Post by Draco Hansun on Mar 20, 2014 21:47:13 GMT -5
OOC: This thread is for SP
Draco was about to declare all spiders to be his enemy, thanks to the one he was fighting. Rather, it was a spider hollow that resembled a skeleton-covered spider scaled to a larger size, now being only a little smaller than Draco himself. It had the habit of disappearing in the middle of the forest and (almost) getting the drop on Draco, literally. As in, it tried to body slam him from the branches above by dropping from almost directly above him. So Draco was trying to get it to follow him to a clearing where he would have the advantage. And he was almost there too.
It was a spot about five yards across in a circular shape. The sun rained down unfiltered by the leaves covering the rest of the forest. Even if it was practically covered in hollows, this forest always seemed to show Draco an astounding amount of natural beauty that he was sure no one else got to see. He sighed a little bit, even with a giant spider chasing him. He felt it was his duty to get this forest rid of all the hollows who lived here, all of the hollows who by their very presence decreased the purity and beauty of this place. Besides, even when they died, they would just be reincarnated into the world of the living, right? It’s not as if they are staying dead for good, Draco thought to himself as he ran, the clearing seeming to get just a shred closer every second.
Then again, he thought, they could be thinking the same thing when they try to kill shinigami. He turned his head to the side as he darted through the forest, just enough so he wouldn’t risk running into a tree, in order to observe the spider hollow’s face. It was just like that of a regular spider, but bigger and drooling. Draco doubted that it could think much of anything, or at least it was preoccupied with killing Draco. He didn’t think that this was typical of hollows, no matter how much he was instilled with that thought since birth. Even his mother, who was the closest thing to a saint that Draco had ever known, hated hollows just as much as any other person in Soul Society.
Draco’s black hair (with natural red tips) was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his chest moving quickly up and down as he practically ate the air that went into his lungs. The scars on his arms were tingling again, they were small but plentiful, and always “worked up” whenever Draco was exerting himself physically. It was a sign that he was in the training “sweet spot” that athletes try to hit every single practice session. The one that told them they were working just right, putting in the enough effort without over exerting themselves. This hollow wasn’t strong, not even in the slightest, but it was Draco’s practice.
He finally broke through the line of trees and found himself in the clearing he had been running towards all this time. As he spun around to face it, the hollow leaped at him, its mandibles gnashing together in disgusting unison. But Draco was ready for it, stepping to the side and caught the hollow in a clothes line. Upon impact it seemed to compress like a ball hitting the ground before it became its original shape and fell to the ground. But Draco knew that the fight wasn’t going to be over this quickly. Draco backed up from the hollow just as it scrambled to its feet, ready for another beating.
Draco had been fighting this thing for quite some time, and felt like winding things down. That was partially why he lead the thing over to the clearing in the first place. Another reason was to get rid of those body slams that the hollow seemed to love so much. Well now the hollow couldn’t do any body slams, at least not without Draco seeing it try to do so. Out here, in the open, Draco had the advantage. Out here, Draco was in control. Well, for the most part, because Draco had to admit, the clothes line WAS pretty sloppy. He needed to turn his body near the moment of impact more, in order to add some extra force into the blow. Otherwise anything besides this hollow near him would only be slightly winded by the move. That is, if you use Draco's definition of winded
Well, at least I might get to try again, thought Draco, taking a fighting stance low to the ground. This was one that his grandfather taught him, a street fighting stance he could use to protect himself. Although, when he was younger he wasn’t the one who needed protection. While Draco was taking his time and recollecting about this, the spider was still scrambling to it’s feet, finally succeeding after what felt like eternity of flailing spider limbs. By this time, Draco had crossed his arms and was tapping his foot against the grass in irritation. As it succeeded, he re-adopted his fighting stance. This time, instead of leaping, it came scurrying at him.
Draco performed a pincer-like punch with both of his hands simultaneously, crushing the sides of its mandible-covered head. Not literally of course, Draco was still working on that move. Maybe with a little more force… thought Draco. He corrected himself, “Duh, of course it’d be better with more force.” Realizing he said that out loud, he re-focused on the hollow, which had quickly recovered from the attack and was coming back for more, thankfully much faster than when it had been clotheslined. It leaped at him yet again, and Draco beat it down. This process repeating for a while. The hollow didn’t seem close to tiring, but Draco was getting bored of this. After a while, it didn’t even feel tiring to him, just repetitive.
Then it attempted to tackle him for the final time. As the hollow came at him, it's legs spread out mid-air hoping to tear into him, Draco drew his zanpakuto in an almost lazy manner, for he had all the time in the world with this monster. Then, when it was just about to tackle him to the ground and kill him, Draco swung. The creature split in two, but not equally as Draco had hoped. That would have been cool, even if no one would have been around to see it. Draco liked a bit of theatrics in a fight, to be honest. As the halves of the hollow’s body hit the ground, they dissolved into the air with a slight puff.
Draco sheathed his sword, his eyes resting on where the slain arachnid had landed. There was no blood for whatever strange reason, which Draco found a tad strange. But when he thought about it, why would blood stay if the rest of the body left like that? He wondered if hollows mourned for each other. Where they even capable of mourning? He didn’t think so. But if they did, he pitied them. How sad must it be, not even being able to bury your friend? Not even a shred of them would be left to bury or cremate them. Draco didn’t think about it further, it was too depressing. So he simply walked away, back to the barracks.
Draco was about to declare all spiders to be his enemy, thanks to the one he was fighting. Rather, it was a spider hollow that resembled a skeleton-covered spider scaled to a larger size, now being only a little smaller than Draco himself. It had the habit of disappearing in the middle of the forest and (almost) getting the drop on Draco, literally. As in, it tried to body slam him from the branches above by dropping from almost directly above him. So Draco was trying to get it to follow him to a clearing where he would have the advantage. And he was almost there too.
It was a spot about five yards across in a circular shape. The sun rained down unfiltered by the leaves covering the rest of the forest. Even if it was practically covered in hollows, this forest always seemed to show Draco an astounding amount of natural beauty that he was sure no one else got to see. He sighed a little bit, even with a giant spider chasing him. He felt it was his duty to get this forest rid of all the hollows who lived here, all of the hollows who by their very presence decreased the purity and beauty of this place. Besides, even when they died, they would just be reincarnated into the world of the living, right? It’s not as if they are staying dead for good, Draco thought to himself as he ran, the clearing seeming to get just a shred closer every second.
Then again, he thought, they could be thinking the same thing when they try to kill shinigami. He turned his head to the side as he darted through the forest, just enough so he wouldn’t risk running into a tree, in order to observe the spider hollow’s face. It was just like that of a regular spider, but bigger and drooling. Draco doubted that it could think much of anything, or at least it was preoccupied with killing Draco. He didn’t think that this was typical of hollows, no matter how much he was instilled with that thought since birth. Even his mother, who was the closest thing to a saint that Draco had ever known, hated hollows just as much as any other person in Soul Society.
Draco’s black hair (with natural red tips) was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his chest moving quickly up and down as he practically ate the air that went into his lungs. The scars on his arms were tingling again, they were small but plentiful, and always “worked up” whenever Draco was exerting himself physically. It was a sign that he was in the training “sweet spot” that athletes try to hit every single practice session. The one that told them they were working just right, putting in the enough effort without over exerting themselves. This hollow wasn’t strong, not even in the slightest, but it was Draco’s practice.
He finally broke through the line of trees and found himself in the clearing he had been running towards all this time. As he spun around to face it, the hollow leaped at him, its mandibles gnashing together in disgusting unison. But Draco was ready for it, stepping to the side and caught the hollow in a clothes line. Upon impact it seemed to compress like a ball hitting the ground before it became its original shape and fell to the ground. But Draco knew that the fight wasn’t going to be over this quickly. Draco backed up from the hollow just as it scrambled to its feet, ready for another beating.
Draco had been fighting this thing for quite some time, and felt like winding things down. That was partially why he lead the thing over to the clearing in the first place. Another reason was to get rid of those body slams that the hollow seemed to love so much. Well now the hollow couldn’t do any body slams, at least not without Draco seeing it try to do so. Out here, in the open, Draco had the advantage. Out here, Draco was in control. Well, for the most part, because Draco had to admit, the clothes line WAS pretty sloppy. He needed to turn his body near the moment of impact more, in order to add some extra force into the blow. Otherwise anything besides this hollow near him would only be slightly winded by the move. That is, if you use Draco's definition of winded
Well, at least I might get to try again, thought Draco, taking a fighting stance low to the ground. This was one that his grandfather taught him, a street fighting stance he could use to protect himself. Although, when he was younger he wasn’t the one who needed protection. While Draco was taking his time and recollecting about this, the spider was still scrambling to it’s feet, finally succeeding after what felt like eternity of flailing spider limbs. By this time, Draco had crossed his arms and was tapping his foot against the grass in irritation. As it succeeded, he re-adopted his fighting stance. This time, instead of leaping, it came scurrying at him.
Draco performed a pincer-like punch with both of his hands simultaneously, crushing the sides of its mandible-covered head. Not literally of course, Draco was still working on that move. Maybe with a little more force… thought Draco. He corrected himself, “Duh, of course it’d be better with more force.” Realizing he said that out loud, he re-focused on the hollow, which had quickly recovered from the attack and was coming back for more, thankfully much faster than when it had been clotheslined. It leaped at him yet again, and Draco beat it down. This process repeating for a while. The hollow didn’t seem close to tiring, but Draco was getting bored of this. After a while, it didn’t even feel tiring to him, just repetitive.
Then it attempted to tackle him for the final time. As the hollow came at him, it's legs spread out mid-air hoping to tear into him, Draco drew his zanpakuto in an almost lazy manner, for he had all the time in the world with this monster. Then, when it was just about to tackle him to the ground and kill him, Draco swung. The creature split in two, but not equally as Draco had hoped. That would have been cool, even if no one would have been around to see it. Draco liked a bit of theatrics in a fight, to be honest. As the halves of the hollow’s body hit the ground, they dissolved into the air with a slight puff.
Draco sheathed his sword, his eyes resting on where the slain arachnid had landed. There was no blood for whatever strange reason, which Draco found a tad strange. But when he thought about it, why would blood stay if the rest of the body left like that? He wondered if hollows mourned for each other. Where they even capable of mourning? He didn’t think so. But if they did, he pitied them. How sad must it be, not even being able to bury your friend? Not even a shred of them would be left to bury or cremate them. Draco didn’t think about it further, it was too depressing. So he simply walked away, back to the barracks.
