Complimentary, he says [Joint training thread,NDE]

[Deleted]

[[ooc: FUCK YEAH. PAGE TWO. FINALLY #TeamNachos]]

Maybe the old scarecrow was a glutton for punishment. Maybe he liked being taunted and bullied. Hm. Well, it made sense. Remorse was a hell of an emotion to feel. It was something many people succumbed to. There was no doubt that remorse was nasty. But, honestly, to Miho, it wasn't bad. There was something much worse than remorse. Panic. Panic was horrendous. To be thrown into a fit of instability and mindlessness; God, everything around you just felt like hell. Death was heavenly when you experienced never ending panic. Well, it only felt never ending. It could be a minute but true panic had the power to set one's mind into a frenzy. You don't even think straight when you were in that state. It was the epitome of pain.

Well, Miho thought so. If she could send someone into a state of panic then maybe... maybe she won. To send everyone into a state of raw panic. Ah, it sounded like a dream. If she could just do it instantaneously everything would be amazing. She could achieve that with Marcelius though. He had feels emotional powers as well. Miho suddenly saw her future get very, very bright. Missions would become waaaay easier. The thought excited her. However, that left her with a problem. She would become very dependent on the old man and that would leave him with all kinds of power over her. The last thing she needed was another man with power over her to leave her left for dead. She wasn't going to have any of that thank you very much.

The more this went on though, the more her guard was going down. What a nasty habit she had. At least, she thought so... but would it be so bad to accept him? He knew everything about her and he probably knew her weaknesses. Some of them at least. He knew what made her tick. Hell, he made her cry. When you cried...you were more vulnerable than ever. They say your tears are either one of two things; They're either hot and passion and distress filled...or cold and leaded with happiness. Miho was never a happy person which meant she had tears of the former. It made her feel all hot and bothered and, well, she didn't like it. When the monster cried, she felt like she couldn't move. Not because she was physically unable to, oh she was ALWAYS primed for an assault, but mentally, she couldn't bring herself to. It was feeling of defeat that came from within in when she cried.

No one ever made her cry. Maybe she had a lot saved up. Pent up and released in that moment. If he'd met her before she left on her little trip, she would've been at him with more ferocity. Miho was uncontrollable at one point. She'd even outright told Kuroi she was going to kill him one day. She followed him because he was powerful and she'd follow him and ONLY him. No one else. Not even Rio. Miho wanted to be seen with strongest and that's what Kuroi was. He was at the top of the food chain. Everyone else could go to hell for all she cared. Was it harsh? No. She'll see 'em there eventually. Miho knew damn well she was slated for hell just like everyone else...Save for the teal haired twit and her brigade of pansies. They were the real goody two shoes of this place. Still, going to hell and coming out wasn't on her list. Sorry, but when you looked like Grimoire, you just wanted nothing to do with it.

Isn't that all the more reason to strive for power? If you're strong, you live. If you're weak, you die. That's the way it is. That's how the world worked. That's how they ALL worked. Miho wouldn't have it any other way. Her soul was strong and the more she fought, the more she felt her power grow and grow...Granted, she wasn't the most powerful of Las Noches but there was always room for improvement. That included training and growing as a person...whoops. Nope. She lacked any sort of humanity or empathy. Or at least, that's what she'd like to think. It took something special to elicit those kinds of feelings. Something deep. Something raw. Otherwise, Miho was hardened; steeled for all tragedies and unfortunate events on every end of the spectrum. Even more than before thanks to some nice, delightful, recent events. Bastards.

She could tell she angered him. Miho was a bloodhound when it came to that stuff. Did he not like being called by his own real name or something? It was a sign of respect in her eyes. She didn't understand the philosophy behind it but, whatever. If it really bothered him that much, all he had to do was open his goddamned mouth that he likes to open so much and just tell her. Not all of us had the gift of gab, mind reading and other intrusive things. She looked at his tired form with curiosity. Miho looked as if she were going to say something... but she never opened her mouth. "...Can you hear me now?" She blinked. She wanted to know the extent of his abilities. It would be pretty wicked if he heard that. It was like talking...only...with your mind! Not only that, but you can coordinate some pretty sick moves.

Yes, that's right. It's 100% correct! It was so absolute!! She had his emotions wrapped around her little finger. She loved it. That power. The ability to toy and manipulate with someone's feelings. He knew she was doing it right now! This was how the predator caught its prey. Like a fly in a venus trap, they were all done for is she so willed it. They were her canvas and she had all the mediums and paint at her disposal. She painted the right picture and just like that... they were sold! The fools! Heh. Marcelius could probably learn how to do the same thing. The same thing as in be cruel enough to twist someone around his finger. The thought of him actually being able to do it for malicious purposes actually intrigued her...But that could easily be done when he was in her company. Would he know how? No.. Not at the moment...But it could happen with time.

Ugh. How disgusting. She wanted to get from Point A to point Point Z instantaneously. She didn't want to wait for it to happen but she had no choice. He had what she lacked and vice versa. The more that thought sank in, the more frightened she was. Honestly... Kuroi couldn't have picked 'em any better. He didn't even know she was coming back and yet here he was, on a silver platter. A comrade who was fully compatible with her powers; even more so than Nijuu could ever hope to be. Not that the idiot would want to be. He had a certain flare of his own that didn't work completely. He was still good to have around though. That fact never changed. Still, if Nijuu couldn't be around her it meant that maybe she would be even better off with this new comrade. Oh my...Miho coming to accept someone's existence? How rare. He had value but the was a chance that maybe she could place a little bit of trust in him.

That was her rule after all. You never give someone 100% of yourself. That was the quickest way to death. She was sure Marcelius wanted her to accept him. Who in the all the worlds combined didn't want acceptance? No matter how much they shut it out. No matter how much they isolate themselves. It was futile. Everyone wanted to be liked or accepted in some little way. It was only natural to feel that way. It wasn't so much as a flaw in her eyes. However, it is not so easy to trust people. After all, Miho had deceitful people all around her. She could do a 360 and see 'em all. Kuroi. Nijuu. Kouen. Kaito. Yuka. You think it's so easy to tear that chest cavity open? Think it's so easy to reveal that disgusting organ... That thing...That stupid thing. It was red and it made involuntary beats to keep you alive...except when you met someone you actually give a damn about...Then it starts acting weird and you open up to them and then everything goes down hill.

He didn't make promises to her though. He didn't tell her he was going to save her. Maybe he knew that it wasn't his place to do that? He kept it real. He just wanted to see her do well...Kinda like a real dad. Huh. A real dad. Not that she held any malice towards her biological father but, he died. He wasn't around for her after 8 years old...or somethin' like that. That was all Yuka's fault. Still, Marc didn't give her false hope. He'd been honest with her yet, it was in her nature to not be too trusting. It was in her nature to not be to accepting; she was always going to be weary. After all, a simple little mistake could leave you open and left for dead. She started to feel conflicted. Miho truly didn't know what to do with this particular individual. Should she just... accept him? It wasn't like she couldn't kill him if he decided to do something horrible to her...

But why wait until something like that happens? Deal with the problem now, right? But, her biggest question was whether her was a problem or not to begin with! Agh. The more she tried to figure it out, the more frustrated she got. Well...She could be screwed either way. Damned if she accepted him. Damned if she didn't. Okay, with that logic....ah...no...Maybe she shouldn't. She was caught in a game of tug of war where she was the middle. The part of her that wanted to trust and the other that wanted nothing to do with the old man were caught in a battle that was something fierce. She couldn't do a damn thing about it. It was so aggravating! The last time she gave someone a chance... well, we all know how THAT went. Ah, it's as they say~ Once bitten, twice shy...right?

Sigh...There was no distracting him. He really seemed like he wanted to talk. Yet, he didn't. He was on to her already. It was remarkable. Nothing got pass that old crone's eyes. Well, she should've known better. Marcellius was observant and even while knowing what he was capable of, she still dared to defy and deceive him. Though, that only came from not wanting to talk about Kaito. In truth, Marcelius was the only one that knew about her post. That's right. Not even Kouen OR Kuroi knew a thing about her past. They knew what was on the surface not was underneath. They thought they had her figured out. They didn't. The knew she was hurt but never bothered to care or know why. Well, maybe Kouen would've known if they actually sat down and talked about in length. Alas, that didn't happen.

What would've happened if he knew, though? Would things between them be different? Would he hate her for the kind of person she was and still is? Well, he accepted her the way she was now but to hear about what she did in her past is an entirely different thing. People oftentimes liked to condemn you for your decisions in the past. They weren't mistakes though. No. She never thought of them that way. Not once. She wouldn't have done anything different and she did everything she could given her situation. She was in charge of her own destiny and she what she wanted. Somehow, she escaped hell and ended up here. It was weird to think about. Sometimes she even believed that maybe she was truly meant to be a leader despite being a fraccion.

Could she be an Espada? Now? No. She didn't care for it at the moment. Maybe she could in the future, but she didn't care for it right this moment. She got through her story and then she'd say that he wasn't happy in the slightest. Maybe he looked down upon her. Well, that was natural... But Miho also knew it wasn't because of her life story. It was the fact that she'd shown that she outright didn't trust him despite putting himself on the line. That in her own way, she'd rejected him. Huh. Maybe she should've considered what she was doing to him. He just wanted to work with her. Just searched for his own little niche and when he thought he found it with her, she turned him away...And for what? Cause she's scared? Tch. She was fucking Miho Shoga. She wasn't scared of shit...right? Well that was true with the exception of Grimoire Acero. That thing...that thing was terrifying.

Still, Marc didn't have a single expression on his face. Nothing. Nada. She tilted her head in curiosity. It would be then, his hand rose, palm faced up. Miho blinked. What was he trying to do? She looked at his face. then his hand and back to his face. Like a cautious animal, she watched his face for some sort of reaction. Unsure of what he was trying to do or what his intentions were. She stared him for a few moments, apprehensive before she let out a sigh. She rolled her eyes, already thinking of strings of curses and nasty thing she could lash out at him with. She moved her hand closer to his, stopping inches before she rested her palm in his, looking at him for a moment; as if it was the point of no return. She wasn't sure what he was up to but she eventually decided to give him her hand. "Close your eyes, and try to clear your mind..."

She did as she was told. Trying to clear her mind but her nasty thoughts with interfere..well not really, they were always there of her own volition. And she was perfectly fine with it. Well, she was until.. "Keep your snark to yourself. Save it for later..." She kept her eyes closed but her lips would spread into something akin to a demon's grin as she chuckled. He knew her this well already. It was hilarious that he knew what was going through her mind. She couldn't help the snark; it was too much fun. However, since he asked so... ugh... nicely, she'd comply. Miho relaxed, the demons of her mind resting for a moment and her breathing at a steady even pace. Her grin faded as she waited for something to happen. In this moment, she'd truly let her guard down. Was he gonna show her a silly magic trick or something? Tch.

She saw darkness. Endless, everlasting darkness. She blinked a couple of times, unsure if she was seeing right. Where was she? She looked around and it was dark as far as the eye could see. Nothing. Just darkness. Miho narrowed her eyes. Just what the hell was he trying to show her? She waited around for a moment and she still couldn't see anything...But she heard something. Left? No! Right?..Above? Wait...Where was it coming from? Miho did spins and turned her head in all kinds of crazy directions. Where was it coming from? She heard noise but couldn't identify the source. It got louder and louder...and when Miho balled her fists, she clenched tighter and tighter. What the fuck was it? She couldn't do anything but listen to this miserable crap. She noticed the figures; shadowy and daunting. They were all around her now. They were different in some way. It was strange.

Instruments. That's what she heard. Like some kind of tune. It was everywhere...Or at least, that's what it felt like. She couldn't tell what was going on but there was so much noise...She didn't like it. Miho remained still, trying to make some sense of what this all was. She heard voices..voices of all kinds. Voices with a new story to hell. Stories of the hellish variety for sure. They never shut up....And then her eyes laid upon his receding form. Doubled over in agony and pain. It tugged at Miho's itty bitty heartstrings to see such a sight. She almost moved forward; wanting to try and help the old man. Then she took a moment to think. She'd given him her hand and closed her eyes and now... there was this nasty choir polluting this place. They didn't go anywhere special...and it sure as hell didn't feel this way in her heard...but maybe this was what it was like to was in Marcelius Despres' shoes. To hear intense volumes and sounds of all ranges and varieties from the littlest things.

Was this what it was like to be in his head. She shifted about uncomfortably as an unforgiving shiver ran slowly her spine. She had no words for it. All Miho could do was watch as the old man suffered as these shadows. Could she do nothing to make them shut up? No one should be making this old scarecrow suffer. No one but her. Only she was allowed to make people miserable. Who the fuck were all these phantom menaces!? It downright pissed her off. Still, she was amazed...He lived with this. Every day. Every second. It never stopped. He just...accepted it. That's the crazy part. "Your reasons are both known, and a part of me. They were my own, so long ago. Where I was defeated, you thrived. That is why I would see you succeed, and push you forward towards the victories you are entitled. Miho, you may not be what I imagined, but you are still the family I have longed for..." He was louder than the rest. Her eyes widened with surprise at hearing his words. He really wanted someone to call family. No ulterior motives. No hidden meanings. No need to read between the lines... It was as raw as it gets. He wanted to see her do well in her endeavors...like a parent would.

Miho didn't notice he'd open his eyes. She was still lost in the thought that someone want family. After a moment or so, her eyes fluttered open. Her hand remained as she still thought over what she'd just seen. Miho saw him in an entirely different light. She didn't look at him. She didn't have to in order to know he had some pained expression on his face that normally would have had her squealing in delight. How odd. The devil felt some sympathy for the old man. So much that she realized how weird she was acting. He might've even noticed it but seeing a huge a...whatever that was choir in someone's mind or...some trippy shit like it...makes you feel kinda spacey and crappy. Miho knew all of it was strenuous on his elderly body. It was even in his tired voice. "Was my answer...sufficient..."

She remained like that for a few minutes. Thinking, thinking, thinking...That tug of war game she had earlier was over. A winner was decided. Yeah. There was no more tossing between thoughts. No more "what ifs" and "should I's". Miho made a firm decision. "...Fine." She looked at him with that dangerous trademark smirk of hers. She stood up and didn't let go of his hand. In fact, she'd pull the old geezer to his feet if he so willed it. If he didn't then that was cool too, but she was gonna do something. "You don't think I intend to let you rest and rot away do ya, pops?" her smirk grew in a grin. She watched his face for a moment to see if he'd react before moving on. The malicious girl looked at her beloved zanpakuto and sighed. She guessed she wouldn't regret it. She could do one little thing..

SPOILER: Click to show

"I don't do this for just anyone." she said pulling Chernobog out of the sand. "...Who better to share this with than stinkin', rotten family...Am I right?" she laughed lightly as she walked away from him, She slashed at the air in an effortless cleaving movment. It was to remove any pesky dirt or lingering sand grains off her beloved monstrosity of a blade. She took a couple steps away from Marc before facing him. Her broadsword was being held in a horizontal manner. She smiled but her eyes regained the ferocity they once had. Seems like she was 100% back after the two of them went on a nice little #feelstrip. When was the last time she'd done this? It'd been ages. She didn't like showing off but this was still fun to her. "Descend heartless angel, Chernobog!"

That's right, she'd come to accept him. In her own way. Showing him her release took a lot. Miho showed it to people that deserved to see it. Marc was one of those people. For now, his vision of her would be totally obscured. From the moment that demon's name left her lips, she'd been enveloped in pitch black, smokey reiatsu. Would you expect it to be any other color? After the way she boasted about turning even the most innocent of lambs to the most feral of wolves....Okay no. That didn't actually work but surely, you get the point? Her reiatsu was sinister and tainted. It was like if anyone else had touched it, they'd feel sick. That wasn't a real effect but that's the aura she gave off. It was just as she'd said; she surrounded herself in darkness. She reveled in it and shroud

Her hair, while still ravenous, was much longer. It reached lengths that most would deem almost impressively beautiful. It was weird to say it was a beautiful thing. She was fill with all these negative emotions. She didn't feel that way at all. In the same manner as before, her fringe was longer as well. It was all straight and silky. Well kept for a little demoness. Her hair gave off the appearance that it was just that much darker than before; almost inhuman. Then again, what was ever humane about her? Floating above her head were 5 halos that appeared to be made of only the darkest and sturdiest material. It was very much unlike an angels halo which gave off a nice heavenly golden glow. Nope. It didn't even glow. It was black and seemed to be made out of bone or something.

Still, through all the darkness of her hair, they weren't enough to hide her eyes though. Not enough to cover those charcoal-toned, potent irises. They weren't scarlet any more. No more vibrant fiery tones to burn people with. It was all blotted out by the darkness. It was completely devoid of any spark of good or any twinkle of light. Just pure, everlasting darkness in those malicious eyes of hers. Eyes were windows to one's soul. Maybe Marc would see it. He would see the nature of her release. Smoke & Mirrors is what it mostly was but one good look into that menacing pair of hers would be more than enough words. Maybe worth a thousand. That infamous pair of her's drew you in and kept you captive until she so willed it.

Miho, in this state, was completely devoid of color....Marc really wouldn't see a trace of it. Her skin was the very same shade as the moon that hung over them every 'day' and every night. Oddly enough, she was no longer in Kuroi-approved attire. She wore a black dress with white trimmings. Maybe she was a tad bit scantily clad but it was okay. It was a dress that showed off just a bit of her hips and the back was opened. The cut of the dress taking daring dips to her lower back as six raven toned, feathery appendages sprung open to life, flaring; three on either side. Her arms would be covered; gloves with the same white trimming running high up her arm stopping just below her shoulders. They were almost similar to the heeled boots she wore that were quite obviously made to kill. Though, that would be in appearance only.

She looked like an angel of ill fate. The hellion floated a few feet in the air with her now chainsaw broadsword in her hand. One hand rested on her hip as she looked down at him, the corner of her lips curled, almost smiling, in a daring fashion. "Come." she said simply. Her blade rose, moving up into a defensive position. In the next moment, the clamorous roar of a chainsaw that threatened life itself could be heard; the blades around her broadsword moving exactly like a real chainsaw. "You wish to know so much about me? This is as raw as it gets, pops. I can say that maybe three people have seen my release. You would be the fourth. Though, when I release, I make sure I'm in some sort of fight that'll get nice and bloody. I'll show you just how dark things are going to get...Be careful" She meant no malice with her words. She truly did want him to be careful around her. Knowing what was in his head, she was aware her powers could have a nasty, nasty affect on him. Alas, he'd need a taste of what she could do regardless. It was necessary for him to know and the only way to know something was to feel it.

A necessary evil... she quite liked that~

Miho's Remaining Reiatsu: 2800/3200

[Marcelius]

"Yes, Miho. I hear, but cannot answer...not always.", his voice seemed to perk; it was if new life sprang from his lungs. It was a shame it took so long for his attitude to change, but alas, the greatest rewards require the greatest wait. She had pondered the possibilities of his gift so long ago, and only now did it feel right to interject. Now the moment was perfect, for now she would better understand. Having been drawn by the hand, stolen away to the interior of his mind, she heard an answer firsthand.

The message would have been clear, and reminded her of her previous query, had not the Choir plagued the moment. But they, in a way, were as much a part of the answer. It was they who taught him to hear the songs with others. It was they, and their ever growing number, which allowed him to live in empathy of others. Though the inner chorus often brought him down -filling him with doubts and illuminating the unbearable odds- they also capacitated his power. It was a give and take. Truthfully, it was not why he wished her to meet them.

Nor was it to develop some sort of pity. Harking back to the need for understanding, Marcelius could think of no better way to teach Miho of his weaknesses. Truly, would she have understood his plight...if he had used merely words to describe it? No, his way was better. No need for length sentences or misconceptions. Marc had hoped his fellow Fraccion would respond well to the sensory experience. However, no amount of instinct could have predicted this outcome.

Miho took to his example, as though it were her nature. From the very beginning, when first he met her...and Kuroi spoke of their compatibility, he knew she was like him. Though she faced her journey through life with a more villainous outlook, the two of them still walked a common path. It had been dark and occupied by fiends; and in the end, they both learned the value of one's emotional heart. It was for this reason, that he knew Miho would be able to share his experience. Not simply a similarity, but a unified set of sensations. Not only could she hear the Choir, but she could feel them.

This was a first for Marc, even in his many, many years. Never before had such a compatibility been discovered. She was, in matters of the heart and soul, his daughter. She knew what he did, and could see as he did. Though her reaction, the clenching of fists and gritting of teeth, was a more Miho response...she still grasped the depths of his burden. Ah, but there was not all irritation as she played audience to his Eternal Internal Performance. There was a moment, when he gripped her hand so tightly, that he swore he felt warmth. Not heat like the fires of anger or irritation. Warmth; pure and concerned. Had Miho shown him genuine sympathy? Did she betray the defenses she raised and share the part of her soul who's existence she denied? It was unbelievable for him. This was not hyperbole, Marc could NOT believe it.

At first he told himself, again and again, "Ah-haha, you excitable galoot. Have you not learned? Miho does not feel sympathy...nor joy. She has suffered like you, and she has grown from it. Where you weep with an open 'heart', she has strengthen and hardened herself." Though not having spoken a word, he felt the compulsion to nod in agreement. "You are wishing again, stupid fool..." These words echoed in his head and soul, as though preached by countless voices at once. Little did she know at the time, that the reason his body curled and writhed in pain...had these words to blame. The Choir had been with him so long, that as she discovered, he had come to accept it. What he had not learned to accept, was his own crippling self doubt.

Was it so strange to think that an elder would not be brazen or courageous? Age often turned even the most wiry of cowards into stubborn, defiant souls. They use their time and their wisdoms to reinforce their bravery. For Marc...all his wisdow was failures. One of the longest lives around, and it will built on nothing but defeat. How could he not buckle over every time that thought returned; every time he found something to be proud of...the failures came to tarnish it. Today, they had proven especially successful. Attacking when she dared to show even a sliver of genuine concern for him; turning her miniscule sympathy into more darkness. The thought, when looking back, might even make Miho happy.

Her one moment of "weakness" ended up destroying him even further...how could the hellion not find that wonderful? Ah, but as Miho noticed, the weakness did not last. Finding strength again, Marcelius dismissed the chorus' hateful speech. Knowing the doubts they planted to be a possibility, he chose ignore. At this moment, all the joys he had prior to his fall, resurfaced and expelled. These were the feelings which compelled the words she heard within him. Though the message was not lost in the horde of voices, there was no guarantee that she would accept it. For that victory, Marc had to leave himself on the line. The following moments...were the lengthiest of his existence. Miho had been right before, panic turned the sands of time to molasses.

Within the young demoness, an expected struggle waged. With Marcelius' personality and powers, there was no denying internal thought when in his presence. It was his true strength, and it seemed to work on everyone he met. More so than any to date, were the effects on his little Miho. Yes, she was his. Not in the sense of dominion or property, god no. She was his, in the since of an heir. There were no other souls in all reality to which he could trust his secrets and gifts to. There was no other soul in all of existence which shared a connection with him as deeply as she could. The stubbornness of elders, the trait he craved so desperately from his seniority, finally appeared. It was in the notion of Miho.

The Hollow cared not what she or any other said...he knew she was his daughter. What he waited for, with his "heart" resting on the edge of his sleeves, was for Miho to confirm this. It seemed fitting, that she had been given view into his mind...now, he saw into hers once more. A long rope, woven out of the strings of her heart. It was sturdy, still possessing a pulse...but it was tearing into smaller and smaller strands. On one end he saw himself, desperately clawing for a foothold. Yes, clawing, like the monster she claimed he was. Miho could see how...how desperate and committed he was to the fight. Unfortunately, the battle was an unbalanced one. On the other end of her heart's rope, were the scattered figures of all those who betrayed her.

Oh, how the number was vast. There was Yuka, Kouen, even Kaito. Each had their own portion of the rope, their own reason for pulling, and their own form of betrayal. Somewhere small, others were large, but they all still tore away at her core. On Marc's portion of the war, there was no one to assist him. What he had, were the frayed strands used by his predecessors. The portions each of them had pulled upon before, when they were in his position. The posts they all abandoned. It was as clear as a theater performance. Marcelius could have cheered himself on, had he lost what grasp on reality he still retained. Quietly, silent as the grave, he waited on the edge of her thoughts. As the conflict raged, the words which poured from his soul being added to the mix, it seemed the tides had turned.

In an instant that would be ingrained in Marcelius' memories for the rest of his days, he saw something end in his favor. How triumphant he felt, that his first measurable success came in earning the trust of a soul like Miho's. Such a gasp of air poured from his chest, such relief. His aura seemed to erupt in a yellow hue, it was joy pure and true. Happiness embodied him so, that his mind collapsed into a sea of serenity. The smirk which had recently been lost, quickly grew in a bright and cheery grin. He almost appeared dumbfounded, all the class he depicted from his elderly reserve...hah, it was all gone now. Those big blue eyes seemed to glimer in the moonlight, as he rose his head to gaze upon Miho.

It seemed she joined him in the grinning, though her sported more deviousness. That was fine, hell, that was perfect. As horrid as she could be, Marc still loved to see it. The only thing he could hope to love more, was her reaching out to him. Oh man, his mind was swimming. He was so damn happy, that even the Choir could not rake him down. Fool or not, he was completely sold on the moment. There were no doubts, no concerns. Taking hold of her hand, the hoist she provided was much appreciated. He was down right delighted to have a help getting up. Soon the towering man was on his feet. What aches his joints might complain of, were promptly disregarded.

As he stretched his muscles and reaffirmed his footing in the slinking sands, Miho had already taken the necessary steps away. Her words had enticed him from before. Claiming she would not let him rot. The idea that she was going to stick around and make sure he did not stay complacent, now that was an idea. It was one he had not considered. All along he had obsessed over what he might teach her, and never once did he consider that she could teach him. There had been casual suggestions in her thoughts, of instructing him in the ways of pain and hurting others.

Besides these...well he considered them jests, Miho was in a position to educate him on what it takes to thrive. Notice the choice of words. Thrive. Not simply surviving. Miho had knowledge Marcelius was sorely missing, and resisted most others in attempts to learn. What she could teach, was what Kuroi could teach. Now he had Miho, the math suggested, he could learn twice as much...twice as fast. Assuming, the experience worked like that. Marc could only hope...#NotSoGoodWithTheMath. The future was looking rather wonderful, for the first time in a long, long time. Then, darkness reminded him of it's continued involvement.

Taking a stand, Miho squared off with her old man. Displaying that raw might of hers, she flicked the tremendous saw as though it were a dagger. Clearing such a wicked surface of debris, was more gesture than practical. Marcelius knew as well as her, no amount of grit or sand, could diminish that terrifying stretch of metal. Though the little performance was eye catching, it was not the real treat. The state of her spirit, the volume of her soul, was on the rise. It began to sing, and then it lifted the octaves once, and then twice. Soon, Miho was the only noise he could hear.

Yet, despite the noise of her reiatsu; Miho spoke to him...words which felt warm. Even through the chilling darkness, the intent was clear. Miho had finally grown bold enough to say, that he was her family. (OoC: This is the part that, when read, I just threw up my hands and said, "Forget it! Thread won." Did not seem like there was need to release or fight, not after that. Especially since you used my damn song! But then, I read the description of Miho's Resurreccion and, "Damn it all!" *Inspiration, type type type.* Anyways, post resume!) Marc's mood had been tumbling all..."evening", but now it was finally situated. The color of his soul blazed with an intense orange, his mind resting on needles as he awaited her spectacular display. Normally such a moment would fill him with dread. The idea of seeing another Hollow's Resurreccion always lead him to worry.

There was only one reason that such an event might occur...and it was often of the life or death variety. Now was not much different, especially in the face of an Arrancar such as Miho. With a lust for destruction and a habit of malice, what could be so awful that she would not want to frequently reveal it? Marcelius' imagination was already running wildly. Even the words which she used to release her power from it's constraints, caused goosebumps to form through his Hierro. The words, almost poetically, fit Miho to every degree. In his mind, they could not have been any more perfect. She was, too chosen perspective, what any daughter so crule would be. A heartless angel. Void of any feelings or mercy, but still his treasured cherub.

So he watched, as clouds of darkness incarnate began to swirl and disappate. The sands beneath each of their feet, began to roll and gather...as whispy trails formed from the force of her soul. With sudden force, he felt the new weight of her reiatsu slam down onto his shoulders. With such power, her pressure became crushing and dense. The burden which her Resurreccion created, the smothering of her thick reiatsu, suited her new appearance. As the name had suggested, she was in fact, an angel of ill omen. A fallen visage who wore her evil proudly, in grace and dangerous beuaty. An angel, who against the traditions or lore, opresses those in her presence...rather than raise them up. In the awe of her new form, Marc's face made no attempt to hide his feelings.

Pride, both honest and obvious. With his mouth hung agape, and his wrinkled eyes filled with new life, he made it clear that he was impressed. Soon, the slightest of tilts occurred in his neck. It crooned to the left, and then the right, as if to further examine her. All color had left her skin, leaving the normally pale Miho...a true apparition. The length of her hair mattered little, as it was gorgeous regardless of scale. The tresses and their new color, did further her otherworldly appearance. Despite the utter blackness that her new locks took on, the still seemed to pickup the gleam of moonlight. Each turn of her head, caused a sheen to flash along the rolling stretch of hair. It was much the same, as observing slow passing waves on the night sea.

Such beauty was diminished by the strange allure of her new adornments. The many Halos, which lay aloft above her head. Their dim coloration, made them difficult to see in the bleak shade of Hueco Mundo's evernight. Still, rings like bone could not be completely missed...as the peculiarity kept the eye transfixed on them. Alas, the headdress was not the only detail to take cover in the darkness. Expanding behind her, in an ever more amazing bredth, were the six glorious wings. The feathery appendages were as the ravens'. With every movement of the ebony ailerons, Marc was given course to recall a flock of crows...heh, Miho made him think of murders. This demon, who wore the splendid guise of one of heaven's own, was truly a sight to behold. What the old Hollow valued most, was the confidence her form inspired in him...courage through fear.

Yes, so intimidating was her form, that he knee he had not reason to worry. Miho, as he should well have known, held clear and terrible power. Like any father should, he delighted in the magnificence of his "prodigy". Trying not to exclaim in his joy, nor shake in his fright at her grandeur, "My, my...who knew the monster would be so astonishing? Who could have guessed, that one like you concealed such profound beauty?" The bite pf his sarcasm was compliment, she would know this to be true. She would also know, that he damn well expected as much as this from her...and that she clearly did not disappoint. With his happiness and shock ebbing away, he lifted a hand to gesture towards her.

A stern point of his finger, "Though, I will never approve of this choice of fashion..." That same devilish smirk she had used so well, now made a kameo appearance on his own ancient mug. This taunting business, it really was as fun as she proclaimed. When done right, and with the best of intentions...of course. And with his criticism out in the open, he could allow a tired sigh to escape him. Weariness was not the cause, oh no. It was merely his adjusting to her aura...seeing as his initial jubilation had now subsided. It took a lot for him to stand their, listening to the vile whispers of her antagonize soul...but already, he was growing to love it as much as her.

Hmm, now the moment loomed over him like the shadow of an angel. An angel, of misfortune. Seeing as Miho had gone as far as to reveal her true self, it was obligation that he do the same. Ah, but to make matters worse, the fiesty hellion wished his Resurreccion to not be a waste of her time. "Aah...'Come', she says. As if challenging me would change my hear on the matter." It is not that her taunt was futile, or poor in quality...it was simply the immersuable depths of his distaste which she competeted. Few things he truly loathed, but one of them was fighting other Hollows. On top of such a displeasure, it had to be her of all Arrancar that he was fighting.

No, eagerness would not play any role in the coming events. As said before, it was all a matter of obligation. It was owed to his fellow Fraccion, that he release the prisoner within his Zanpakuto. To repay her for the vulnerability she exhibited, and to better show her the abilities he offered both her and their Espada. She needed to witness it, just as she needed to witness the Choir. No matter his discomfort, he had accepted a responsibility which he must uphold. Still...he really did not wish to do this. "Alright then...I suppose it is my turn?" The happiness from before, withered now.

"Do not raise your hopes too high." There was a hint of a chuckle in his tone, but it did not match the look on his face. Instead, the somber miser stood as upright as he could. Bones, and muscle, and nerves all seemed to muster into a half-daunting physique; with all his plus six feet of height and excess of two hundred pounds of muscle all made apparent. Without reaching for the weapon at his side, his raspy voice seeped mournfully through the night. Without assuming any sort of stance, or devoting any effort to his action...his Resurreccion began. [smear:ffff00]"Commiserate the guilty...Compadacer, Acusado."[/smear:ff3300]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Punk, you totally stole dad's music...#SoProud}

And for that first instance, silence claimed the world. As with all Arrancar and the unshackling of their Hollowside, there was an enermous burst of reiatsu. The first moment, was simply a wave of his reiryoku, which caused the world to go momentarily mute. What followed next, was something Marc always felt...made the hush seem desirable. From his aura came noise, loud and wretched. What was the sound, exactly? It was the unified cries of all those whom he had ever devoured. A crescendo of anguish, from souls well beyond the desire of counting. Unlike her trip within his mind, this time came free of song. Instead, there was only weeping.

It was meant to be tragic. It was meant to be unbearable. It was the pain each of those within him felt, whenever he raked his true identify from their numerous, writhing bodies. The process of drawing both reiatsu and his real form, was much the same as a beast rending flupesh for sustenance. This time...the prey was already dead, and already consumed. Such facts did not protect his victims from feeling the pain once more. On any other for, it was a warning of what loss could bring...to either of the battle's participants. For Miho...it was the fuel her nightmarish abilities desired most. But the music was not the only feature to his transformation.

Next came light, so bright that it was blinding. Coming from the blade, the penitentiary of his being, the glare of white seemed to spew from within the sheath. Fighting to push out through the sealed length of steel, the the light was barely able to envolpe the elder's tall sillouette. And then, with a sudden break in the flare, the world was dim once more. In the wake, there stood a man...as motionless as a corpse. It was often a common sight, for reiatsu to shift upon the release of one's true self. Miho's had appeared as a black and vicious cloud of unbridled, unfathomable negative emotions...so too did his soul cast an image.

Stretching like a clock, which wrapped tightly at his neck, amassed the wailing effigies of his consumed. Appearing as clawing, squirming beings, all frail and yet all bound one body over another like weave in a fabric...they explained why his pressure seemd to drag others to the ground. The appearance of all those souls, worn like any other garb or cover, explained why the spirits within him cried so loudly during his unleashing. It was if the horde of crying cadavers, were constantly reaching out for any life they could grasp...so that they might tug it down to join them in their pitiful collective. It was a ghastly thing to see...but fortunately, ended almsot as soon as it began. But could the sight, or the feeling of all those grabbimg arms be as easily forgotten? In Marc's experience...the answer is no.

Calling out would do little to stir him, nor would any movement draw his eye. Closer inspection would reveal, that his body had undergone very few changes at all. Still old and wrinkled, no bigger or smaller, with clothes seemingly untouched. The immediate, and only significant variation, were the fragments of his mask. Where before, the rounded triangles had set low on his brow...they each had grown now, to cover his eyes completely. Like panels or shields designed to guard his oculars, the effectively blinded him from the material world...or so it would appear. Miho would be too clever to suspect he hampered himself in this way...and that surely a trick must be at work.

Hopefully such contemplation would not distract her from the most important feature of his new fragments. Cascading down his cheeks, running like forked rivers across weathered plains, were streams of tears. As of now, they ran and either dripped from his jaw or were lost in his beard. This was not to last, however, as the pale trails soon stood still. Calcified, hardened like bone, the tears had become a permanent fixture upon his face. These tears he shed, were never to stop. Just as he could not let go of the #Renooooorse that dwelled within him, never should his true self appear differently. How would the heartless angel feel, when her crafty mind pieced that little reality together?

Having not moved an inch, or spoke a word since his release, Marcelius simply stood in the sand. The first sign of life, came from a full and powerful breath. Taking oxygen into his lungs, with the physical might that he embodied, meant the air around them seems to pull towards him. Even in the loose grains of sand beneath them, each breath could be seen as a sweep flowing in, and then pushing back out. His posture had shifted, and now it seemed his arms were simply dangling at his sides. If one were to very closely inspect, they would see his once balled fists...very slowly uncurl.

Every so often, if left undisturbed, his digits would gently clench and then release. If the same could be supposed for his toes, then this action could be his way of maintaining knowledge of his extremities. Given that his unreleased self was always so warm, and kindly...this new Marceliusseemed distant, in the ways that man is often distant from beasts. It was far more difficult to read his character, "Well..." The way he sounded, might cause her to recall earlier moments in their conflict. Times when she pushed him so far, that his tone became infused with menace. The single word he spoke, was his own form of invitation. How then, should they proceed? That choice...would be up to his little girl.

Spiritual Exhaustion - 0/4
Physical Exhaustion - 0/8

Remaining Reiatsu - 1050/1500

-400, Resurreccion (OoC: It's go time girly!...also, I am damn sad I could not think of one Star Wars reference to follow your "Phantom Menaces!" line from the last post! XD )

[Deleted]

When was the last time she felt like this exactly? She felt completely unrestrained. No chains. No bindings. Nothing keeping her from doing whatever the fuck she wanted. My... GOD! She loved it. Being in this form. The feeling of tearing through someone's flesh and all their slithering, slimy entrails through black, finely manicured 'stiletto nails' as those silly humans would call it. Something about being released made her feel completely unstoppable. Her urge to wreak havoc and cause destruction and feed on the feelings it left was through Las Noches' own roof... and that's quite a building on its own; an immense, shiny white palace that reached peaks that would probably put Mount Everest to shame. It was like there was fire in her veins. She wanted to destroy and consume everything... and she had every right to! That was a trait of darkness and she carried it off well.

Miho clenched her weapon tighter. She just wanted to attack him now. Show the elderly man the meaning of the word "release" Should could imagine the sound her chainsaw would make, ripping through his flesh. Ooh~.. Now that just gave her goosebumps. She was truly a monster but was it so bad? That's what hollow and arrancar were ultimately. When it came down to it, they were monsters. They were savage beasts who only really wanted to sate basic desires. Whether it be desires for power, fame... hell, even desires of the carnal variety! There was always bloodshed behind it. All of it. It wasn't going to stop. Was it bad? Not at all. Miho didn't think so. That's what they were and this was their way of life. Was Marcelius ashamed of it? Maybe. His aspect was remorse; he felt remorse for the things he'd done.

...But what would he be like if he came to accept it? Accept it and do more of it? Do more fighting. More slashing. More striking. More devouring. More killing. What if he actually LIKED it!? My... It was food for thought, wasn't it? He COULD be the perfect killing machine. He had the potential for it. It was all packaged nice and neat in the form of an unsuspecting, elderly blonde 'galoot' with the name Marcelius Despres. Sure.. that stupid choir would sing songs their tunes which solely consisted of the dark and sinister, but would it really be SO bad? He could get used to it! He could LIKE it the same way she liked doing things the way she did. He could have the instinct of a true predator. He could sing the same disastrous melodies she sang so easily and he could be an even better fit for Kuroi... right?

Just because he was old didn't mean he did not need find tuning. It didn't mean that he knew everything. He obviously knew more than her but he didn't know everything. He knew nothing about willingly taking a life or the desire of spilling someone else's blood. It was so blatantly obvious. There was a difference in doing it out of necessity and doing it simply because you fucking can. Now, the latter... she could teach him! The thought.. The very idea of pushing him into darker waters amused the hellion. So much that she almost started to smile. Miho remembered the way Yuka introduced her to killing... it was... terrible. She hated dogs. A dog she used to feed and take care of was her very first victim thanks to that wretched man. Dogs were so stupid. So loyal. So willing to give their heart to another just for a silly bone or a scrap of stale meat.

She blinked and shook her head. Miho wanted to rid herself of the thought. No more of him. The past should stay dead. It should despite the fact that it lives on in her mind. The memories were always fresh, unfortunately. Her wings moved slowly, gracefully. They kept her afloat as she watched him carefully. Sure, she accepted him as family. That was 100% true... but they were still training. Strikes could still be made. Miho had to treat this as if she were truly in a fight to the death with him. Any less would be an insult to her. She took her fights seriously just as she did training. Miho made damn sure that she established the fact that she was ferocious, ruthless and something to be pretty fricken' scared of. He had to have known that already by now though..

Miho was in a state where she could see negative emotions clearly. There were hints of intimidation in the air and it only made her want to bring him to his knees and make him cry out in fear. No, Miho had absolutely no intention of "taking it easy". Never. No such thing as holding back. "My, my...who knew the monster would be so astonishing? Who could have guessed, that one like you concealed such profound beauty?" She raised an eyebrow. Miho couldn't help but smirk wolfishly at the mans sarcasm and then his comment about her attire only made it grow. "Well..... Look at you. All grown up. You even have a mouth! Hahaha~! 'Bout damn time, pops!!" she said, nearly shouting at the end. She shouted, the eagerness to battle was clear in her voice. Maybe she needed to be reminded they were training? Well, it wouldn't make very much of a difference anyways... Miho is Miho. Nothing's gonna change. Sadly.

She never once lowered her weapon as he spoke. It was habit; being primed and ready for assault was a Shoga thing. She loved to fight and it was only natural that she was ready for it. However, it would seem father dearest over here would feel the opposite. It was apparent he wasn't enjoying fighting her. Aw.. that's too bad! You know what he should do? Deal with it. Don't like it? Tough shit. Suck it up. This was training and no fucking comrade or family member of hers was going to be a flipping disgrace and die in battle. Not while she's here, kicking, ranting and raving. Not a fuckin' chance! "Alright then...I suppose it is my turn?" She huffed in annoyance. Impatient as a child it seems. "While I'm still young, blondie. Hurry your decrepit ass up!"

His tone of voice was seemingly jovial but his expression clearly was not. Miho tilted her head off to the side, long locks moving like a river of ink along with it. She seemed interested. Extremely interested in what he had to show. What sort of demons was HE hiding? What sort of fantastic thing would she be presented with now? "Commiserate the guilty...Compadacer, Acusado." My, what a release name. Hmph. It was almost fitting of that forlorn expression he seemed to have permanently etched on to his face. Despite the fact that he smiled here and there, he was an old, sad soul. It wasn't even the effect of her presence. There was deep sadness within him. Tragic almost. Did that please Miho? Absolutely! She couldn't help it! Still, family was family... maybe his release was something nasty.

There was a blast of reiatsu. She could feel the air push her hair back and quickly run through her feathers. Along with it, came the noise. It was like nails against a chalkboard and yet... Miho didn't budge. She didn't show any sign of discomfort despite feeling agitated by the noise. She did, gradually, felt the need to find a way to put that damn thing to rest. Usually knocking things unconscious and beating it to a bloody pulp worked. Sometimes breaking bones worked too but the the grating vocals of her victims screaming and moaning in agony sometimes got annoying if she wasn't trying to torture them. If she just wanted to knock them out then she wanted them good and out cold... permanently. In just a matter of seconds, the pain hit her. The pain of others that is. Ah.. it was beautiful~! It was refreshing! Like taking a nice hot shower. Man! She loved misery first thing in the.. evening!

A sadistic smile quickly spread across her face. Unbefitting of her seemingly graceful, angelic appearance. She clenched tighter. The emotions were strong. So much #feels and negativity...GOD! It was like ecstasy to her! She felt like she could go on and fight forever! She could keep going and not care about any little scratches or flesh wounds. Like an endless supply of power was just as her fingertips... and it all came from Marc. She wanted to laugh hysterically. The urge to kill and desire to see blood spill everywhere skyrocketed. There was light for a moment. Stinkin', blinding light. Miho narrowed her charcoal toned eyes, squinting. She didn't want to take her eyes off of him for fear she might miss something or that he might attack. Well, he wouldn't and sure it wasn't in his nature but old habits die hard. She was a warrior above anything else.

...It was just a full mask. That's it? It didn't look impressive but what she felt just moments ago made her believe that there was something to fear. He was still the same sad, old man. Alabaster mask fragments grew, covering him. Obscuring his line of vision completely. There was so much more to this. He could see much more. That was a sign, at least. Upon further inspection... was he fucking crying? Mild shock was on her face and then she realized it was smoke & mirrors. It was a part of his release. Hm. His aspect was #Renooooorse. He truly disliked being the way he was. Just like the phantom who hid behind curtains and the theatrics of an opera house, he too was a troubled soul. Deeply troubled. Though, they were upset for different reasons, it didn't change the magnitude of it all.

She smiled. Smiled like the devil. The heartless angel was truly pleased to see such a saddened expression. Wasn't it horrible of her? Yes. But it wasn't like he didn't know. Miho told him that she liked invoking pain and seeing it in others. He could hear a laugh. Low, velvety but very, very dark. Foreboding almost. He was silent but body language was more revealing than the tiny black and white dress she donned. Clenched fists showed frustration or trouble of some kind. "Well..." His voice.. well, she'd heard THAT one before. She'd heard it earlier! It was grave! Everything about it said trouble. Everything about it said he was in a much cloudier place. It was fantastic to her!! Now THIS was what she was talking about! Ah... was that an invitation? An invitation to twist that masked face of his in more pain? Oh my... "Heheh... Don't mind if it do."

Now, there was only a little or a bag of tricks she had up her sleeve. However, Miho was going to start off strong and show him why she had the release she had. Show him why Kuroi picked her. Show him why she was worthy of an Espada despite not taking the position. She floated closer to the now colder elderly man, the killing intent clear in her eyes. You know what the say about the Cold? It's just a word. No real meaning to it. All it truly meant was the absence of warmth. All traces of warmth left said object and in the same way, in just a fleeting moment, if left Marcelius. She reminded herself that he was important. He was kind of like her father and that this was training but dammit all, she wanted to see blood and scratches! Her arms dropped to her side as she moved gracefully towards him. Wicked smile still etched on to her face. If it had been anyone else, it would've been death approaching them.

So, Marcelius should count his stars lucky! A monster like herself came to somewhat care for the old crusty man. As Miho floated on, she was surrounded by black energy. She snapped her fingers and stopped just a few feet in front of him. "Forze de Male" she simply said... but there was... silence? Nothing happened. She simply stared him and then, suddenly, he'd feel a lot worse. Well, 'a lot' was an understatement. He'd feel turmoil, sorrow, #Despaaaaair, grief, remorse... Everything! From A to Z, up and down all bundled in one. It felt ridiculously horrible. The same thing was going on inside of Miho but her face showed no clear indication of that. It was something she was used to but Marcelius would be confused as to what was going on! Though, through deductive reasoning it obviously had to do with the words she just uttered or the snap of those pale fingers.

Then, before his very eyes would be only the purest and blackest energy form into something... monstrous. Not in size but.. an actual monsters. The darkness was leaving Miho's body but he should be more concentrated on the creature before him. A cow's head but a man's body? Eyes glowed a pale yellow, ominously in the midst of this shadowy design. It was just a foot taller than Marcelius himself. He'd find himself faced with a minotaur spawned in the small space between himself and Miho. It opened it's mouth and roared something ferocious in his face before taking on large muscular arm and swinging for Marcelius square in the face and then, one hell of a kick to his side. "You felt horrible.... didn't you?" she said, her voice slightly raspy. The heartless angel backed up and panted heavily but tried her damnedest to hide it. However, to someone like Marcelius, he'd see, Miho took a big stamina hit.

Miho raised her head, as if she'd deigned herself to be a powerful goddess. She watched him like a rat. She was crazy with power and like every great villain, she felt the need to explain a bit of what she'd done. "I amplified you pain and your sorrow by the thousands... and I did the same for my emotions...and look what came of it." she pointed at the attacking minotaur. She started to laugh haughtily. "Hahahaha~ Complimentary is right. You're fuel for me, blondie! Sweet, SWEET darkness!! Never ending fuel! Ha!" she exclaimed, the apparent blood-lust coating each word. Each syllable. He'd better be careful, she was mad with the desire to cause pain and destruction! Would this be where the great villain gets away unscathed!?

Miho's Remaining Reiatsu: 2800/3200

[Marcelius]

(OoC: BROKE THE 300 BARRIER! We're officially the most badest of asses evah. <.< We're up to 314, I say 400 or bust! Rin! This is happening!)

Waiting. That is what he was supposed to be doing. Waiting, for something to happen. It was what he could remember, almost the only thing he could remember. The darkness had come, it had swallowed him once more. Behind thick plates of bone and reishi his eyes were thought to be hid. Blinded to reality and all beauties and horror there within. Sightless was not this darkness, no. It was so much more than that. Beyond was the silence, immense and profound. The quiet was haunting, as if it stretched on into infinitum. There was no world around him, to measure how little he understood. There were no other beings or places, to share with him in this darkness. Can one begin to imagine? Feeling like an island in the middle of nothing? That is all he was, a star left alone in vast space...with nothing else about.

This was how it always begin...such a shock to his system. To return to the nothing was difficult, distracting to his mind and being. This is what young Miho saw, when he stodd motionless before. Where he seemed to wait, unsure of anything around him...or even himself. Father dearest had to adjust, "It has been so long...", he had to remember his world. Trying as he might, Marcelius pulled at every memory he could grasp. Asking himself where he was, and what he was doing. Telling himself who he was and what he should be feeling. Looking for anything across the senseless immensity that formed within his perception. What did he find waiting for him in that unified, singular shadow? Why...what else but a star. Shining. Brilliant. And poised to burn him to his very bones. For this star was much more than some burning ball of fumes, it was someone he knew. It was someone who knew him. She knew him well, and had many thoughts of him. He could see them, her precious imaginations. He could already feel his flesh ripping and muscles screaming. The slicing of his skin and the snapping of his bones. Oh, she was a precious one...was she not?

For however twisted her machinations might be...how grotesque her desires; this devilish angel seemed to sing with affection. It was because of how fond she was of him, and what she saw...that she had such cravings. It was her nature...and with him, she could feel confident to let it run free! Were his heart not a cavity, it would be bursting. A dangerous collaboration of joy and fear. Joy that the star he saw was so fond of him, that she was his darling hellion. Fear, of the power she wielded...and the sadistic tinge of her shuffling thoughts. The combination left him in a swell of admiration. How he envied this cherub, and the confidence she held. How he wished for an eagerness as sincere as hers, that he could pursue life with an equal candor. That is when he recognized it...her mood. She was trembling with anticipation...ready to crush him until he knew to respect her. Hmm...how little time that would actually take.

So, slipping from his lips before he had a second thought; Marcelius issued his fellow Arrancar the simple challenge. This is why he was waiting, it was for her. Miho needed to attack him first. Why was it so important? Well, to begin, she wanted it much more than him. Such was abundantly clear within either of their emotions. Inside of her, beaneath the simple nomenclature of "Anticipation"...deep feelings broiled. Miho, his vicious demon, was a creature of will. Whether that will manifest in her crueld instincts, or her defiant stubbornnessit did not matter. She would seek her desires and endure her tortures, regardless of what they were. Right now, the torture was having to decide what to do with daddy dearest. She craved blood and caranage and spectacle. Not just for herself, but for him as well. Miho wanted him to hurt, so that he would feel more like her. Wishing to cause the pain with her own hands, she would show him EXACTLY what she was capable of. Teach him everything he had to be proud about in her.

This was how Miho accepted family. Through mutual pain. Through this medium she could express herself. It was through such destruction that she shared who she was. In her malicious fantasies, Marc could tell she wanted their kinship to expand. She was willing to accept him as a father, but that would not stop her from changing who he was. To her, the only thing better than a father, is one who seeks the same as she seeks. Where before her mind danced with ideas of destroying him body and soul...there was now a follow-up. It was not satisfying enough to break him, she wanted to build him back up. To reshape him into something more like herself. To see this man who cares somdeeply for her, carving open other's just like her. This was how Miho saw herself spending time with papa. It was what she wanted. And Marcelius knew exactly why.

With his mind cleared of all trash and debris, he was free to look at things his way. This meant, looking at Miho was the same as peering into her very identity. She was a body of dancing lights, all of them currently orange and fiery. But within the luminous mass, there were sparks of memory that shown brighter. If his gaze were to linger on an individual point for too long, he would begin to hear the song which lay trapped within it. Without much effort from his masterful skill, he could dissect the melody and learn the lyrics within. This was how he took apart memories, and learned their secrets. It was because of this, that he could decipher Miho's affection for a more destructive Marc. Though it seemed wrapped in a bundle of fixations, it was not Miho's delight and pursuit of destruction which required her father to join.

Even without him, she could reap her on devastation on the world. Security, however...that was not something she could do on her own. It would take someone like Marcelius, to maintain such a feeling. Ever since the first, ever since Yuka; Miho has lackred this valuable aspect. Yuka trained her to be like him, violent and willful. She took to the lessons, knowing that it would bring them closer. There could have been no doubt in her mind, that she was only close to her "father" when behaving as cruelly as he. All of this was robbed from her, the moment he allowed her to die. Whatever security their had been, whatever similarities might have existed...shattered.

The sound of that breaking heart, still echoed within her spirit to this day. Being able to hear it, gave Marc the understanding he saught. The noise made by the shattered heart told him; Miho needs that same identical behavior...to feel the security again. He learned it was something that would need to be maintained. A treatment, not a cure. To close all gaps between him and the Angel of Calamity; Marcelius would have to embrace the qualities he long since repulsed. Everything he had repressed and ignored, everything Hollow...it would take these to strengthen their familiarity. The real question was not whether he could summon such brutality...but whether he could not lose himself to it? Could he become the father Miho would cherish, without sacrificing the father she needs?

Sadly, his patriarchal debate would be postponed. It would seem, the schedule for tonight's events did not include, "A Senile Soliloquies". No, Miho had far grander plans in mind. Terrible, awful, bigger plans. None of which, Marc could ignore. Each and every idea which crossed her vile, captivating mind...he had to watch. In many ways the details were excruciating. What disturbed him more than each every creative way she could imagine svering him apart...was how little it disturbed him. Hard to imagine, is it not? Well, for all his quirks, Marcelius was still a Hollow. Therefore, inside of him...buried beneath the smiles and the generosity, an instinctual killing machine resided. It just so happens that him and ghastly angel had similar minds for torture. Yes, very similar. Whenever she envisioned a scene with him Worthing in pain, he knew exactly how he got to that point. He knew when and how his tenders were torn. Where she had drive the edge of her blade, and which way she yanked it free. He could tell how his bone and sinew were sectioned and quartered, almost like she were serving him up as freesh meat.

Oh Miho, she was such a Hollow. Were the images not threats of the most grave kind, he may have been jubikent to see such capability within her. Wait, was that said correctly? Jubilant. Checking the definition reveals that Marc actually...enjoyed this visceral talent. Such were the thoughts caused in him, when in Resurreccion. Acusado, the name by which he calls this self, was truly a different person. When his actual power began to course through his viens, it turned him much like he did her. Released, Miho seems to loose all ability to lid her ambitions. The noise of her soul becomes a torrent of sound, a mighty orchestra. For Marcelius, it is the same. Instincts grow to define him, and his actions. With a mind liberated from distraction or nuisance, he is free to behave as he did when his mask was still whole. The fear from his sealed state, is defined by this mentality. It is this primal version of himself, which he attempts to restrict and shackle. Suck bindings do little good; however, once the beast has been set off it's leash.

This fact would become increasingly more clear to his fellow Fraccion...as she continued to push against his will and better judgement. After all, the Angel of Darkness still loomed. He could feel it, tingling across his skin. Pressure, heavy and electric, seemed to make his Hierro shiver. Oh, but it did not stop with his skin. No, a power such as Miho's had far greater aims. While he stood, patiently awaiting his prey...she was already hard at work on her own. By the time she arrived in front of him, posed in all her glory to strike him down, she had already set the stage for his defeat. Before her fingers could snap. Before she spoke the words he would never hear. The tendrils of her punishing energy had already wrapped around his throat. My my, how hard her world must be...that she never faced someone as susceptible to her toxin as he.

If she was anything, Miho was poison to her padre. Poor Marc could feel it, creeping into the recesses of his mind. The venom was nothing tangible, or even deadly. Instead, it was far, far worse. Negativity. Miho's dark gift was beginning to work it's magic. Whatever darkness existed within him, her abilities would dig up. Every fear, every hate or grievance, she would find. The agitation would break open his heart and soul, exposing all the sensitive nerves which awaited her jagged sword. Once she had uncovered his worst secrets and most painful memories, she would wrap them around her little finger. "Little Finger" being that monstrous chainsaw she tossed about like paper. Marcelius had been told about this; her powers several times explained. But...hearing and experiencing...are completely different animals.

All of the anxiety and all of the fretting he had done till now, failed to prepare him for what had come. What was filling his mind now...far exceeded his expectations. Compatible? Of yes, they were highly compatible. Just, not in the way that Miho felt. She was right, he was very much fuel for her. But she was not a fire. Miho was a ravenous monster, who hungers for others' sorrows like nutrients. To a predator like her, he was nothing more than an endless meal. But the cost of being sustenance for another is always deadly. Too his mind, which could fathom the intricacies of their connection with higher clarity; young Miho was sapping away all the barriers which kept out the voices. The was tearing down the walls he had emplaced within his own conscience, to ward off the encroaching clamor.

With Chernobog's corruption now rooted in his Remorse, the destruction was fast under way. Marc's body seemed to cringe, a clear sign of agony. Knees bending, shoulders dropping...his posture even seeming to slip. It was like he was crumbling, unable to hold himself upright. Looking at him...Miho would find no doubts on her effectiveness. Ah, but the physical world told only a limited story. What would be far harder for her to glean, was the effect within his soul. Where before, darkness had come to wash over him and leave him alone in eternity...now his country was filling up again. Lights, crawling out of his very core, began to fill the nothingness. Soon, it was not just him and Miho which inhabited his unique perspective, but legions and legions of critics. The Choir had come...and their allegiance was to Miho.

This was...a nightmare. Filled with too much pain and anguish, to be possible in the waking world. For his mind was beset on all sides, by countless, countless voices. Their clutter was so loud and unbroken, that he could not hear any one soul. They were a rabble, a mob which chanted with voices numbering into the millions. Though they each spoke a different horror, their pleas were unanimous. Die. Die. Die. Die! Oh how they wanted that! Whether it would satisfy their lust for vengeance, or simply bring them peace; his consumed wanted their prison to be destroyed. They wanted his soul to be taken down, brick by brick. With the walls and bars removed, perhaps they could be free again? Ah, with such a reward on the line...who could blame them for siding so fervently against him?

Certainly, Marcelius himself did not shun them for their desperation...if anything, he shared it with them. Wanting to be rid of their intrusion, and their constant cries. Hmm, but how could he be Remorse, if he forgot them all? The answer is simply, he could not. It was who he was...and such a fact would have to remain. If anything, Miho reminded him of that. By drawing out the nation of identities within him, she had tossed his dirty secrets for the world to see. Well, maybe just for him to see...but that was sufficient. Sufficient enough, that the old man was about ready to collapse. His breath grew labored and his hands shot up to clutch his head. The pain was a headache, caused by the annoying sobs of numerous victims. Right before the end, it would seem that his hellion would take pity on him. For something happened, which caused a moment of silence to descend into him. Something had happened to the voices, right as he was about to fall to his knees. They were gone, the world was just him and Miho again. What was this to be? Some form of torture? Already the elder's nerves began to stiffen...bracing for the worst. Oh, but they could not fathom the terror which she had set upon him.

Once more, all Marc could feel was the cold. His sight and his hearing were utterly lost to him. It was like drifting through empty space, with only distant stars to remind him he was not alone. So it would have been, had Miho not been there with him. With her great passion and intensity, she burned brightly like the sun. From her light, there was no warmth or comfort. Rather, she had sucked the life from instead. Taking it, in all its many faces and forms, and assigned new purpose. What he saw, was the gathering of lights. It took shape on it's own, shifting and wriggling like a newborn should. Soon, though, it would begin to rise. Drawing upon the strength granted to it, the collaboration of energy and will would rise to it's newly formed feet. Materializing from naught but #Feels and reiatsu. As the extremities took shape, and Marcelius began to understand it's form...hah, how fitting a child of Miho's would be such an abomination. Was this what he should expect of grandchildren?

Such a shame that he could not appreciate the moment for all it's achievement. Instead, all he could do was stare into the heart of evil. Glare down this brute, whose body was constructed from those whom Marc had devoured in his past. Did Miho only see darkness when she looked upon her creation? If so, that is quite a waste...because Marcelius' perspective is FAR more unnerving! The minotaur lifted itself up, and compromising it's body were nothing but weeping faces...and the tears needed to bond them in the figure of a fiend. It was...certainly something new. That much was for sure. Were his face capable of the same expressiveness it was before, then a most tragic sight would be visible. Too bad for Miho, then, that such a sight would not be afforded to her. All she would get was a motionless mute, waiting for whatever must come next from this repugnant effigy.

Laughing, most content with herself; sweet Miho cheered on the triumph of her baby. She seemed to enjoy the show it could put on for her...the tragedy it could manifest. Where before there had been admiration for her, now there was only dismay. The first attack was already done....and Marc had not resisted. How could he? It took ever ouncy of his will to stomach the aberration in front of him, let alone defend from it's blows. So with strength far more impressive than might be expected, it delivered a strike that slung the senior to the sand. The beast would have no reason to follow up with a kick, given that his target put up no real fight. As painful as the exchange may have appeared, the bodily harm was nothing compared to the mental. In one punch, Marcelius felt the concentrated sorrow of millions. All...all of the lives that he had ever ended, ruined, or eaten; they all returned in one single moment.

Having one's life flash before their eyes is often enlightening...but only for those without regrets. For the Avatar of Regret, it was a torture more crippling than any other. Where his body had come to rest in the white embrace of Hueco Mundo's soil...is where it remained. Was there motion? Was there sound? Did he give any signal he still drew breath? Yes, yes he did...in the form of heaving breaths. Not the kind which plague the exhausted, but the kind which follow heavy cries. The spirit...he was weeping. Shut down by the thousands of years of mistakes, he was forced to live through all over again. As best one could tell, the fight was over. Hmm, or so the truly blind might judge. To Miho; however, it would be a step down memory lane. The way he took the hit, as if holding himself out for it...what would she remember? If she could not answer...then Marc could. A dog, loyal and loving. A friend, whose only crime was admiring her to a fault. Watching as the punch grounded his unguarded self, would feel the same as the dagger that plunged into the puppies fur. That empty feeling, devoid of all pride or accomplishment...that is what would come. Worse still; that was only the beginning.

Cancion; Nuevo Vista. The Song of the Body, and "New Perspectives". This was the first song which Marcelius would play for his little one, the first lesson he would teach. The activation of this ability, the playing of this music, would go unheard. Miho may be his daughter, but she lacked the skills his age had honed. Her ability to interpret the subtleties of reiyoku and it's more hidden uses, would deny her knowledge that he had done anything. Just the same as his numbed senses could not interpret the performance her technique called for, she would not know how or when he activated his response. Truthfully, it started when he asked her what she would do next. From that point, he had confidence in how she would attack...and what would create the best lesson. So, just what is that lesson?

Mmm, something she is quite familiar with...pain. Physical and emotional, attacking from two sides like a clamping vice. Starting, from the first strike made by her obidient spawn. As soon as it's enormous arm connected with Marc, her own body would erupt in dreadful stimulation. Where his arm and sides had suffered the impact of her attack, all the way to where his face crashed into the quickly compacted sand...she would feel his pain...as HE felt it. His alarming lack of tolerance -considering his species- suddenly makes all the sense in the world...assuming his precious daughter could put one and two together quickly enough. For better or worse, the pain did not stop within her nerves. Oh no, it was not Marcelius' style to hurt without reason. So what exactly was his purpose? To start, he wanted to share. Much like he had beforehand, back when she agreed to hold his hand. For in the instance that his pain became hers, so too did a memory. It would come crashing forward, as if her her own mind had recalled it suddenly.

"Fôu! G-góu le...fôu-AAAAAAH!" The scream cuts like a finely sharpened knife, driven straight into their ear. The image begins blurry, as if waking from a deep sleep. Lights begin to form, spreading and growing till the world becomes illuminated once again. With the scene well lit, the details do not simply become clear...they are felt. Anger, boiling the blood within one's veins. This is the emotion that drives this vision. The perspective? Standing, tall and feeling strong. This is where the eyes see from, a position of power and control. But what do they see? A body, small and bloodied. A child, face down in the a pool of inky red. What can be seen of the face, shows cuts still dripping...adding to the puddle beneath. Bruises have yet to form, but the mishapen wualites are enough to tell; the skull has been broken and shattered far beyond recognition. Whatever plump cheeks or button nose might have been there before, was now and crushed within itself. What clothes the toddler wore, were now drenched with crimson that would never wash out.

But what of the voice, the one screaming for pause? The angry eyes, may turn, seeing a woman wrapped in heavy cloths. She has collapsed, reduced to a snivelling pile on the dusty floor. With one arm she reaches out for the body of her little one, but would not dare get closer. With the other, she clings to the wall...pressing against it as hard as she can. Her face is barely visible, twisted in misery far greater than any without child could ever know. Though it is clear she fears for her life...her tears cannot give her time to show terror. Looking at her overturns something within the viewers thoughts...a switch flipped from on to off. Suddenly, the rage subsides, and the pain sets in. The hands, once clenched fists, now raise open and splashed with blood. One can see that it is their hands which are wet and aching, and only by turning over do they find busted knuckles and fragments of bone embedded in the skin. As the chill of the wind from outside blows into their hut, Batukan remembers who he is...and recognizes what he has done. The frigid Mongolian air soon vanishes from thought, as the icy touch of reality leaves him cold and empty. The memory fades, with the mournful cadence of both parents' infinite grief...

The memory would involve several minutes of time, but that time was from the past. For Miho, it would become her memory within a fraction of a second...hardly enough time to be considered a distraction. However, it would become hers. If asked, she would have no way of denying it was something she did...somehow, someway, it was something she knew she had lived. How would the memory become so certain? Because she felt it, as deeply as any joy or sadness. How would this affect her? This one instance of vivid recollection? Now what if she had to endure a memory such as this...millions of times? What if every victim she had ever created, and every victim of every fellow killer she had ever destroyed...were to all rush into her thoughts?

Could she handle it? Could she retain her demeanor and composure? Who could...honestly? The answer certainly was not Marcelius. Only now finding the drive to hoist himself from the sand, his breath still gave out in emotional exhaustion. What he went through, should have been shared with Miho in full. Nuevo Vista, normally shares all the torment that comes from a wound...and Miho's attack made a wound on his mind the size of a mountain of corpses. Had the vent been open, and Nuevo Vista dropped his long life's work onto her all at once...god, she may have become like him. She may have been reduced to a tearful mess. Or...just the opposite...she may have grown immeasurably strong. But, as Marc's first reaction is always to surpress...Miho would only get the one regret. This time at least. As for papa, he was soon back to his feet. With the absurd amount of muscle density in his body, the injury he received hurt FAR worse than it actually was. Ah, but Miho knew that now....just imagine, what her next attack would teach her. So, standing upright once more; Hollow Marc tried to catch his breath. Doing so, would settle him down and allow him to speak. "Well..."


Acusado 1/12
Marcelius' Current Mood - Grief
Miho's Current Mood - Pensiveness, Dissonance

Starting at Anticipation, evident by her ability to feel joy and anger(irritation) when waiting on Marc; Miho then shifted twice. Once by Marc using his ability to intentionally shift an emotion, and then secondly by Nuevo Vista's Dissonance effect.

Spiritual Exhaustion - 2/4
Physical Exhaustion - 2/4

Remaining Reiatsu - 250/1000
-50, Mood Shift
-300, Nuevo Vista

Infinite Reiatsu Spent - 0


(OoC: Had a lot of fun writing this...let me know if there are questions or things which need changing! =D )

[Deleted]

Oh she could see it.. The monster she could turn Marcelius into. She saw the traits and the characteristics. Marc most certainly had the makings of one. After all, all good souls that go rotten over time made the best rotten monsters of them all!! Miho herself was a prime example of it!~! The world would just be that much better if everyone just succumbed to their basic desires. So many doors would be open to them. Things would be so much more easier. Not in a way where things were handed to them, no… That would be boring. However, people wouldn’t have all these ridiculous social graces and hang ups and hesitation! Yes! That was it!. Fear is what holds man back! Fear is what drives a man to kill! Fear is the sole motivator of all Arrancar. It can make us retreat or push on forward.

The secret of it all was knowing when to turn it on and off. Knowing when to retreat and when to savagely pounce on your victim and tear through them like they were paper. “You don’t seem happy but… I might have something to do with that~” She said almost a little too happily. Her grin was wild; unbefitting her oddly elegant appearance. It was the grin of a predator who loved her job and her race just a little too much. However, it wasn’t her release alone making her this way… but Marcelius. He was her comrade now. Kuroi chose them to be on the same team and, right now, she was fine with it! She fully acknowledged it and somewhat considered him like family. Well, she actually did.. She just wasn’t ready to vocalize it publicly yet or anything like that. Hell no. In her own twisted way, Miho wanted to see Marc soar and take things into his own hands.. To really know what it’s like to be an arrancar. Mmm…You think he’d like that?

Who knows? However, Miho knew one thing for sure… To be unbridled was the best thing ever. To not be shackled down or restrained. To not be bound by anything and to move freely and do as you please was the ultimate happiness. It was the ultimate happiness even if it might step on some peoples toes. Even if it hurt them, Miho knew that it was the best thing ever to feel that way. She only ever felt that way when she released. Most arrancar were the same. Miho just felt that surge of twisted joy much more than more. She felt it tenfold. Why didn’t Marcelius feel that way? He could be a living god! Did he not realize the power he held? The power he so desperately fought to keep behind closed doors? What is the big fucking deal!? What was Miho missing?! “Don’t tell me..” she began, her voice was raspy from all her shouting, crying and hysterical laughter. She was also out of breath from Forze de Male. Still, it had same old undertones. Undertones of malefic sort.

“..You’re not seriously still trying to cling to any pathetic wisps of humanity there is left in you…right?” Miho raised her voice. No amount of fatigue could stop Miho Shoga from drilling you down with her piercing words. There was no stopping her; not unless you finally hit your own grave. She felt anger and… a great deal of amusement. Astonished as well! The futility of remaining human when released…. it was too fuckin’ hilarious. When you released, you fell back on that bestial nature. You fell back to the savagery and the animalistic instincts. You fell back on pure bloodlust and the instinct of a monster. You became an abomination in your resurrection. No matter how many tricks and mirrors you had, you were something to be feared and despised. That is where true power lies. Well, true power for any arrancar. True power for every arrancar! There is nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing wrong with being hated and feared. Not to Miho.

She was going to show him. She was going to show him that there was nothing wrong with it. Things were going to look up for poor ol’ Marc the pacifist. He wanted to see her succeed and surpass him? That’s perfectly fine…but.. “You wanna see me fly past you?” she hissed. The corners of her lips curled with only the most cruelest intent. “That’s fine by me… But you’re sticking close behind… Whether you like it!…or you fucking don’t.” She had this crazy look in her eyes; they were little pits of darkness, yes, but the seemed to dance in the very same manner flames did. Hmph. Sticking behind… Damned straight he was! She had every intention of bringing Marc with her. Being behind her didn’t mean being left behind in the same spot completely to her. It meant something else. It meant following her closely, like a shadow. How would any parent operate if they just remained in one sorry ass old spot? Tch. That’s pretty fuckin’ pathetic if you asked her. Miho had ever intention of showing him what he really needed to know.

That toxic smile never left her face. It threatened to poison Marcelius. He was in agony. She could see it. He was cringing! It was knee dropping! Gut wrenching! Back bending! Nail digging! Heart wrenching! Ah~! His reaction was perfect. The hellion could not help but laugh. It was low, velvety and it threatened to corrupt Marc’s very existence. It was almost like she vowed to do something horrible. Something unforgettable. Miho’s vision was blotted out. All she saw was black. If she saw a happy, ‘yellow’ joys soul o a red door, then she would paint it black. (Yes, I went there. Fight me. Hue). She watched, satisfied, as her minotaur threw the first punch. However, much to Miho’s displeasure, he did not fight back. She snarled. “What’s going on?! It’s a fucking pu— Geh..” she bent over slightly and tightened her grip on the hilt of her zanpakuto. What the…

Miho’s head snapped up to look at her opponent with great anger and confusion. Suddenly she felt Forze de Male acting up again. It was almost as if she’d activated it again but there was no negative energy flowing anywhere outside of her… A wily smile cracked on the young fraccion’s face. First a smile, then a grin. That grin would shortly turn into hysterical, howling laughter. She threw her head back; her demonic voice resonating throughout the empty White Desert for all to hear. They would hear Miho Shoga was truly in a state of insane happiness. Once again, charcoal irises laid upon the elderly man with a new fire. She had this crazy look in her eyes; it was like sinister took the form of electricity or some other nicer sounding poetic shit. Whatever it was, it was something to be feared.

“That…feels AMAZING! HAHAHAHA~!!!” she roared boisterously. Did he not understand? The negativity was her power; it was her forte and her’s alone. Well, sort of…. Dad could do something about that couldn’t he? No matter how much pain he tried to bury her in, she’d turn it around and shove it back. Still, she needed to figure out what happened. Miho didn’t only feel emotional pain.. she felt physical as well. Did someone punch her in the stomach or something!? That’s what it felt like and yet…the only one getting punched was him. Marc took the punch like he should have but she felt the same way. It only took a moment for the fearsome fraction to put it together; whatever she did to him, she’d get it back. She grinned wolfishly. “Heh heh…you sneaky bastard..” Clearly, someone was amused and mildly impressed.

She stood up straight. The punch didn’t hurt too much honestly… but she was fatigued from Forze de Male; her chest rising and falling with each deep breath and gasp for air. She was clearly someone who did not care about her condition or the odds of something. Not even about the things she’d done in her past. Why regret that? The sound that knife made….The lights around her and the pained, rage filled looks on their faces. It hit Miho with great severity. However, it was more astonishing than devastating. Her eyes were listless for those several moments, her lips slightly parted as if there was something to say every time and yet, she was stuck. Minutes turned into what felt like hours for her. She couldn’t say anything. Miho could only watch. It was like the sick movie that was her human past all over again.

She saw pain. Pain in front of her. Pain yards away. Pain for miles. Pain as far as the eye can see. Even if the memory lasted a fraction of a second to Miho, it felt much longer because of every little detail the young fraccion was taking in. It was like an actor reading a script for the first time; every sentence, every word right down to the letter. It was being soaked up like a sponge and soon, it was going to paint a picture. It was going to paint a picture of the macabre variety. Her listless gaze fell upon Marcelius and lingered there for a few moments. This memory was her’s now. The memory of a tragedy. She felt every. little. thing. To Miho however, it was something else entirely. It was a memory of another being. Another tiny little scratch on her blade. A chill ran down her spine and then she smirked.

SLASH

The next thing Marcelius would see was Miho cutting down her own Minotaur savagely. “Don’t make me laugh.” Of course this was all his doing. Was he trying to hurt her emotionally? That’s fricken’ hilarious. “You’re fuel for me.” She said, clearly worked up. Though, for Miho, it was the good kind of ‘worked up’. It was power waiting to be released. She sapped up the negative energy from the minotaur she just cut down and released two. She cut it down like it was some tree. Some insignificant object; almost as if she’d revoked its right to live. It made her unhappy because of something it couldn’t control so she cut it down and solved the problem by making more. Two shadowy, foul, minotaurs standing by her side in the same manner bodyguards would stand by their princess. Still, that was one more than last time. “You had a real opportunity to attack me there, Dad.” in a way, she was almost reprimanding him. When the enemy fucks up, you show them why it was a mistake to begin with.

The minotaurs moved. Though, this time instead of attacking him, they’d hold him down. Each one taking an arm and holding the elderly man still. Sure, it was ganging up on him. Sure, it was unfair. Why should that bother Miho? Miho could brawl and jump people with her little powwow of minotaurs and to her, it would be the greatest shit ever. Of course, it was still unfair… “What’s going on~? Why aren’t you trying to stab me? In battle, you should never show mercy…” she said before marching towards him. She threw one punch at his chest. “You should never show weakness.” She threw another punch, knowing she’d feel it as well “You take what’s yours” Fuckin’ A jabs him on the right cheek. “You show no mercy” Fuckin’ B jabs him on the left cheek. “You make them scared.” and finally, one last punch into his solar plexus “You dominate!” She growled fiercely. Miho didn’t care about the hits she could be taking herself; she could always deal. Her body was built to endure all kinds of crazy torturous shit. It was more about who could tough it out… and that’s where Miho reigned supreme.

Her eyes focused on him like an angry bear. What did he think he could accomplish? What can you accomplish by simply doing nothing? You can’t accomplish shit. If you take matters into your own hands, you can control your own destiny…Not let others write it out for you. There was nothing that pissed Miho off more than someone writing her own story for her. What kind of shit was that?! That’s some bullshit right there. She’ll be damned if she let another pansy tell her how to live and what to do. Miho followed the beat of her own drum. Miho does whatever the fuck Miho wants… and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it. Marc could EASILY adapt that mentality instead of stagnating in this fucking joke of a desert. What was it going to take for her to change his mind? What was it going to take for her to manipulate him into becoming a monsters.

Fear.

Fear was man’s greatest motivator. Fear drove man to indescribable places. Fear was something she was going to instill in Marcellius. He was going to tremble and shiver like he’d never done so before. He should already know what her next plan of action was going to be. He could read her mind after all. Miho didn’t give a shit. He could read until hell and high waters. What really mattered was what he’d do about it. “Well what.” she spat at him, taking a step back. Her step back wasn’t a result of any of his actions (or lack thereof). It was the beginning of hers. Behind Miho was a tall shadowy, sinewy figure. Just darkness. It was made of pure darkness and smoke seemed to emanate from its body. The voice. The woman screaming. Her screams echoed in Miho’s mind. Her cries. Her sobs. Her stupid fricken’ sobs. The hellion grit her teeth and growled. The shadow behind her was as clear as day; it was a dragon. The most sinister looking dragon at that. Eyes as yellow as the moon on Hallow’s Eve and fangs that looked like it could kill with just a mere glance. It stared down at Marcelius curiously.

…And then the she-devil smiled. What would be surprising to most was that the dragon followed suit; baring more fangs than any demon or animal should have. The fangs weren’t the terrifying part… The nature of the smile was what could freeze anyone in their tracks. “Fantasia Oscura del Rahu”. The r’s rolled off her tongue with a certain flair. Eerily enough, the dragon seemed to talk, but in actuality, it was Miho talking. The dragon had no voice. It was merely a puppet that mimicked her movements and actions. This technique was really the last in her bag of tricks. Well, no it wasn’t. She could always make his flesh slowly erode off of his bones but, with newly acquired family, she figured she should at least try to stay away from that. If anyone was crazy enough to ally themselves with her, then they better fricken’ stay alive and dominate. She wasn’t going to tolerate any slackers or anyone who just barely managed to scrape along.

Not like Asuka…God. He’d heard about her. She was ridiculously weak and she just managed to scrape on by. She’s stronger now but her mentality is weak as ever. Miho spat on her mindset. It was only going to get her and the people around her killed. Aha…That was it. That’s how she’d get him to fight. What Miho was going show him wasn’t a memory. It was a reality, or the possibility of it. She was going to show him his greatest fear. It wasn’t like she needed to search for it; it came to her instantly. It was going to be a cruel image to show but she had to show it to him. She had to make him fight. If she was going to have anyone push her forward into bigger and better things, she had to have someone that was willing to actually push her. Not someone who’d stand there like a dope and cry. She had no fucking time for that. Penis. The dragon started to work its twisted magic.

They were together in the very same desserts. The sands looked just the same as they’ve always been. White, dull and annoying as hell. Have you ever gotten sand in your shoes? That’s really annoying. Anyways, Miho was standing there looking as lovely and irritated as ever along side with her taller, much older man. Elderly even! Why, it was none other than Marcelius Despres. The old blonde man was just walking alongside his beloved daughter. The two had just finished their training and, for once, he’d actually start to get a much better look at a somewhat softer side of Miho. The skies were always dark and starless and Las Noches was within their sights. They were headed home.

Alas, it was too good to be true. The pair encountered a few faceless arrancar. Strong. Quite strong. On Kouen’s level almost. Miho kept her guard up and they finally moved to attack. Sounds of metal clashing against each other, Miho was just fighting them off as best as she could until someone finally decided to get behind her and skewer her from the back. Her blade fell to the ground and she looked up at Marc, horrified. As if to say ask “Why?”. The blade tore through her body, her zanpakuto falling to the ground in the midst of the vicious attack. What followed immediately after was her now lifeless body and pained gaze. Her eyes remained open and blood seeped out of the wounds faster than flood could break out. She was dead.

Every father’s worst fear was their kid’s death. Hell, every parent’s worst fear was to see their kid in pain. To see their kid be up against something they had no chance against. That was every parent’s fear. It was the point of her technique as well, to instill fear in him and more importantly, stir up emotions. However, there was a point to the little illusion. “Fight, Marc.” she finally said. There was a point. The point was that if he just stood back and watched, the things he held close to him and the things that were important would slowly slip right through his fingers like sand. Nothing felt more hopeless than the feeling of the sands of Hueco Mundo running through your fingers.

Miho's Remaining Reiatsu: 2800/3200

[Marcelius]

(OOC: Excuse my sloppiness, I am WAY out of posting shape!)

Monsters. Oh, how the child speaks of monsters. Creeping and wretched things, natives of nightmares. Speaking of their power, delighting in their cruelty; Miho shared more with her imagination than words could fully express. Within the villainous contemplation of her mind, the form and audacity of beasts took shape. She knew what Arrancar were, she knew where the came from. More than others she understood, the way Hollows were born unto their individual plights. Just as he has examined so many times, she was well versed to the suffering such creation necessitated. To her, it was something to be admired. The absolute horror and dread which must envelop the soul at the awaken of the Mask...it was pure euphoria to her. More so than the pain which conceived her race, she loved the result all the more. She reveled in praise of the beasts which their kin could become. Bodies and abilities they forged, through years of struggle and strife. Having to slaughter and devour anything they had the good fortune to defeat. There was so much working in their creation...why not be proud of the results? She certainly was. Shamelessly so. It was rare for her to unleash her potential, but it felt good...beyond interpretation.

Having the fire surge within one's soul. Being able to stretch and flex one's ideal form in all it's worth and glory. When examining it through her eyes, the way her revival made her feel; it is difficult for anyone to not be compelled. But...this rival of hers was not just anyone. What she faced against was not a shyness or insecurity. There was not a lack of willingness, but an utter abhorrence of it. Hatred and refusal formed a shell about it...stronger than his Hierro could ever become. This is what she worked against. A will that had been constructed and mastered, long before her current incarnation was a reality in this existence. She fought an ancient stubbornness. One not so easily swayed by the threatening hiss of this devious witch. Though...it would be a lie to say her words fell onto an impervious defense. Given her keen eyes and wicked intuition, she would see the effectiveness of her behavior. She would see the wear she put on his constitution. Cracking his armor, and exposing what it was she sought. None of this made apparent by his actions, given how motionless the old sod seem to be.

Resting silently, her new comrade was the picture of stillness. So resolute was his hunkered posture, the ever shifting sands of the desert seemed to halt in their dance. What was the true worth of this new Fraccion? Within the view of Miho, it was clear, he was certainly a welcome edition. Till now he had proved himself talented enough to serve. Even alongside her, for that matter. That is what drove her to care so deeply about his behavior. That is why she allowed him to see her true self, why she presses on him so fervently. Words spoken aloud this time? Yes, taunts. More pressure from her, as though she were trying to shape diamond out of weathered, old coal. This level of connection...this show of support, odd as it may be, was the only kindness that Miho could offer. Oh, the kindness of Miho.

With so little time actually knowing this young woman, he still knew the absurdity of those words. Still, this was as sweet as she could be. But there was hope for him, the bruised codger. In the recesses of her musings and thoughts, he could hear sincerity return. No lies or deceit, simple and blunt truth. She wanted him to be as family. To have him fit into the ranks of the Segunda, to help them develop and conquer. Such wishes could not be put into words, but they were there. Yet again, the evidence grew to his favor. His presence was becoming valuable to others around him, and not only as a meal. Were his consciousness still available, it would be swimming in delight at this continued reassurance. Sadly, there was something else occupying the space where his wishes and aspirations once resided. Something another soul had wished and aspired for...and was soon to receive.

While the elder waited in silence, reeling from her minions powerful assault, something puzzled the demon. Though the curiosity was short lived, quickly overcome by anticipation, it did cause enough ruckus to catch his "eye". Why did he restrain himself so? The idea of such a thing was baffling it seemed, to one who chose to live life so freely and wild. Where she felt her capabilities were too splendid to be showcased to anyone, he felt his were too cruel. Years of practice and cannibalism have not exactly forged a weapon for good. Resurreccion is everything like Miho believes of it. It turns souls into monsters, and unbridled their inner brutality. Many have found a way to control and focus that destructive mentality, but others still struggle with control. To which end of the spectrum he was on, was uncertain. Both to her and to him. It mattered little, truly, to him. Whether he could wield is potential like a keen edge, or thrash about with it like a maul; it was all unacceptable. So why then was he willing to release his true form at all? Why did he go so far as to show her what he was really like, even if just a muttered preview? While she wondered why he still withheld his strength, he fussed over why he had reveal as much as he had! It was a mistake, it was wrong. The danger she was in, the uncertainty which now dominated him...all of it folly. Why did he go so far? What was going to happen if...

How her mind continued, spewing ever increasing volumes of "encouragement". Quips and irritations, causing her feelings to ignite. She wanted him to do as she had, and attack! No...not that was not it. The way her soul clamoured and raged, she wanted something more. Something more meaningful. She wanted him to hit her, yes, but with everything. To not simply awaken his Resurreccion, but to use what he had roused. Just like those pitiful animals which still bow to the agony of insatiable hunger, he needed to be vicious. He should come after her with the full intent to kill, attacking her seriously...anything less was a waste. She wanted him to embrace what she saw in him, the killer within. In pursuit of her goal, that caustic attitude began to truly burn. What works she chose to speak, eroded him with malicious effectiveness. Why did he try to behave so...human?

Her question quite the shard of glass in his void of a heart. Had he not done such atrocities already, to ascend to the ranks of Arrancar? Was he not formerly a Hollow, devourer of souls and kindred ilk? What humanity could there possibly be left? Simple manners and courtesies? Were niceties enough to hide the abomination he was? How could someone so old and wise think that behavior meant so much? He was a fiend, and no amount of "pleases", " thank yous", or gentleness would ever change that. So why fight it? Why put up such a struggle? Oh, indeed this succubus was good at her game. Even with untold years of experience over hers, he had a lot to admire about her method and effectiveness. Still, he seemed unshaken. Quietly he waited, for her to make another move. Yet did he show any sign of aggression or consternation. It drove her to act in his absence. An act of hopeful frustration, that she might prod the sleeping giant to action.

The minotaur at his side had dealt its devastating hand. While this attack was forecasted beyond any shadow of a doubt, Marcelius did nothing to stem the blow. While he buckled and writhed from the strike, Miho had more poison to add to his wound. Her toxin was new this time, adapting quickly to the immunities which rose against her. Finally realising the secrets she had unlocked from his jabbering jaw, she decided it best to not entice his desires for power. Where he any other Hollow, that would work...seems now she was admitting he was special in his own way. Wonder if that pained her to accept? Regardless; Miho churned out a new venomous suggestion. How was he going to push her forward, if he remained still? If he would not exercise the fullest of his strength, the how far could he really help he get? Clever lass, this new batch of torments created more wounds than a fresh lashing.

[smear:ffffff]How could he help her grow, if he himself did not? Did he truly think he could accomplish his hopes without putting everything into it? Perhaps he thought himself so learned and mighty, that a fraction of his commitment would be enough to support her? Stupid fool, to think so little of her. What makes you so sure that you can be of help at all, even using all of your talent and gifts? Pathetic assumptions.[/smear:ff3300] [smear:ff3300]Does she not deserve everything you can offer? Would that not be the truest show of compassion and encouragement? Anything less would show you to be as arrogant and insincere as those Arrancar brats who enrage your aggravation and tempt your hostilities. Come now, old fool. Do not reduce yourself to such degenerate ranks.[/smear:ffffff] As her words worked their charms, he lifted his head to "look" towards her once more. This was the first real sign of movement or acknowledgement since they began, and sadly, she would most likely miss it.

While the old man was taking her intentions to "heart", and for the first time recognized the truth in her demands; Miho was occupied by painful distraction. The agony of flesh that had started within him, now copied itself within her. The nerves were alight with the impact of a strong punch, the minotaurs strength being quite intense. After all, the beast was built from the negativity she could absorb was it not? Well, if his little calamity sponge possessed any real talent at all, then Marc's presence must have supercharged the creation. From him, the negativity of every soul he ever consumed could be felt and sensed. It was his Reiatsu’s quality, to hold onto all the grief and the guilts of all the lives which made up it's mass. The punch would have awakened all of those negative emotions, which dated back years and years and years. If the stimulus of suffering was not enough to jog his memory, then his own abilities would. Even as she coiled from the unexpected impact, her mind would flood with the images of a life from his gullet. While her mind absorbed the horror of the memory, her Resurreccion would absorb the energy it's malice fostered. Though he could not see her physical cringe, he could feel it in her soul. He could feel the shock. He could sense the confusion. It was when he detected the pleasure, that his mind shuddered. Though it should have been no surprise...it would seem Miho adored the feelings he shared with her.

Another notch on her blade. Another trophy for her wall. The shared memory becoming a part of her, was nothing more than an ego boost. Like all proper Hollows; Miho felt jubilant to have another victim on the roster. It just meant one more success and one more soul's worth of power. She was still young. That is all it was to Marcelius. Too young to know the true gravity of a life lost, or the true crime of a life taken. For him the lesson took countless lifetimes to learn. Countless. Delicious. Unique. Scrumptious lifetimes. Rather than a high horse, the elder had a mountain of leftovers to look down from. (Chomp-chomp, chomp-chomp) Miho just needed more lessons. That was it. Up until now, she had used her hurt to justify the hurt of others. Marc could flip that particular table. He could show her the realities she choose to ignore or dismiss. The Hierro on her nerves, he was going to crack that first. Why? Not to change her, oh no. He liked her well enough the was now. Strong, a survivor...who would not give up. (Went there! What?! Come at me, chica!) What he hoped to accomplish, was to give her a deeper appreciation for the lives she affected. Whether she destroyed another soul's heart, or snuffed out it's fire once and for all...she should understand the full extent of her choices. She could remain as snarky as she pleased, as long as there was maturity hidden beneath that crass. She would not make his job easy. So set in her ways as she was, it would be a long and arduous road to proper education. But like all his family members, she was worth it. Every horrid, bloodied, aching second. While he decided upon this strategy, it would seem his would-be pupil had already done some studying on her own.

The inspiration hit her rather suddenly, her quick mind piecing together the only facts she had to use. Why was her body aching as though she had been struck? Absolutely nothing had happened. No energy had been expelled, no Reiatsu had been used. If they attack had come from Marcelius, she would have seen it...or at least sensed it. But there was none of that. No indications as to exactly what happened. Well, except one. Similarity. Yes, an oddity which existed in the already peculiar pain. When commanded, her minotaur slave had struck the elder square in his gut. It was meant to be a punishing, crippling blow. Now, her own torse wretched in a sudden heave, as though she too had suffered the blow. Seeing as the beast was no where within reach of her, and the damage was identical...there could be only a single answer. Calling out to him, she informed him of the discovery. As far as she saw it, the pain had been shared between the two of them...and this was it.

She, for now, seems to believe his power offers any misfortune that befalls him...to be inflicted upon her as well. Oh how her mind began to race with the possibilities. After all, she only grew stronger when her body ached. Suffering helped fuel her negativity. As ecstatic as it was now, it struck him curious how she would react latter. When the time came, when his wits were about him once more, he would explain his technique in greater detail. Describing how he shares his mind and soul with all those within his reach. Each of them shared the torments that he felt, and each shared in the feelings that such tribulations spurred. That new memory of hers, it was a gift from his history. Were there even more individuals involved in their broil, then even more could be shared. Were she to turn her hostility onto him whilst they were surrounded on all sides, then she could affect an entire population with only a single use of her dark manipulations. The joy my just cause the bitter girl to...smile.*audience gasps*

Marcelius was almost lost within his fantasy, a faux world where he could share news so wonderful with this young woman, that she might offer him a smile. Were he to be a dad, he would be one of those "tries to hard" types, that much seems clear. While he was away on his little imagination getaway, Miho was making some rather bold assertions. She erupted with accusations, none of which he could hear...nor could he quite feel. Before her thoughts were always so clear, every word written in her mind was both visible and legible to his unique sight. Now...now was different. The unexpected loss of breath, from the rather sneaky sucker punch, had left her a bit more cluttered. From what he could gather, she had become more frustrated...or perhaps entertained? Something he did...no, did not do, had her blood pumping. What was this...her minotaur was gone! Where did it go?! His mind puzzled for only a second, before he felt the reality like offensive braille. Around him swirled many lights, made of various forms of energy.

The majority of the movement and color, belonged to the spiritual particles that made up their beings and the world about them. The rest was the motions and waves of emotions that travelled through the aether of Reiatsu. Where the created servant had once stood, now grew two equally built copies. Having collected so much more negativity from his shared memory, she was able to effortlessly produce a second sizable threat. The twins appeared as swirling masses of sorrow and content, primed and ready to lash out at whatever got close. They were copies of Miho's very soul, made manifest by her will to destroy. Yet, despite the danger he should have felt from these rising terrors...nothing could distract him from what he witnessed in his prey. As she addressed him, her conscious lighting up with all her thoughts and hostilities towards him...he felt something bellow out far louder than before. That affection, from much earlier before, had returned. Despite becoming an angel of such reckless havoc...she had not lost her sentiments for him. He was still Dad! Though his ears were deaf to the words spoken, the heart knows what it feels...even an inexistent one such as his! Hah, she could attempt all the wished to break him now...for it was useless. No number of minions and now volume of negativity would be enough to dishearten him now.

Hell knows, she would still try. As desperate as ever to twist him further, to break his constitution; Miho had her slaves grapple and bind ol papi. The brutes were strong, as strong as their mistress who crafted them. With the both of them taking an arm each, the brawny oldster was quickly put to the knees. Feeling confident he could do her no harm, the ever bold Miho hovered happily into his personal bubble. Eager to make up for the lost ground that he verbal fondness had given up, she proceeded to drip more of her acidic words onto the senior. Though her wrinkled patron did nothing to fight against the grips of his captors, he did even less to acknowledge her words. Being deaf and all...made that quite the easy chore. What he did take note of; however, was the sudden application of fists. Feeling the energy shifting through her body as she raised her arms...he lifted his chin so that his face might greet the barrage.

Not willing to shy away from the message she was trying to convey, he listened to her with body and soul. His jaw being smashed and flung, his mind being betrayed and wrung. He accepted the beating as easily as he accepted her preached philosophy. This was a fight, she assured him...one in which he would need to find his ferocity and show her what he could do. She was growing tired of her padre being little more than a punching bag. It was boring. It was insulting. Worse of all, if he did all of this to avoid hurting his princess...then he was disrespecting her even more than she had been him! And if anyone could hear the things she thought of him inside that maleficent head of hers, they would know just how much that was saying. So, come on the Marcelius...raise up his hands and hit the girl like a man. Be a Hollow that a daughter could be proud of! Be scary! Be stronger! And do not hold back for fear of hurting your precious little girl...what good would that do her?!

That...that was it. The clicking in her head was so loud, that it almost covered up the sound of his own Reiatsu shifting. Miho had realized, as she pummeled his ragged face, what this situation really needed. Fear was the answer, the key to unlocking the treasure she sought. She would scare him. Not with illusions or possibilities...but the cold, honest truth that he would never consider on his own. Dipping far into her bag of knowledge, regarding what pains and hurts another more than anything, she found what would cut the deepest. Since he loved her calling him father so much, then why not show him the consequences all parents fear? Rather than try and force him, she would let him do it himself. After all, who was harder on Marc...than Marc? He wanted to make her stronger did he? Well, he needed to know he was failing. Right now she was having it too easy, and he was to blame. He needed to know how much he still had to lose. Maybe seeing it would do more than simply hearing it? Either way, she would get to hear him scream in displeasure...to her it was win-win.

So, to accomplish her she reared up something big. Marcelius could sense it, long before it took form. A tremendous body of Reiatsu was being gathered, almost like a second release. As soon as the energy was detectable, it was taking form. "Staring" in somewhat awe, he watched as the demon gave way to a dragon. Swirling energy rose up around her, like the rising heat of flames. It churned and it curled, quickly solidifying into a more menacing form. It was a savage thing, a perfected monstrosity that seemed to encompass all fears. It was intimidation, pure and simple...though there was nothing truly pure about it. Striking it's pose behind it's mistress, the sickening wurm put on quite a display. Were he a more fortunate Arrancar, with working eyes still available, it might have been unnerving to see the way the serpent mimicked her. That sort of connection reiterated what he believed about the minotaurs, being not but a representation of her honest soul. Not surprising, then, that her spirit was such a dark and imposing color. After all, Kuroi had seen something special in her. What was surprising...was that "special something" could be given physical form. Destruction and the misery that follows, born in the body of a scaley avatar.

Were there eyes still visible on his face, they might convey a most amazed and bewildered sight. Having felt the Reiryoku collide and for this massive new addition to the battle, he could never have predicted the ostentatious form it finally took. It would seem that Miho's obsession with monsters was far more practical than Marc had previously considered. Would she keep making the terrible aberrations until he conceded with her desires? What a rough future to look forward to. Something needed to be done about that, a thought Miho shared as well. Quickly she began to speak again, throwing words about that would go unheard amid the empty sands. She knew he could understand what she meant to say, even if he could not hear. Curse his openers about his empathy. This time the message contained something quite new. Well, someone, more precisely.

A name, worthless to Marcelius at this point, came rushing through. With it, immense feelings of discontent...even loathing. Whoever this teal-haired sweetheart was, the infuriated Miho in ways 20 could only find in his wettest f dreams. Apparently, his hesitation had reminded her of a particularly detestable Arrancar. A warm and caring soul; which Marc would most likely get along with. Hmm, maybe that fact should be kept to himself for the time being? Yes. Definitely kept to himself. Pretty soon though, it would be hard to guarantee if his thoughts were so safe a place for secrets anymore. The scape in which they fought on the battlefield was beginning to change, no longer did the shadow of a dragon loom over him...nor did the half-akki's restrain his arms. Instead, he was enjoying a stroll. An unusual occurrence, given the smiling face on the Miho traveling at his side. D...did he just die? Was this heaven?

No, no, no, no, no. No. This was the furthest thing from heaven! His blade clanged as it crossed with another's. The force of the parry was enough to reverberate into his rival's hand, shaking and unsettling it...preventing a continued assault. No matter how he was attacked by this featureless assailant, no decisive blows could be struck. Seeing the fragments of bone which lingered on the otherwise indecipherable face, Marcelius lacked the resolve to exploit what advantages might arise. He could see the openings in his opponent's moves and attacks, but never once took advantage. Knowing that if he did he might kill the foolish sibling. Unfortunately, these nameless specters were not so reserved. They were here for his life, whether he would take theirs or not. As the conflict drew on; however, something began to felt wrong. So set was he on his target, the use of proper parry and retort, that he failed to notice the other life caught in this mess along side him. Yes, Miho! Her life came back to him now, the feeling of her struggling nearby.

But no sooner had clarity found him, did his mind become undone. For in the flurry of crashing steel, he heard something far more gruesome than any clanging metal. It was the sound of a body, being splayed wide across a blade. The dreadful, impaling sound...which signified the triumph of a sword over flesh. With a hardy flourish, it broke away from the posse which surrounded him so. Once free he found, that scene which all parents dread. Laid before him, in a dark puddle on the ground, was the pale figure of his cherished progeny. Unable to move, ran through most cruelly. What life remained in her, was nothing more than a taunt. He could hear the dining of her spirit's ember, and listening to it smolder was tragedy at it's most fierce. Dropping his heavy blade into the sand, the steel vanishing beneath the dune, he lunged and toppled down to her side.

The attackers were gone now, both from his psyche and the vision. They had accomplished all that needed to be. Their mistress would find herself in ownership of a cornucopia of negativity, one whose bounty was never ending. Left alone to watch her final misery, he felt his lungs lose all breath. Struggling to reach for her, his shaking hands robbed of all strength with which to embrace her. As she stared into his eyes, daring to beg him for some sort of explanation...his voice cracked with now answer to give. Tears were to fill his eyes, burning and blistering the flesh. What sight he still possessed became blurred and useless, the dream was now a smokey mirage of regret. In the pit of his chest, he felt it surge...that despicable Remorse burst forth once more. In the silence under the moon, he could hear her voice echo off of every hill of sand. She was calling to him again, just like before..."Dad"..."Daddy"...

All around them, fires would erupt. An unholy blaze which burned so hot, that their souls might become singed. Something was clearly not right, where did this massive pyre suddenly come from? The desert around them had vanished now, seeing as a desert would never start such a conflagration. Instead there were walls all around them, crafted lovingly of finely cut wood. The room was small, cramped in many regards, but the atmosphere was still comforting...aside from the torrent of flames. Though smoke and soot covered everything which was not wretched in embers, it could still be made out that it was a house of modest means. In the distant corners of the room, over the sounds of screams and cries, a voice could be heard..."Daddy! Daddy!!" But as quickly as it began to call, it faded off into nothing. Left standing in the middle of this new vista (hue) Miho would find she had entered a world much like the one she built for her companion.

Here, however, there was no sobbing Arrancar over her corpse. There was however, a man upon the worn and cooking floor. His face was hidden from all light or inspection. All that could be seen were his ash covered hair and clothing. Reaching out towards the voice that called out from the shadows. This individual was bleeding profusely, the seeping sanguine beginning to boil in the immense heat of this hellish kiln. While his skin remained attached to his body, before it began to chip and flake away from the roasting flesh beneath, it was clear he had struggled. Bloodied knuckles and nails littered with scraps of someone else's skin. Sometimes it does not matter how hard one tries, misery finds them. Regardless of their willingness to act, misfortune wins in the end. And with the last, defeated gasp of this soul's life, he would be weeping just the same as Marc had before. Sometimes...there is nothing to ebb the flow of tragedy into our lives. Such a message was clear enough for her, but to Marcelius...it was naught but a reminder.

"Child...you are truly cruel." Looking down upon the broken man, weeping for his lost daughter, Miho would hear that unnatural voice echo all around. It did not come from the miserable wretch on the ground, but instead, filled the very heavens and the earth about her. The voice was clear in it's speech. It was Marcelius, it was the new voice which his Resurreccion gave. Unlike before, it was not so monotone or collected. No...now it was filled with anguish. Even without a body to place it with, the sadness within it's sound was abundantly clear. This voice ached to speak. Her little treat of fear had taken quite a toll. It had scared him beyond all reconcilable measure. The terror was more true than the moments where he first took on his Mask.

However, she had gone quite far with her efforts. She pushed him almost too well, using her knowledge of his fears so masterfully. What she had done, was overshot the intended emotion. His feelings had been wrung so wholly, that he had but one place left to turn. Complete sadness. It was the only thing which could follow the trauma of her inspired fear. The loss she left him with, reminded him of so many others, and quickly enveloped him in a gossamer of greif. That; however, was where something interesting happened. While she was busy pummeling him away, she did not think of those memories which infiltrated her before. With his Hierro cracking punch, she pulled herself closer to Harmony. She had honestly beaten the vibrations into place, using his face like a drum. Now, her fear had drove him to tears...and her vacuum of a heart would share in his depression.

Speaking from somewhere beyond the burning residence, his voice still felt weakened and strained. "Let me tell you...what I truly fear." The fires began to dance all about, escaping proving to be nigh impossible. Within the shimmering sparks came images, unusual displays which confessed the unnatural nature of the inferno. Within them figure garbed in black tormented a poor little child, images Miho knew far better...and from another perspective. But they did not take long, this story of his. For soon, the young one was rescued from the cloaked mongrels. A new figure, equally as dark and cruel as the first, now pulled her from their torment. Much the same as the hooded cultists had the fire. This pattern continues, as the adopted father leads her to ruin just the same as the zealots before. She dies in heartache, and is reborn worse than before.

Even still in death, she finds more betrayals awaiting her. More souls seeking to aid her...but always acting under guise it would seem. But at each moment during the fire's performance, the spectacle orchestrated in the colorful flames, the villain's face is replaced. Not by any spirit she had seen or met thus far, no...something far more grotesque. It's appearance seemed defined by bone white ridges, which stretched from one side of it's head to the other. The ridges were smooth, glistening at the edges of the firetongues which casted their image for her to see. What was this thing, which always appeared at the height of the fire...so that it could not be seen in full clarity? What was this thing that replaced all those who hurt her so deeply? The answer was becoming clearer now, as that strange figure seemed to appear once more. Though the fire no longer conveyed images or showed her past, the figure was there. Truly...there.

Stepping through the horrid bonfire, actually making an appearance at in the scene before her, was the towering build of that creature from the visions. It lumbered into the humble shack, just as the heat was set to consume everything within it. Stepping into the light caused by the destruction, Miho finally saw the monster in fullest detail. A ghastly body, near starved and covered in a mosaic of scars. There was no fur on this one, just cracked and jagged skin that looked almost like rock or sand. Maybe more fittingly, dust. This thing was certainly a Hollow, though it had lost most every beastial quality. Nearly a man, but still more monster than anything. The most troubling aspects of the apparition, was it's hungry mouth. Rather than a face, this ones Mask was nothing but teeth. Gargantuan formations of iron-hard enamel, arranged in precise and deadly rows. The jaw was massive, connected to a vast and powerful neck...to even stronger shoulders. As it approached Miho from the world beyond the house and flame, it opened it's clenched fangs in a hungry sigh. Behind the initial row of massive teeth, there lay another row, and then another...each dripping with viscous drool. This...this was the thing that replaced all the traitors of her past.

Now it was here, seemingly in the flesh. Before she could react to the intruder, the rest of the play commenced. The vile manifestation crawled forward, sinking back down to it’s hands and knees. It eased itself much closer to the lying prey, careful not to touch or to displace it. There it sat, motionless for some time, before hoping it’s teeth wider than before. This is when she could hear it, sounds coming through much louder than the crackling of burning lumber. While inspecting it’s prey, rather than sniffing the meal, the large beast exhaled onto it. There was nothing significant about the breath, not at first...but being so adept with the spiritual manipulation of feelings; Miho could sense what was occurring. Each time the Hollow emptied it’s lungs, whispers would pour from it’s core. Though it had no lips, nor did it’s teeth need to move or adjust, it spoke with many voices of varying tempers. In a way that was most eerily similar, it unleashed a font of negativity with each new gasp. It spoke of awful things, hoping that the dying man might take heed of them all.

Every so often, the Mask would shift from one side to another...each time, as if inspecting the effects it’s messages were having. It would even roll it’s shoulders and shuffle it’s hands, much like a beast might, in little displays of excitement...these were the moments when the man upon the floor cringed hardest. It seems this monster took a great deal of delight in seeing the reaction of pain, almost to the point of doing a little shudder dance. But all pleasant things soon end. Quickly, the life in the man was stretching thin, and in those final moments of total grief, he would find no solace. While Miho watched on, then toothy figure reached forward at the final breath. With it’s clawed and bloodied hand, it grasped the man by the hair. Pulling up, with a disturbing cascade of luminesce, it hoisted...not the man...but his soul. This was a trick used by the more impatient of Hollows, to pry their melas from the weakened and defenseless. Considering all the body had endured, the soul was not faring much better. It did not matter though. For the light of this man’s life was oozing and tainted with a delicious and savory coating of sadness, enough to cover up all the bad tastes of it’s meek flavor. From there...the jagged rows of teeth began their work, rending and tearing what remained into bite size morsels of delight. It noisily savored every bite, chewing in excess to savor the texture and taste. As the meal finished, the fires began to die down and cease. The vision was fading quickly to black, as the vision come to it’s own end.

”I fear...I fear...” With the voice booming in it’s discourse, again echoing from all around, Miho must surely now piece together this display. He told her he could enter the mind, he told her he used one’s past and emotions as his weapons...there should be no reason for her comprehension to fail. And with light returning to her eyes, she would see the man she left bound by the minotaur. Only now he was free, but still hunched in his lowly position. Much the same as when he cried over the implanted thought of her corpse, he now clutched her once more. Only this time, in his arms, she was that same little girl she was long ago. But just as when she had died, there was a hole in her chest. This time, it was not from a blade. Nor was it her emptiness as a Hollow. It was simply the cracked ribs and bleeding vacancy of her heart...freshly torn from her innocent chest. ”I fear that I will do to you, what all other’s have before me…” Watching him lift his head would show, that something had indeed been changed within him.

Her efforts to manipulate him had achieved some modicum of success. While one side of his face still bore the inlay of exposed bone, which stretched from his former eye socket on up, the other half now bore the shape of teeth. Large, polished teeth which attached to his head at the hairline, draping down to cover much of his face..including his left eye. Even the jaw, along this side of his face, had portions of bone exposed from the skin beneath...and even growing upward like half-formed and rising upward. The final clue of the rather obvious puzzle. Marcelius was that Hollow, the one whose obsessive hunger took away sight, sound, and even his identity. He feared that the thing inside him, the creature from so long ago, was still there...waiting to return. That is why he could not push himself. It was why he could not go for the kill. Were he to behave like the monster again, then countless years of effort and struggle would be undone. Worst of all...as her eyes might take notice of the child he held...were those he would hurt. ”Could you still desire to see my strength in full? Could you still accept me? His voice turning awfully sour, beaten by fear and sorrow to the point of breaking. "Should you not just leave me behind…answer me, child.”


Acusado 1/12
Marcelius' Current Mood - Grief
Miho's Current Mood - Greif, Harmony

Starting at Pensiveness, evident by the previous post; Miho then shifted seven times. First by Miho herself, shifting to Aggression, a mixture of excitement and irritation; which she showcased in speech and actions. Then once more by Marc using his ability to intentionally shift an emotion, and then five more times by Nuevo Vista's Disharmony effect. Since it was only necessary to shift four times to reach Grief from Agression, Harmony was achieved. Nuevo Vista's effect has now shifted.

Spiritual Exhaustion - 3/4
Physical Exhaustion - 3/4

Remaining Reiatsu - 200/1000
-50 Mood Shift

Infinite Reiatsu Spent - 0

[Deleted]

[ooc: fuck yeah. #TeamNachos.

ps. I can like my own posts. It's like eating a sandwich I made.]


Monsters make the world go round. They’re what keeps defiant little children and cowardly adults in order and in line. Monsters cause change. They instill fear in people and motivate them to do things. All kinds of things! Scary things. Heartbreaking things. Mean things. Evil things. Sad things. Great things. Amazing things. Every kind of thing possible. Monsters were strong. There was absolute power behind everything they did. The best kind of monsters knew how to weave and embed these kind of things into their victim. Oh no. Monsters were never good. They were bad. Bad creatures. Creatures that only lived for themselves. The very fucking best kind of these creatures had everyone wrapped around their little pinky… The same way Miho had Marc wrapped around her.

The she-devil knew what she was doing. She knew damn well what she was doing. Her eyes were ablaze with darkness; burning with malefic intent and the desire to consume everything in her path. In the name of “helping her grow” and “being by her side the way a father would be by his daughter”, she aimed to turn him into a monster. So absolute she was in her newest goal that she was willing to do it by whatever means necessary. Miho’s goals were vicious and treacherous. She’d never been the kind to care. Even if it posed a threat to her own life. That’s what it meant to be the kind of villain Miho was. It meant taking any repercussions if it meant getting everything you could possibly ever want in return. Why did it matter what happen to you and those around you if you got your way?

It didn’t. Miho knew this all too well. It was the deadly strike to many people. They didn’t know what they were doing; not like Miho knew what she was doing. The hellion always had a plan. Backup plans and extra twists and turns that could make your head spin if you couldn’t get a grip on her. If you couldn’t keep up with her, she’d leave you to be swept up in a tornado of chaos and destruction. She could already see it. Marc was headed in that direction. All that power only to picked up and whisked away to darkest, cloudiest parts of the world… Probably never to be seen again. Miho clicked her tongue in disappointment, shaking her head mockingly. He was quite the sight. The poorest sight she’d ever seen for an arrancar. Was there the slightest bit of pity for Marc though?

Not at all. In fact, such a sight of the man writhing and twisting in pain was pleasing to her eyes. Yet, Miho did not smile. She was a young woman who was immensely pleased with her disgusting work and yet, she could never smile. When she did, it was never genuine. It was fake and made to quell the fears of others when she was around them. It was all smoke and mirrors; a prelude of the main act. When she smiled, it was to comfort someone else. It certainly wasn’t for her own pleasure. Dammit. Why couldn’t she smile. Why couldn’t she be happy? She hated those that could do it. Hated those that could be happy and blissful. Why should they get to be that way when she knows she very well can’t! It pissed her off. It was all about Miho. Her. Only her. No one else. Who else was there?

“You know… when you think about it, all you really need is you.." Those thoughts were slithering its way back to her. Even when she had her mind made up about Marc. “There is no one BUT you.” The survivalist instinct. You couldn’t count on anyone but yourself. There was no one but yourself. No one could be trusted. In her own obstinate way, Miho was getting scared. She got scared in a very defensive way though. Something she was going to have to deal with the hard way. Your past could come up like yesterday’s bile and just get everywhere over everything and stop you. Stop you from progressing…or was it stop you from regressing? Ahh…Tsk tsk tsk.. That’s the tricky part isn’t it? Which one’s which? Which one screws you over and which one doesn’t? Which one ENSURES that you get to see and live another day? Hell if she knew! It was easier this way wasn’t it? She’d established this trust with him. Built him up and set him up for heartbreak. That’s how it always was and should be right?

“Just do it. You can do it… Think of how much you’ll suffer.” Marc should’ve known that this would be more work. Miho should’ve known that better. It’s so easy to look on the bright side of things when you didn’t know what was on the other side. The blind were ignorant. She fuckin’ hated them. She was fuckin’ jealous. Miho bet her life that they probably didn’t have biting, vitriolic thoughts like she did. To be so conflicted. To have so many voices in her head telling her to do it. Do that thing. Do that horrible, bad thing. Make them pay. Make them all pay for turning her into the monster she is today. Fucking do it. Maybe it wasn’t them? Maybe she was a monster by design? That was what it took to get things done, be a monster. Being a monster was the best damn thing you could be. They just didn’t see it. They were blind.

Like broken glass, she could see what she had inflicted on him. It was painfully clear. It spidered and festered, turning him into something poor and tattered almost. It hurt to look at. It only made that darkness within her flare frighteningly. Well, love hurts. When has love ever been so grand and beautiful to her? She couldn’t remember. She’d only had a fleeting taste or two. As quick and unexpected as they showed up, they disappeared. Why should she believe it’s this amazing thing? Since when has it been a big, shiny ball of light? Surely, she believed it existed. Miho would be a fool to say otherwise. In fact, she would think anyone who didn’t believe in it was truly an idiot of epic proportions.

It was true, Miho did have an obsession with monsters. Why though? Why love something people feared? Why love something that caused people grief? It would be sick to say that it was for her pleasure. No, never. Over the years, young Miho had learned that it was only satisfactory for a minute. She found she put more work into to making people miserable for fifteen seconds of satisfaction. It was like being a CEO of a huge company and getting paid minimum wage. It was pointless, useless and most of all, fruitless. Anyone who truly enjoyed that sort of thing was an addict. Like smokers and alcoholic. The different between Miho’s obsession and someone’s addiction was merely the dose; just like poison and medicine. Miho wasn’t sick because her philosophy on it wasn’t. Miho and monsters had a very special connection.

It didn’t answer the question though, did it? The answer was, that, Miho identified with monsters the most. They made her feel at home. She felt like she was one of them and that she was truly, and I mean truly accepted. They were two things, accepted and feared. Such a disgusting paradox existed in her mind and she was absolutely fascinated by it. Fascinated because she identified with it. Accepted amongst her monsters and feared by others. It was simple really; assert your dominance. Monsters mainly used physicality to display their talents but real monsters are the ones that slither around and cook their meals. They took their time and shaped and molded them and when they were ready, It was time to feast.

It was family to Miho. At least, they are to her. You already knew what to expect from monsters. Monsters never scared her; at least they’re consistent, right? People like Kouen and Kaito now… Those two really threw her for a loop. Sweet words and promises that went rotten the moment they escaped their lips. Pah. Never again. It made her feel worse and worse. Miho needed monsters. All she ever needed were monsters. Monsters were the same and different at the same time. They were interesting yet predictable. She could never get bored of them. Endless entertainment for the violent little she-devil. Why stop indulging herself in it? That would mean the end of many things.

Now, the only to really stop Marcelius was to turn him into a monster just like herself. Manipulate him so that he’d never betray her and do what so many before her had done to her. Turn him into a killing machine. He was the perfect candidate too. Miho already knew what he wanted; he wanted family. So, give him what he wants! Right? Right? It was reasonable. Sure. Marcelius fuckin’ Despres could be her goddamn father. She’ll gladly act the part. The more time he spends with her, the more she’d taint his soul and turn him into a good ol’ healthy, functioning member of the abominable Hueco Mundo. It was such a sound idea. It was a plan that would be executed with careful planning and a few “unlucky” incidents along the way. Heh.

No piece of goddamn property of her’s was gonna die though. The first thing she’d start out with was turning him into a seasoned warrior not unlike herself. A warrior Kuroi could certainly be proud of. Kuroi wanted individuals with certain talents and while his were… absolutely astounding and perfect (not to mention Complimentary), he was weak. He was weak in the sense that he lacked the instinct to act on enemies and prey. He was easy to be hunted but his own hunting capabilities were below par. She would help him with that. Be the daughter and help her old man with that, yes. She would kill two birds with one stone so that when she moved on to bigger and better things like he anticipated, he would be in good hands.

Being an Espada was fucking stupid. The Espada were targeted day an night. Now, the Boss. The Boss was smart but there was one little nuance that she didn’t like. Everyone in the goddamn universe knew who he was. Flagged everywhere just as he was accepted everywhere. There was a certain admirable flare to that. She’d certainly admit that. However, it was too much spotlight for Miho. Miho wanted to work a little in the shadows and still have the clout she always felt like she deserved. Why the hell not? Rio was fucking dumb; put on display like he was in a fucking puppy store and so were the rest. Myza was a fucking joke and quite frankly, she didn’t approve of her. Adalo and Kuroi were worthy though. Worthy and had targets on their backs. They were still two people she’d never fucking mess with. The Shadows it was…. but where?

A certain idea came to mind. Marcelius wanted her to ascend? Be the angel she was and ascend to platform of power and greatness? Why yes… She could certainly do that. She had just the position in mind for it too. It was perfect in her mind too. It was time to make bigger moves. She had promises to keep. Promises of the deadly kind. Miho had a bone to pick with a certain someone. A certain woman. That damned woman. Wherever the hell she was. Whoever the fuck she was. She was gonna ruin the ever loving shit out of that bitch’s DAY. God. The things she was going to do to her (I’ll do it for you Nagi: PHRASING. BOOM!). That fucking woman was dead in her eyes. She was at least a thousand different kinds of dead! Though… she did suppose she had to thank her a little bit… Now, now…. Miho wasn’t one to bite the hand that feeds. Not immediately at least~ Oh no. Miho had her reasons…

A queen of the forest. The Menos Forest. Life was good. Life was sweet. Every measly, worthless hollow and arrancar at her beck and call. All of them below her while Miho sat on her own throne above them. She dominated the Menos Forest. At least, the hellion thought she did. It was like for at least a century. Las Noches was fucking stupid. A bunch of try hards who liked the spotlight. The one thing she did like was their own chain of command. It was similar to what she had going on here only… theirs was much more bigger. Pah. She didn’t think for a second that she needed him. She reigned supreme here in her own little dominion. Who needed the Espada. Who needed Sonken Kouhai, a name that echoed through the sands with fear and abhorrence trailing behind it. TCH!

Her eyes lazily scanned her surroundings. It was dark as always. The trees loomed over her, naked and dead as usual. It was another dreary day in the goddamn dreary Menos forest. It was unusually cold today though. Then, Miho was dressed far more scantily clad. She was new the the arrancar thing. Out of this group of misfits, she was the strongest. The first of all of them to be granted a humanoid appearance. This group were her friends as well as her enemies. They’d seen her fly with feathers as dark as night and strike with a vehemence they swore belonged to an Espada. They were feared… but in these parts, they weren’t particularly cared for either. They were all free from that disgusting shinigami’s rule. Sonken Kouhai was going to sink one day. They all knew it. It was just a matter of time.

The newly born arrancar could careless. She liked to be in the presence of power. Miho believed that if you were around power, it was only natural that you grew stronger alongside that person. Miho yawned lazily and called out an adjuchas’ name, commanding him to come to her but… no one came. Strange. Someone’s gonna get their ass beat though. When she looked around, she just noticed that she was completely alone. Everyone that was once under her was … completely gone. Angry, Miho screamed from the top of her lungs, asking for anyone at that point. Her teeth grinder against each other and Chernobog, her most faithful monster, was in her hand held in an iron grip. She would surely unleash some hell if she didn’t hear anything in the next few seconds.

SPOILER: Click to show

Her mind raced wildly. Mean thoughts. Nasty thoughts. Thoughts of pure description and decimation of the trees around there. Thoughts of eradication of anything and anyone. Any little bit of satisfaction she could hold on to right now. If something wasn’t going to go her way, she’d make it. Oh, Miho Shoga. So naive and green. Impatient and churlish. She was very much like a childish bully; a big fish in a little pond. She was wrought and diseased with many terrible emotions. She hated them and yet she clung to them for dear life. They were all she had. Sometimes, in this miserable life, sometimes, all you have are the fucked up choices you made. It was ‘you’ in the purest essence when you had nothing else.

At last, there WAS someone. She looked…. well, they looked similar. Beautiful dark hair and dark clothing not unlike her own. Yet, there was something different. It was glaringly obvious. Her presence was much more welcoming. Miho almost felt her resolve slip through her fingers the more she watched her new visitor. Miho could feel the muscles in her body slowly lose its tension and her breathing only became more and more labored with every passing second. Her eyes were obviously different; her own ferocious scarlet pair were offset the other woman’s light brown ones. It seemed like years passed to Miho but they were just fleeting moments. Who the fuck was she and who the fuck said she could come into HER domain?

The tension was back once more. Miho was a firecracker. Lashing out at anyone and everyone in her way. “You lost, bitch?” she spat. This was her turf. You had to have permission to be in this neck of the woods. Miho’s answer was already no. Her gaze hardened. The woman was just standing there in all her elegance and glory. “Just who the hell do you think I am?” (couldn’t resist lol.) Her anger rose and then she snapped. She darted right for her with a terrifying speed. Miho swung her blade, aiming to cleave the visitor’s head off and had the ferocious strength to back it off. She smirked. As if she could stand a chance. No, she couldn’t. Miho was the best in these parts. It was fact! it was fact! It was fact! It was… fiction? What’s going on here? Miss high and mighty wasn’t so high and mighty anymore.

The woman barely seemed to move, arms shifting, shoulders sliding as she profiled and took the smallest step... and caught Miho's arm, whirled, and slammed the girl into the ground with a vicious shoulder throw. Before Miho could recover, the woman basically just dropped her body weight onto the knee crashing onto Miho's face. Cartilage snapped. The woman stood, twirling theatrically as she forced Miho's gripped wrist into a lock and spun the [] to her feet, pausing for a moment as she dipped the girl into a waltz leader's pose. "Shall we dance, darling?" She winked. Then she shoved Miho back, letting the Arrancar stagger for pain-drunken balance.

Miho's free hand flew to staunch her bleeding nose, but the woman's elbow got there first, sweeping the droplets of blood out of the air as it cracked upwards into her chin. The hand above it curled down to intercept Miho's head as it snapped back, dragging her forward as the woman drove her knee into the girl's stomach, then releasing as the girl's body whipped backward again with the force of the strike. Before she could recover, Miho felt something else hammer into her as the woman stomped forward onto the junior Arrancar's solar plexus, sending her flying back into another uncompromisingly ridged bone-tree trunk. Cackling with joy, the woman slid forward to drown Miho in strikes.

Miho wasn’t so sure what happened but she was sure she got the shit beat out of her. Well, this woman could try all she wanted… she could survive it. Miho braced it and tried her damnedest to retaliate but it was all to no avail. There was absolutely nothing she could do and it was fucking irritating. No, not good enough. It pissed her off. NO! Still not good enough! She was stark raving mad. She was livid. With every fist that sailed through her stomach and her face and every time her leg collided with her sides it pissed her off more and more. There were times she felt her very bones rattle to the point of breaking. Blood seeping from cuts she didn’t know she was getting. It was like being hurled into a tornado. Miho didn’t know what to do but she knew what she wanted. That never went away.

Every strike she made, her arm looked like a blur. So did her legs. Miho could see it and just barely react in time for some of her hits. She wanted to panic. From the bottom of her heart, she wanted to scream at her and tear her apart like an animal. Just like an adjuchas would. If she failed to defend herself even for a second, she knew she’d snowball and that it would be near impossible to recover. However, the warrior in Miho would not go down easy. For every graceful strike that came from her opponent came a vicious counter from the defender. There was one point where she thought the other woman broke Chernobog but she didn’t get the chance to look. Miho took gradual steps back, her heels digging into the dirt while this other moved with tremendous ease. Miho was being beat into submission.

When she foolishly thought she had an opening, she tried to stab her right in the heart. How foolish was she to believe such a thing could happen. Miho was beaten and battered but she was still on her feet. Her brown-eyed rival here just didn’t believe in letting up. Even when it seemed that way for a second, it just meant she was rearing to go in with twice as much force and Miho learned that the hard way. It was just the calm before the storm. When the visitor let up for a second, Miho knew she had to strike hard and strike fast. Her sawtoothed blade sailed for the woman’s heart. She missed. She fuckin’ missed! The second she noticed it was the very second it all went downhill for the Shoga girl. Miho was met with a hand around her neck with a grip she swore would snap her head off her body. Her eyes widened. She was much faster than she let on. Miho choked, coughing gasping for air until she picked her up and flung her into a tree adjacent to her. 

The young hellion cursed. She swore to hell and back and she even swore to her face. She was ballsy. She had guts. Every slam. Every gash. "Bitch.” Every scratch. Every pounding, god forsaken punch. “Bitch.”  For every bit of it, she was getting the shit kicked out of her. When she tried to defend, Chernobog was useless. Her release was useless. There was nothing she could do except take it all in and make her blade do all the work. Another trophy. She’d get out of this. Right? Pah. As if. This was end of the line for her. This lady was too much for her to deal with. When it was all over…. “You fuckin’ bitch…” Always a mouth on her. She clocked her jaw for that. Teeth were flying off to some unknown spot, never to be discovered again. When she felt it was over, Miho’s body finally fell, her body hitting the cold hard dirt. The gravel stung her skin and her clothes here tattered. Bruised from head to toe; black and blue never looked this good, eh? Her eyes were half lidded, staring her visitor down with as much disdain as she had for her in the beginning.

Blood tastes horrible. She could taste it from having some teeth knocked out previously. Damn. This was finally the end. This was it. Lights out. Silence. Gone and donezo. She had a good run in Hueco Mundo. She was on her own pedestal and she had a one way ticket to hell. Oh, how the mighty fall (Don’t shoot me either lol). Tragic until the end, right? Miho didn’t think so. Not a bit. It just pissed her off. She felt so many things and she didn’t know how to cope with it. How to deal with it. All she knew was destroying made her feel better without making her vulnerable. How was it all her fucking fault she ended up here. It’s that bitch’s fault. Her fault. Her fault!! It wasn’t fair. Some got a silver spoon, others have a ball and chain. It wasn’t fucking fair. Why did she always get screwed over. No one ever told her any of this stuff would happen. No one ever told her to be prepared. All Miho knew was getting her ass handed to her and now… finally…. at last… it wouldn’t happen anymore. It was over.

Those eyelids fell, scarlet eyes ready to be laid to rest. Heh. ‘Rest’. Funny word. Only the good deserved it. Miho knew she wasn’t deserving but this was her time. She didn’t deserved it but through all the shit she’d been though, she thought she at least earned it. This woman was a force to be reckoned with. She had a power so terrifying that it was almost electrifying to the nerves. Maybe that didn’t make sense but all Miho felt was shock with every painful blow to her body (…Lol). Moments passed. She could hear footsteps approach her and Miho had fully accepted it. Her body was limp and it ached everywhere. The stench of blood was strong.. God. When would it be over? The feeling of her eyes being closed felt nice. It felt nice to drift off.

It was all a damned shame though. She should have known. Ain’t no rest for the wicked or the damned. Slowly the pain left her body and her energy was returning. As slow as molasses.  She could still feel the dirt beneath her, smell the blood, hear… words? Miho opened her eyes, only to be met with that damnable, caring-ass, motherly fucking, god fucking damned nurturing tawny eyes of her’s. All the young girl could do was look at her with a mix of horror and amazement. This woman definitely left her dumbfoundead (Ay). It made Miho fearful in one instant and enraged in the next. What the fuck was she doing? Why was she doing this?  She pushed her body back with her hands a bit, jerking her body up to a seated position.

Keep it cool. Stay calm. Ask her “How you do that?”, “What is this fool on?” A little bit of this, a little bit of that. It the whole lot of nothing that’ll keep her on track. (This was obvious ). Miho started to snarl at her. “Are you fucking stupid?! Kill me! Who the hell do you think you are?! Why!?!?” she screamed from the top of her lungs to the point where she ended up coughing. Miho quivered with anger as she searched the older female for answers. There had to be a reason. She was supposed to die like a warrior. What the fuck was this?! This bitch healed her! For what?! She had to ask. There was no elegant way of doing it but in her own way, Miho was begging. She called it real talk, they call it asshole. Was it a problem that she didn’t care. Maybe that’s the reason that she’s stuck at almost there, it’s not fair. On this path, there’s no warnings or road flares. All is fair in love games and warfare. 

She had this look of eternal peace on her. Placid, her face was. Miho waited and waited. She looked like she’d been through war; her own hair as disheveled as her new, powerful foe. Miho acted like a child and with more silence, she realized that screaming was pointless. Futile. Sweat beads rolled off her forehead and the blood started to cake and dry on her skin. She was calm for the moment. When you’re yelling like the temperatures rising in the middle of August, nothing would get done. The way she stared at her was challenging and pitying at the same time. Miho hated it it from the bottom of her malefic soul. At last, she finally had the nerve to open her mouth. “If it makes you mad, chase me. Grow strong. See if you really know enough about pain to show me something new.” Miho grabbed a fist full of dirt and flung it at her. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” she interjected, screaming from the top of her lungs. The fucking nerve of this NOBODY.

Alas, she’d moved out of the way for her …dirty assault (GET IT?). Just as she had appeared, she was gone. Disappeared in thin air. Her lips parting as if she wanted to scream. She was trying to take in the events that just transpired. Before she could spend another minute on the matter, there was one last interruption. There was a brief rustling in the trees, causing the girl to snap her head in its direction. She was looking down at her, trying to leave it seems. It was then she spoke her name and gave it all the flare it deserved. Miho didn’t say anything. Rather she let her talk. Though, she did have some parting words. "I'll see you at the top someday. Unless you decide to be boring." And just like that, she was gone. Really gone. Miho felt haunted. Her fingers ran through the cool dirt besides her. Fine. A bitch wants to get cut? She’ll fucking find her and pave that road, her own road. One made of gravel and blood. She’ll find her way to the top when she least expects it. She looked around her to see the bodies of her fallen minions and finally her eyes fell to Chernobog and she noticed something interesting. There was a scratch. A notch. The first notch of many to come on that saw tooth blade, made by none other than Miranda Espero.

So Marcellius was right. Miho Shoga had to ascend through the ranks. She couldn’t be a fraccion anymore. It was unacceptable. She had to move on and he had to be right behind her. There was an overly theatrical, melodramatic fucking mad house building herself a sandcastle and Miho wanted to plunge it into darkness. She wanted to do it with all her tiny, black, shriveled heart. Marc had to be behind her. No ifs. No buts. If he was going to be behind her, he was going to have to be strong and be ready to strike with an iron fist. He could not be afraid of his so called ‘brethren”. Hollow were monsters and monsters were simple creatures, They were a pot of crabs that wanted to see no one succeed and if he wanted to have the slightest chance of his little girl getting anywhere, he was going to have to toughen up.

It would be like the Menos forest all over again. This time would be different though. Miho would have her own little following. Much more powerful this time. She would have backup and they would support her while she moved on. Though, it was turning out to be far different than she had anticipated. Marcellius was very special. He was proving himself to be even more special as time went by. She didn’t even think she’d get to release. God, the feeling of air between her feathers was amazing! She just wanted to show off and run her fingers through them. Man, she really had to find more opportunities to release. The feeling of being unrestrained was just too good. Such a shame that it seemed that Marc did not feel the same way.

Whether it was her own doing or not, Marc writhed in pain just like she wanted him to. Part of that was her doing but the other part seemed to be the most problematic thing of them all. She finally realized it was the part that she needed to work on with him. The part of them that held back. There was fear and there was grief. He feared something and she had to act on it. How she would do it now…. that was the interesting question. And a better question would be if she would truly be happy with the results she got. Would she be happier seeing no results or seeing one that screwed her over majorly? Wait. Hold on. What. That’s actually a bad question. Miho can’t be happy. If she did xyz, would she die or would still be around? Ha. Yeah. Much better.

Part of her did snap. Hitting him was doing nothing. So much for making him wake up the painful way. Miho was getting more and more frustrated. She was actually beginning to fear that Marc would fall and it was going to leave her heartbroken. Heartbroken for a far more different reason than the others obviously. The more she spent time with him and the longer this dragged out the more he really did feel like a father to her. Before she was just believing lies; was there a better way to convince others of false accusations and shameless lies? A lie only becomes the truth when you believe it, obviously. They weren’t her original intentions though and she wasn’t believing her lies anymore. No, Miho strongly felt as though this man was her father and yet there was no real connection between them aside from the fact that they were both Kuroi’s fraccion.

There was something else here though. Yet another anomaly. What was it? She was racking her brain, trying to figure it out. It was more than just words (that’s a song lol). There had to be something hidden. Their powers were so similar. It was as Kuroi said. To Miho it was almost too good to be true. The things she could do with his help. My god. There ideas of world domination! Though, that was silly. World domination was stupid. That wasn’t because she was trying to still be the boring big fish in the small pond like she was before. It was putting an unnecessary target on her back. Plus, once you were on top, what else was there to do? Nothing. It was boring. She had things to do and roads of gravel and wine to pave and goddammit, she was gonna enjoy ever loving shit out of every punch she gets to throw along the way.

That was the best part. The climb to victory. The climb to success. Such a process have her an exciting rush that it was almost impossible to describe. I actually want to know if anyone would notice these next few sentences or not. I mean its just more words on top of more words on top of more words which is really just on top of more words. Do we have to go deeper? It is okay if I break the fourth wall like this? I doubt anyone would notice. That’s pretty cool. I’m not sorry at all either. So, yeah, Miho can climb and fight that loathsome Miranda and conquer shit. Torture people and beat them up and cause mayhem wherever she walks… and Marc can be right behind her. That seems like a good plans, right? Right.

With her dragon, she was sure she’d achieve something. Never in her mind did she think she’d overshoot it. Well, it was the goal. It was just that she didn’t think she’d do such a GOOD JOB of it. Miho also did not think it would backfire in the way it was about to. She figured she’d get what she wanted; successfully turing Marc into a monster not unlike herself. It only just dawned on her that she was just like Yuka. Like father, like daughter. The thought suddenly made her sick. All she wanted to do was summon more creatures and beat them herself. She hated Yuka. She hated her human life. All she wanted was love. Was that so fucking wrong? Every god damn time she opened up, it blew up in her face it wasn’t fucking fair. No. Monsters wouldn’t do that to her. It wouldn’t come out of the blue. Marc had to be a monster whether he liked it or not.

This was the only way how. She was different from Yuka. Miho wouldn’t destroy for the sake of power. She’d destroy because she felt like it. Not because it made her happy. It made her feel even toned. She was beginning to feel worse and worse now. Feelings full of grief and sadness. When you really stop and take a look back at your life, it hits you like a ton of bricks. Everything really sucks. Everyone that died really sucks. Why’d it have to happen? Why’d it have to turn out that way. There was black smoke like energy that looked like it was expanding and moving everywhere. Like if you stayed in it too long, it could suffocate you and all you’d see in the end was darkness. It was a heavy kind of energy that no one would want to be caught it. Such is the result of Miho’s erratic emotions.

She showed her own death to him. Any parent’s worst nightmare. Miho knew that either she pissed off Marc (god willing) or she made him so upset that he could not continue any longer. The she-devil awaited his reaction. All was silent for now. Her eyes widened with anticipation. Miho knew how to kill a man. However she didn’t just do that alone. She got to work on them after. She was getting to work and seeing the fruits of her labor. The tension in Miho’s body never left her body as she watched on. He was visibly disturbed. Even if she couldn’t see his face, she knew what it was doing. He was shaking. Miho almost smiled. Hey, she wasn’t doing too shabby~! … So why the fuck didn’t it feel as good as she was hoping.

Miho didn’t even get those fifteen seconds of satisfaction. What kind of bullshit was this? Still, she wasn’t angry. Something was happening though. Where there was smoke, there was fire. Even so, she felt ice in her veins. Miho was preparing herself for whatever was to come next. She was starting to like the idea of turning Marc into a monster less and less. ”Child… you are truly cruel.” Her body shivered hearing his words. She didn’t look happy. She looked like she was getting ready to run away or something. It wasn’t something she’d normally do. The way Marcellius was making her feel right now though… She was scared and yet… full of grief. Miho was a hell of a lot of emotions but right now it was mostly grief. She felt like she was on the same page as him and yet their situations were so.. different.

”Let me tell you… what I truly fear.” There was such a thing as overdoing it. There WAS such a thing as overdoing it. She was seeing herself again. It was the same old movie again. She looked lost. The reflection of the flames dancing in her eyes. There was a familiar looking house and a figure hunger over. Cries from a little girl, begging for her father and a man who was trapped. This was so familiar. This…This was new. She didn’t remember any of this. Miho had amazing memory but this wasn’t there. This man…familiar…so familiar. This house…. Something about this house bothered her. That night… her house burned down on her birthday and it was all slowly coming back to her. She was reliving the exact night everything went downhill… in full.

That man sobbing on the ground. That was her father. That was her real father. Miho was feeling something new. Such a staggering, mind blowing feeling it was. Her lip quivered and she immediately dropped her weapon. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered at that point. Her own flesh and blood was grieving for her, feeling utterly powerless and doing all that he could for his little girl and it was… it was futile. So mind shattering it was that she felt herself take unbalanced steps back as she watched. Her fingers nestled themselves in her hair and she tried to hold her head, a vain attempt to get a grip of her current situation. He died on that kitchen floor. Burned to death. Died in agony. “Dad…” her voice cracked as she called out to him. As he reached out she did too.. but quickly retracted her hands for fear of the flames burning her.

Still the girl watched. She saw a creature. A real monster…. a … hollow? It was a hollow. One of the nastiest she’d ever seen. Scars covered from top to bottom and a body that would make many scream from the top of their lungs until they passed out. Hardened skin, reptilian almost. It was definitely a hollow though. That hungry look on its face was something she was all too familiar with. “Daddy, I’m sorry.” she was too far into the vision now. She called out to him, trying to get his attention and to wake up from whatever it was. Miho was lost in it. “DAD!!!” She was screaming tearfully. Once again, just like before, how high and mighty she was… she was falling. She was falling into Despair. Kuroi would’ve have loved the sight of this. He’d recognize it well. “Dad please…!” she was practically begging. The tears started slowly.

And then they started falling faster. “I’m still here. I’m still Miho. I’m sorry.” But the hollow was more present than ever. She felt as though she was really there with him. It was even hard to breathe. Her skin was hot and at this moment, she didn’t even care about fighting or Marc. She scared about her father. Her father. The one who so desperately wanted his little pride and joy back. The hollow opened its mouth. Rows upon rows of teeth like it was some kind of sick, twisted showcase. This wasn't fair. Not fair at all. She knew this process already. She knew it all too well. Miho did not want this to happen. Not to him. Of all people, he was the one that didn’t deserve this at all. He deserved to be rescued by a shinigami and live a happy life. Not be devoured by some monster.

Still, she wanted to talk to him. She wanted to talk to him more than anything. Anything to hear a word or two from him. Apologize for the abomination she had become. He would hate her now. Surely he would and yet, despite know that, she loved him. It was more than she could have ever asked for. Even if he was on death row. “I’m so sorry. Dad please. Listen to me.” she wanted him to snap out of it… but he was gone obviously. All she wanted was for him to look at her and hear tearful face. It was a vision but it felt so real. It was all so real to her. “Me. Me. I’m still here. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” Miho dropped to her knees, raising her voice as she tried to communicate with him. “Please don’t cry.” She hated to see him cry. Miho hadn’t seen it before but she knew automatically she didn’t like it. No matter how much she wanted people to suffer, that was the last person she’d want to see suffer. Kaito and Kouen can go fuck themselves. Takeshi Shoga did not deserve this.

“I’m still here. I’m alrig—!!” She gasped. It was like nature. When you see an innocent fly land on a seemingly harmless plant only for its jaws to snap and enclose around it. That was what she saw. She jumped, her petit form jolting considerably. She knew this process. It was the same old story but it never got better. It only got worse. The hollow did what was necessary to survive. It was hungry and so… Dad was a victim by default. She shook her head slowly as the tears fell much faster than before. Miho’s release gradually started to fade until she was back to her normal self. The desire to fight left her. The sound of crunching and digesting. Oh my god. It was disgusting. It was nothing new and it made her soul churn and her stomach weak. She had to stop herself from even wanting to puke! She covered her mouth. Only muffled sobs could be heard from her now. This hollow ate her father and she watched every god forsaken detail of it. Watched it with eyes wide open.

Miho fell to her knees. Grief. She felt nothing but grief. The sound of it was the worst part. It rang in her ears and it didn't stop. She wanted it to stop and she couldn't bring herself to even attempt to block the noise out. How could she forget such a thing… She swore and knew that from that point on, she wasn’t going to be able to get that out of her head. Her sobbing was uncontrollable now and slowly the vision faded. It was making sense now. Who it was and who was involved. In a way… her father was here. He was still with her. He’d be underneath her nose… right? Was that the right way to think of it? She showed her own father something so disgustingly twisted. How could she have done that?! Miho didn’t have a heart for others to see but it beat wildly to the point where she felt like it was slowly disintegrating. It was far more devastating than anything she’d ever faced in 500 years of her entire life.

The illusions were gone. Though, they weren’t illusions. They were memories. Memories she’d remember for the rest of her life and memories that would haunt her for many nights to come. His words did not fall deaf on ears but she could not respond. Miho’s head hung low for the moment. She was, in a weird way, reunited with her real father. Someone who wouldn’t betray her and someone who didn’t need to be a monster. No, he was fine just the way he was. She’ll be damned if she did. For a while, she was unresponsive to his question. She had to collect herself and yet, she was having such a hard time doing so. It was almost like the time Miranda paid her that one visit, causing Miho to look at Chernobog once more and lo and behold… a new notch was on there, put there by Marcelius Despres over some course of the battle. When, she wasn’t sure, but it was there. She didn’t turn to look at him though she was sure he’d want a response of some sort. She’d only say it once, her voice was firm and commanding so he heard her loud and clear.

“Don’t leave me.”

[Amagai Kuchiki]

418 Paragraphs....Wow, I'm just glad this wasn't a PvP, and thus I didn't have to take score individually.
10 TP per 2 paragraph, 2090 TP for each.