structures of the near, modern metropolis. Yet, it was still an artificial construction...fashioned in contrast to nature, and unclaimed by it. No beasts nor plants would dare approach this sickened shack. It was in a depression all it's own. Forever pulling such beings as Hollows with a siren's call. Having located it himself, Marcelius immediately set out. His age made him wary of rushing foolishly, so his approach would be slow. It would give him time enough, to ponder the significance of this place and the aura which surrounded it. What he find when he arrived there? What could he learn?

The shack stood humble, an homage to days long passed and to a future that had yet to come. The shack stood humble, an homage to days of peace, or to days of turmoil. The shack stood humble, an homage to a future that had yet to come, a future of slaughter. It stood as a single rickety wooden building, originally small enough to be only two rooms or three on the interior, of average size each. Later years and inhabitants had built it up and made it larger. Later years and inhabitants had built it up, giving it four or five rooms in total. The shack was well built. The shack was well built, and had a strong foundation. It had been crafted to keep standing for many years. How long it had stood was beyond expectation. How long it had stood was beyond expectations, but it stood nonetheless.

It was in between a rotting oak color and a dark, charcoal gray color. The ominous aura seeped out more and more. The ominous aura seeped out more and more with each passing second. It seeped out more and more with each passing second upon which it was gazed at. The shack did not cease in it's aura. The shack did not cease in it's aura, which did not diminish any further. It did not diminish any further, despite being very weak. Despite being very weak, it was very present. It was very present, for the longer that one looked at it, the more powerful the aura seemed to grow. The more one looked at it, the more that it seemed to pulse. The more one looked at it, the the more that it seemed to pulse, and the closer that it seemed to become.

Even without approaching it, it was like approaching it when it was looked at. By approaching it, the effect only grew more powerful. The effect only grew more powerful, but not so for those who could calm themselves. Not so for those who could calm themselves, for those with skills in this ability of calm would be able to take their eyes from it. When one took their eyes from the shack, all of the aura strength that had accumulated disappeared. All of the aura strength that had been accumulated disappeared, and the aura returned to its original and weak output. However, it became more powerful in the eye of the beholder. The mind was challenged. The more that the mind analyzed it, the more powerful that it became.

This seems an adequate time to stop the music. Stop the music.

As Zeich arrived at the edge of the town on a rooftop, he was greeted. As Zeich arrived at the edge of town which would take him further toward the shack, reiatsu came into sensory range. As reiatsu came into sensory range, a figure came out next to him. A figure came out next to him, clad in black. Clad in black, it was a Shinigami. The Shinigami that appeared for Zeich was short. He was short, low to the ground, but muscular. His shoulders were large, in the build of a football player, and he had very rounded muscles. He had very rounded muscles, and his hair was a puffed out sphere at the top of his head. His gray eyes and spherical hair were comedic to look at. They were comedic to look at, for he had no eyebrows.

The newcomer wore a black robe like Zeich's. The newcomer wore a black robe like Zeich's, and had no indicator of rank. He spoke first upon arriving. "It incites your curiosity, doesn't it? That beaten down old shack..." he mused the rest to himself in wonder. In wonder, he spoke his own thoughts out loud. "What could have transpired there for something so unsightly to have appeared...? Hm...." With that final hum from before, he ended the train of thought. He ended the train of thought, doing so on a sage nod. His brow was furrowed, or perhaps seemed to be, were it not for his lack of eyebrows. He must have realized his impoliteness. He must have realized his impoliteness, for he abruptly turned to Zeich to introduce himself.

"Sorry, where are my manners?" he asked. He asked this question, and then gave a curt bow. He gave a curt bow, and then continued to speak. "I'm Uzumaki Zennosuke. Sixth Seat, Third Division." Though they were both seated, would they know one another? They were both from separate divisions. They were both from separate divisions, and they were also three seats apart. Higher seats did not interact with middle seats very often unless in training exercises. Higher seats did not interact with middle seats very often, and also they were in divisions which seldom interacted. After any response which Zeich gave, Zennosuke provided another response, with a glance in the shack's direction. "I've been there before. You don't really want to go there. There's nothing there, and it's depressing. We've got a really nice town here before us, and it's more pleasant to visit."

However, now is a good opportunity to resume the music. Resume it.

Meanwhile, Marcelius had a great many sensory abilities. He had a great many sensory abilities, which allowed much for him. Even from afar, approaching the shack himself, he had it. Even from afar, the conversation transferred from the two spirits. Two Shinigami were less than a mile away. One had just introduced himself. One had just introduced himself, and the other had yet to. Both were neutral. Both were neutral, yet had come here for different purposes. One had come as a mission. It was his mission to watch over the town and kill Hollows. It was his mission, as it had been for the past five years. He had been transferred here as his first assignment as a Shinigami. He had been transferred here as his first assignment as a Shinigami, but not much longer.

Soon he would transfer to a large district in Paris. Soon he would transfer to a large district in Paris, where more Hollows existed. Where more Hollows existed, there was to be greater pay. The Sixth Seat of the Third Division would soon be paid more money for his services. Upon his transfer, he was also to be given more vacation days. He was to be given more vacation days, enough to allow him to marry his fiancee upon return. The wedding was scheduled to be in a month. The wedding was scheduled to be in a month, for the shift ended in a week. The second one had not introduced himself. He had not introduced himself, but his motives floated through his soul. He was troubled by inner turmoil and lack of peace. He was troubled by chaos.

He was troubled by chaos, which danced in his soul. It danced in his soul, and it burned him. He fought to suppress something. He fought to suppress something powerful. Whatever it was, it was starting to win. In his neutral soul was something evil. In his neutral soul was something which could make even Arrancar shiver. Deeper analysis of the soul, if the Shinigami were to approach, would reveal a voice speaking, or perhaps a voice which was merely thinking. You can't suppress me...I know you want it too, and soon you'll have it...Kill...KILL...KIIIILLLLLLL.... Whether the voice came from the presence in one of the Shinigami or from another source could not be discerned. However, soon another anomaly presented itself.

"Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhh...." Rasping, like from vocal chords which never saw use. Vocal chords which never saw use, yet now were trying to scream, and could not. Could not, but could rasp. A snake slithering. The kiss of a dementor. The opposite of Byron's vision of God, and the most sacrilegious of things. Unholy and terrifying. It gasped for the sweetest nectar in the air, and drank the oxygen like ambrosia liquidate. It crawled forth, half man, and nothing more but monster. It was quite literally half man, a disembodied torso crawling forward on its stomach with gnarled arms. The skin was white and scaly, the hair gray and in wisps, beginning to fall out. It had ears, dry and cracked lips, and sharp teeth, yet no eyes. There were no eyes on the monster crawling toward Marcelius.

From within it's mind, there were voices. There were many voices from within it's mind. There were the sounds of a child crying. There were the sounds of a beating, and the screams of a parent. There were the sounds of a couple fucking, and a husband strangling a wife. There was the laughter of a malicious being, and black eyes gazing down from pale white skin and a face which was blurred even in the memory of the creature. In the memory of the creature there was nothing but pain and figment. In the figment was nothing but mystery. The creature continued to rasp and crawl forward on its belly. It continued to rasp and crawl forward on its belly, and left a trail of brown sludge or some form of blood behind in its wake, a smear on the already tainted ground.

As Zeich left Uzumaki, there would be a feeling. There would be a feeling which Marcelius from afar could detect. This feeling was disapproval at the nature of the third seat. Images flashed through the mind of Uzumaki Zennosuke. Images of his academy days flashed through his mind. There were the moments when he had met the woman who would become his fiancee, as were ingrained into his subconscious. More importantly, there were the lessons of the class. There were the lessons of the class which stated that Shinigami must work together. They must work together, yet this third seat did not understand what it meant to cooperate as comrades. What the third seat did not understand was that for the moment of blade to throat contact, a small cut had formed, and a single drop of blood was on his weapon. They were attracted to it.

As he ventured out of the town, it grew more ominous. As he ventured out of the town, the shack began to loom on Zeich once more. It began to loom on Zeich once more with it's mighty shadow casting over him. The sun was blotted out the more that he looked at it. The building grew larger. The aura became more powerful. Everything was closing in. Everything was closing in, and some moments, Zeich was inside of the shack already. Zeich was inside of the shack already without even reaching it. It was a matter of mind. It was as musty as would be expected. It was decayed and decrepit. It had creaking floors and little decoration. However Zeich was a mere child of the age of ten, and a belt flew down onto his face as his father savagely beat him.

But he was not a child. He was a Shinigami. He was a Shinigami, but then he was also a young woman, a teenager at best. His legs were wide open, and a savage brute of a man penetrated him. A savage brute of a man penetrated him, raping the woman, or Zeich, or perhaps Zeich was the young woman being raped by her uncle. The pain was very real, both emotional and physical. It transpired in that shack as well, where Zeich's eyes fell. Where Zeich's eyes fell, he was raped. Something spoke inside of his mind. It spoke inside of his mind, but it was not his Hollow. Or perhaps it was his Hollow. Or perhaps it was something else. It was malevolent, indiscernible. Was it his Hollow? Or was it not? It was a truly dark voice. You sicken me...

At last, as he truly gained more proximity, and was almost there, though not yet close enough to sense or reach either Marcelius or the monstrosity, a Hollow roared behind him in the background. A Hollow roared in the background, loudly enough to be heard from miles all around. It was an average Hollow's sound, no doubt that Uzumaki could take care of it. It was followed by a second Hollow's sound at a different location. It was followed by a second Hollow's sound at a different location mere moments later, and was then joined by the sound of a third Hollow, present in the same place as the second. Zeich could continue his private investigations of the shack, or he could go and assist in killing the Hollows.

Where Uzumaki had thought back to his days in the Academy and had remembered their lessons on teamwork and cooperation, Zeich had left those behind long ago. He knew how to cooperate when a unit required it, and he knew how to coordinate his motions and attacks with other Shinigami; it wasn't that he was unable to perform in a situation requiring teamwork, but that he chose not to unless it became imperative. As it was, the Sixth Seat was hardly necessary; though Zeich placed little emphasis on rank, the Third Seat knew his own powers and was confident that he would not require assistance just yet. If it came to that point, a Hell Butterfly would summon Uzumaki, and they would deal with the situation from there. For now, Zeich continued on alone, making his way across the distance between the town and the shack.

Suddenly the world seemed to shift beneath his feet. The Third Seat staggered for a moment as his perspective changed. A sense of feeling diminutive, submissive; he felt weak, childish, inferior. Fear struck across his senses like lightning, breaking through before he could even begin to put up his emotional barriers. He flinched, the sensation of looming pain flickering through his thoughts, and for a moment his mind shifted to thoughts of past injuries, of similar treatment. The idea of a beating flickered into his thoughts briefly, causing the boy—the Shinigami? Identity flickered like a candle in a roaring gust—to whimper, to shield his head from the injury about to befall him.

A boy? Confusion flickered through Zeich's mind. He wasn't a boy, he was a grown man, one who had been a Shinigami for a long while now. Where had he gotten the impression he was a boy? The memories flickered away, lost in a moment, before others overtook him. He—no, she—was a young woman, confused, afraid, hurt. Pinned down, legs spread, she was afraid, she was angry. There was a man looming over her, staring down at her. Broken teeth, breath that smelled of booze, a single brown eye while the other was covered in an opaque film; these were thoughts that loomed as she—he?—felt the pain of violation, both physically and emotionally. There was pain, physical pain, raw and jagged, like flame. But then there was emotional injury, and that was far worse; recognition burned and added shame to pain, and tears streamed down the young woman's eyes.

Young woman? No, Zeich was male. Another strange thought, a strange sensation, but he was left with the feeling of being dirty, violated. It was an ugly and unfamiliar sensation, one that gave him paused, causing a shiver down the Third Seat's spine. Still he continued forward, fought through the wave of revulsion and horror that filled him. What was wrong with him? This was unlike him, and Zeich knew it. Emotions were not unheard of, and he had been upset, he had been angry, and he had been afraid in the past, but the degree and reasoning behind each were unfamiliar and without cause. Logic dictated that there was no reason to feel pain, to feel fear, or to feel revulsion. So what was wrong with him?

Before he could dwell on it too long, however, there was the roar of a Hollow. Zeich recognized it immediately, and Haiiro was finally drawn in reflex. However, the cries were distant, a threat that was not immediate. There was no hesitation, however; the Third Seat knew his duty, and quickly left the shack behind. It could wait; his role as a Shinigami was to protect the humans of the World of the Living and slay Hollows in order to free the souls that had become monsters, chained by their despair and jealousy of the living. There was no time for an investigation into an unknown phenomenon when a known threat was present; the latter took priority. Quickly Zeich turned and left the shack behind; instead he charged towards the call of two Hollows, sending a Hell Butterfly ahead to order Uzumaki to take the lone one. He had a job to do.

Two Hollows; Zeich could spot them as soon as he came into the area, amber eyes quickly analyzing the two of them. One was smaller, barely half again the size of a tall human or Shinigami, and even with two bladed legs it hardly seemed a threat. The other one was twice as tall, towering over Zeich at nearly twenty feet in height, but the Third Seat was unconcerned with height; instead he focused on their spiritual presences, which were diminutive, unimpressive. There would be no problem with these two Hollows; they were small-fry, basic creatures that could be slain without any work at all. The Third Seat wouldn't even need to draw Haiiro in order to slay the creatures, except for the fact that purification of a Hollow came from destroying it with a Zanpaktou; his sword would be necessary in order to perform his duty. Both duties, actually: Purification and salvation came hand-in-hand when it came to Pluses and Hollows.

Before the first Hollow had gotten half of its first sentence out, Zeich had darted forward in an impressive display of speed that had him racing past the creature, making his way to the second. At his speed, he didn't even require a Shunpo in order to close the gap, and with a seven-fold advantage on the smaller Hollow the creature didn't even stand a chance, failing to even turn around. Haiiro slashed through the air with hardly a hiss of sound as it carved into the Hollow's body, the wide slash severing an upraised arm and sending the scythe-like blade crashing to the ground even as the creature's head was torn from its body. Haiiro didn't even pause as it sliced through the being, the sword's gray metal flashing in the light as it emerged from the far side of the being's body, black blood staining its edge. Turning to face the second Hollow, Zeich briefly allowed himself a moment to stab his sword backwards into the slain Hollow's head, piercing the mask and shattering it completely to purify the creature and send its essence to Soul Society, to reborn as a new Plus.

Once the immediate danger to the Plus was handled, Zeich sped forward again, once more keeping ahead of the creature's speed by a fair margin. He lunged at the Hollow, Haiiro's blade outstretched, only to find the monster's head whipping around and sending the tendril on its head flying towards the Third Seat. It was an easy evasion, one that Zeich could do with little thought, and indeed he gave a half-jump, pushing him just above the tentacle-like appendage. His Zanpaktou sliced downwards in a quick, whip-like motion that had it severing the length without a moment's pause. The Third Seat landed even as the heavy appendage hit the ground, darting forward after only a second as the Hollow roared in pain. That roar was the last sound it made as Zeich stopped before it, bending at the knees before springing up and slicing Haiiro through the creature's mask in a powerful upwards slash. The bone fragments fell to the floor, shattering on impact, and soon the creature faded away, losing cohesion as its soul was sent to the other side.

The threats dissipated, Zeich quickly sheathed Haiiro after flicking away the black blood that remained on its edge, leaving the Zanpaktou clean as its blade was hidden away. Turning to the Plus that had nearly been devoured, the Third Seat pulled his Zanpaktou from its belt completely, flipping it into a backhand grip that would allow him to press the pommel to the young girl's forehead and release her to Soul Society. His eyes were as cold as ever, but there was a hint of softness in them, a slight melting to the ice in his gaze. He understood the fear of death, the terror of the unknown after the ending of a life, and he knew that this child was probably terrified, being attacked so soon after the transition, especially at her age. “Don't be afraid, I am here to help send you on your way. Spirits do not belong in the Land of the Living; instead, we have a place for you on the other side. Be at peace, and know that you are going somewhere far better than this.”

With that, the Shinigami would press the pommel of his sword to the girl's forehead, using the power of the Konso to send the child's soul to Soul Society, where it would become another Plus, one that would forget the troubles of a living body and instead enjoy the peace of the Rukongai. She would be a better place.

Well, that's that. I guess I should go back to the shack and let Uzumaki handle the remaining Hollow...

Zeich had no trouble in killing either of the Hollows. He had no trouble in killing either of the Hollows, for they were low level and weak things. Marcelius would not even be finished entering the shack by the time both reiatsus disappeared. There was no doubt that they were ordinary Hollows. There was no doubt that they were ordinary, for even the reiatsu a ways away disappeared. The Hollow reiatsu a mile away also dissipated, meaning that Uzumaki had killed it. No, there was no problem regarding either of the Hollows. They were routine. They were routine, and they were easy to take down. They were routine, and they were easy to take down, and nothing should have spurred any confusion or suspicions. It was not until afterward that Zeich would have trouble.

"Don't be afraid," Zeich told the little girl. "Who are you?" she asked him in a timid voice. Her demeanor was shaky. Her demeanor was shaky, for she was afraid. She was afraid because she had just been attacked by enormous monsters, and observed them murdered by a stranger with a sword. "I am here to help send you on your way," were the words which she received, to which she responded equally timidly. She responded equally timidly, and with perhaps more fright than before. It was not a warm day. "On my way? Where?" Yes, where. Heaven? Hell? Or both? Purgatory? "Spirits do not belong in the Land of the Living; instead, we have a place for you on the other side. Be at peace, and know that you are going somewhere far better than this.” Better indeed.

As the butt of Zeich's sword touched her forehead and glowed, and the Konso was prepared so that she may be sent off to another world, she closed her eyes. As the butt of Zeich's sword glowed and touched her forehead, and the Konso was prepared, everything seemed routine. This was until the glow faded. This was until the glow faded, indicating a successful burial. It indicated a successful burial, yet it was not successful. Nothing happened. The glow stopped. The glow stopped, and the little girl remained there. She had not been transported to Soul Society. She had not been transported to Soul Society or anywhere else. She stood there still before Zeich. Soul Burial had failed. She opened her eyes.

"When...when do I go?" she asked him. A strange thing, for it to have failed. It was unusual, and moreover, after several seconds of stunned silence, Zeich would experience. The ominous presence of the shack had left him the second he had turned his back on it. The ominous presence had left him when he left it, however now something else daunted him. It was brief. It was momentary. Perhaps it never even happened. Perhaps it never even happened, and the whole thing was imagined. For the slightest of moments, a white smile could be seen in his mind. It was sinister, and it was pure evil. It chuckled. It could have been his Hollow sneering in his conscious. It could have been his Hollow sneering in his conscious, or something else. However, the issue remained. Konso had failed.

In the area where Marcelius dwelt, he had entered the shack. He had entered the shack, and would be faced with something surprising. It had creaky wooden floors, musty and covered with dust and occasional bugs. It was covered with occasional bugs, though even these seemed to stay out. It had probably once been a rich brown color floor, but instead had become a dull, faded gray. It had become a dull, faded gray to match the walls which had become dreary green and were covered in cobwebs and more dust. It was small, with only three rooms inside. There was a kitchen, a bedroom with two beds, and a living room with a 90s television with a cracked screen. There was nothing unusual. It was old and broken down.

The voices could still be heard within the shack. The voices could still be heard within the shack of what had happened there. The farther in Marcelius went, the more it would be felt. The young boy, arms raised in fear as the belt came down on his body. The teenage girl, blood on her inner thighs and legs agape as a man missing several teeth kneaded her breasts and violated her, as if enjoying her tears. A young girl, come home to find her dog and it's 6 puppies had been drowned by her vindictive aunt. Many tragedies had transpired here. Still the voices could be heard, and their emotions could be experienced. There was a central voice in all of these memories. All of the victims shared one line. You sicken me....

As Marcelius found the source of the sound, the old ringing phone from the 60s era, and answered it, no questions would be answered. No questions would be answered, for they could not be. No questions would be answered, for they could not be, but new ones would arise. On the other end, a voice spoke. "In my dream, the world had suffered a terrible disaster. A black haze shut out the sun. The darkness was alive with the moans and screams of wounded people. Suddenly, a small light glowed. A candle flickered into life, a symbol of hope for millions, a single tiny candle shining in the ugly dark. I laughed...and blew it out..." There was laughter on the other end of the phone, and then it hung up.

When Marcelius again left the shack, it would be clear that the Hollows had all been slain. They had all been slain, and it would be too late to save them. In the shack however had been a clue. Empty beer bottles on a wooden table had had many receipts near them, all from the same place. The alcohol had all come from the same place. Perhaps it had been frequented by one of the residents of the shack. The alcohol had come from an establishment called Sonkei, so perhaps this would be a place to visit first. Perhaps this would be a place to visit first. Perhaps it would be a start. He could learn something about it. However, Marcelius was in a spiritual form. First, he would need to secure an Arrancar-enabled Gigai.