Post by Zeich Yajuu on Sept 30, 2014 0:45:09 GMT -5
Lightning flashed, not literal, but physical; even as the Master blew away Zeich's attacks, minimizing them through his sheer might, the Vizard continued to attack. The Shinigami had neglected to deal with the creature's tail, and as a result the barbed end stabbed into his shoulder, digging deep wounds that immediately coated his shirt and arm in blood. The remorseless strike continued, the blades dragging down Zeich's arm and raking the flesh off of it. The end result had a gaping wound from the front of his shoulder down to the elbow joint, a sheet of blood soaking the entire limb and dripping off of his fingers. Pain tore through the Shinigami's body, and he gasped, the only sound that he could make as shock paralyzed his throat.
Yet despite the injury and crippling pain as Zeich's arm was nearly torn completely off, the bone cracked and the muscles torn while the limb hung limply at his side, the Master backed off. Even after tearing free of Zeich's Bankai, the Vizard stepped back, cracks appearing in the bonelike armor. What was going on? The Shinigami had not inflicted any significant damage, and indeed his blades had barely drawn any blood from the Vizard's body, yet somehow, the armor it was wearing, the skeletal form, had been damaged. Even as the cracks spread, and large pieces began to fall off of its body, the Master's spiritual presence began to diminish, to fade. This realization that something was happening numbed Zeich to the pain in his arm to some extent; it was there, throbbing, yet it felt almost detached and separate.
And then it spoke. Even as the black dragon from before was finally revealed, the base Hollow that had been controlling the Vizard, Zeich found himself confused. Maybe it was the pain and the exhaustion getting to him, as his head was spinning and his body felt weak, but something in the words sounded... pitying? Was a Hollow pitying him? Or was it one final taunt, a reminder that he, too, had a Hollow within his soul? Indeed, Zeich could feel the creature's presence even more now, his awareness almost a signal that the Shadow no longer needed to conceal himself. Yet despite that, there was one thing that stood out to the Shinigami, even in his exhaustion:
“Only time will tell if you end up a Slave or a Master.”
Those words were enough to finally break the veil of shock that held Zeich enthralled, and pain rushed back to him in a sudden surge. Right behind it was everything he had been holding back emotionally; emotional pain to match the physical, anger, sadness, and fear all exploded into his head at once. The Shinigami collapsed, falling to the ground as he clutched at his arm. It was a pitiful state, one that should have ended in his death. Indeed, the Hollow stood over him, still carrying its sword, lightning crackling around its claws. A single sweep of its blade would have been final, fatal; Zeich could make no move to stop it, his ashen Bankai dissolving around him as his ability to focus his Reiatsu began to fall apart. No, should it be wished, the Master could simply kill him right then and there.
Yet the Hollow didn't. Perhaps it was a desire for revenge. Perhaps it was pity after all. Perhaps it was the thought that Zeich's death would be inevitable at the hands of his own Hollow. Regardless of what the reason was, the Master ignored him. It left in another burst of lightning, heading for Soul Society. All that was left was its sword, the weapon buried in the Dangai's “floor”. Zeich had vaguely heard the creature's cryptic words, something about a vessel without a spirit, but he hardly noticed them; the Shinigami had sunken to his knees, leaning on his good arm while his hand clutched at the horrendous injury that continued to bleed, a pool of red spreading beneath him.
Pain. Pain filled Zeich, physically and emotionally, tearing him apart from the inside out. Adrenaline, stress, and the technique he had employed had kept the Shinigami stable up until that point, but when it was all over, there was nothing to hold him up. All of the emotional support he had been leaning on like a crutch had been stripped away, and the Third Seat found himself falling, drowning in a sea of torment. His arm ached, but it was more than just his arm; his legs screamed with the muscle strain he had put on them keeping up with the Vizard's dragon form, his head throbbed from overuse of his emotion-reducing technique, and his breathing came heavily as he tried to keep himself from lapsing into shock again due to his injury.
And that was just the physical pain; the emotional pain was so much more crippling. Haiiro had lied to him, lied to him constantly, kept him in the dark about the Hollow that was threatening to consume him whole. The fact that the threat was constantly rising was not lost, either; even as Zeich lay on the floor of the Dangai, he could feel the Shadow's presence, stronger than ever. It had said, explicitly, that if the Shinigami was in direct danger of death that it would claim his body. The Hollow was there, waiting on the edge of his consciousness, dark claws sinking into him and reminding him that, should he slip, it would be the last mistake he made. Fear and betrayal mixed in a painful whirlpool that threatened to suck Zeich under, yet he could not allow himself to give in; doing so would be a betrayal of his duty to Soul Society, to protect it. Becoming the very thing he wanted to stop would be too much.
Even as he resolved to make his way back to Soul Society, to get to Squad Four's barracks to have his injuries treated, the Third Seat let his head hit the floor, allowing himself a moment of weakness that no one else would ever see. As tears rolled down his face, tears of frustration, of pain, of anger, they mixed with the blood that pooled beneath him, blood that stained his hands red. What a fitting metaphor, given the lives he had taken or sacrificed for this mission. Now, it seemed even his own blood would be on his hands as he struggled to keep control of the darkness within him, determined to end his own life should he lose that battle. Would the bloodstains end there? Would they pursue him until the day he died? Or would they follow him, even as he took his own life...?
In the thickening shadows of self-doubt and depression, the Shadow laughed. Soon...
Yet despite the injury and crippling pain as Zeich's arm was nearly torn completely off, the bone cracked and the muscles torn while the limb hung limply at his side, the Master backed off. Even after tearing free of Zeich's Bankai, the Vizard stepped back, cracks appearing in the bonelike armor. What was going on? The Shinigami had not inflicted any significant damage, and indeed his blades had barely drawn any blood from the Vizard's body, yet somehow, the armor it was wearing, the skeletal form, had been damaged. Even as the cracks spread, and large pieces began to fall off of its body, the Master's spiritual presence began to diminish, to fade. This realization that something was happening numbed Zeich to the pain in his arm to some extent; it was there, throbbing, yet it felt almost detached and separate.
And then it spoke. Even as the black dragon from before was finally revealed, the base Hollow that had been controlling the Vizard, Zeich found himself confused. Maybe it was the pain and the exhaustion getting to him, as his head was spinning and his body felt weak, but something in the words sounded... pitying? Was a Hollow pitying him? Or was it one final taunt, a reminder that he, too, had a Hollow within his soul? Indeed, Zeich could feel the creature's presence even more now, his awareness almost a signal that the Shadow no longer needed to conceal himself. Yet despite that, there was one thing that stood out to the Shinigami, even in his exhaustion:
“Only time will tell if you end up a Slave or a Master.”
Those words were enough to finally break the veil of shock that held Zeich enthralled, and pain rushed back to him in a sudden surge. Right behind it was everything he had been holding back emotionally; emotional pain to match the physical, anger, sadness, and fear all exploded into his head at once. The Shinigami collapsed, falling to the ground as he clutched at his arm. It was a pitiful state, one that should have ended in his death. Indeed, the Hollow stood over him, still carrying its sword, lightning crackling around its claws. A single sweep of its blade would have been final, fatal; Zeich could make no move to stop it, his ashen Bankai dissolving around him as his ability to focus his Reiatsu began to fall apart. No, should it be wished, the Master could simply kill him right then and there.
Yet the Hollow didn't. Perhaps it was a desire for revenge. Perhaps it was pity after all. Perhaps it was the thought that Zeich's death would be inevitable at the hands of his own Hollow. Regardless of what the reason was, the Master ignored him. It left in another burst of lightning, heading for Soul Society. All that was left was its sword, the weapon buried in the Dangai's “floor”. Zeich had vaguely heard the creature's cryptic words, something about a vessel without a spirit, but he hardly noticed them; the Shinigami had sunken to his knees, leaning on his good arm while his hand clutched at the horrendous injury that continued to bleed, a pool of red spreading beneath him.
Pain. Pain filled Zeich, physically and emotionally, tearing him apart from the inside out. Adrenaline, stress, and the technique he had employed had kept the Shinigami stable up until that point, but when it was all over, there was nothing to hold him up. All of the emotional support he had been leaning on like a crutch had been stripped away, and the Third Seat found himself falling, drowning in a sea of torment. His arm ached, but it was more than just his arm; his legs screamed with the muscle strain he had put on them keeping up with the Vizard's dragon form, his head throbbed from overuse of his emotion-reducing technique, and his breathing came heavily as he tried to keep himself from lapsing into shock again due to his injury.
And that was just the physical pain; the emotional pain was so much more crippling. Haiiro had lied to him, lied to him constantly, kept him in the dark about the Hollow that was threatening to consume him whole. The fact that the threat was constantly rising was not lost, either; even as Zeich lay on the floor of the Dangai, he could feel the Shadow's presence, stronger than ever. It had said, explicitly, that if the Shinigami was in direct danger of death that it would claim his body. The Hollow was there, waiting on the edge of his consciousness, dark claws sinking into him and reminding him that, should he slip, it would be the last mistake he made. Fear and betrayal mixed in a painful whirlpool that threatened to suck Zeich under, yet he could not allow himself to give in; doing so would be a betrayal of his duty to Soul Society, to protect it. Becoming the very thing he wanted to stop would be too much.
Even as he resolved to make his way back to Soul Society, to get to Squad Four's barracks to have his injuries treated, the Third Seat let his head hit the floor, allowing himself a moment of weakness that no one else would ever see. As tears rolled down his face, tears of frustration, of pain, of anger, they mixed with the blood that pooled beneath him, blood that stained his hands red. What a fitting metaphor, given the lives he had taken or sacrificed for this mission. Now, it seemed even his own blood would be on his hands as he struggled to keep control of the darkness within him, determined to end his own life should he lose that battle. Would the bloodstains end there? Would they pursue him until the day he died? Or would they follow him, even as he took his own life...?
In the thickening shadows of self-doubt and depression, the Shadow laughed. Soon...