Post by Connor Greaves on Feb 12, 2021 2:47:35 GMT -5
A cave is what Connor had originally sought out in the Rukongai, but in doing so, he had quickly reconsidered that option. A cave would crumble beneath his power, poison consuming it, and potentially leaving him entombed in a coffin of dirt and rubble. The Soul Reaper had requested a leave of absence for this, so he wanted to make sure it was done right the first time. He ventured far from the Seireitei, probably well past the thirtieth district, traveling down the dirt roads on the motorcycle he had bought from the lands of the living. It was far from safe, but so was what he was seeking to attempt. Beneath his masked visage was a perpetual grimace.
Every time Connor thought that he might have found someplace suitable enough to train, his heart firmly rejected it. Too little space, too open, too many people around him, too bland, too happy. His mind came up with an endless number of excuses as to why a certain location was not good enough. His mind was telling him where he knew he needed to go, but his heart was telling him to turn back. That whatever it was he wanted to do was not worth going back. But still he pressed on. Days of searching turned into a week. Like that, a quarter of his time had been wasted lollygagging around. Steeling his resolve, he forced himself to return to the place where he first arrived.
It took him days of driving through districts filled with scowling people, glaring at both the noise, as well as the fact of his attire. They hated him for what he was, rather than who he was. The thought angered him for a moment, before he let it go. These people would only hinder his journey should he stop here. He wished not to kill more helpless individuals if he could avoid it. His mind began to wander, reminiscing of the past. Of how it was he ended up in this twisted world. The Soul Society. Call it ignorance, but to his eyes, this was as much a Hell as any other. Perhaps it was not a realm of endless torment, but it was a world frozen in time.
To next to all but the lucky few, this was a world where you never needed to eat. Your hunger was forever sated, and all you needed to do is drink to sustain yourself. There was no fear of death, as what was death for these people but another way to return to the Soul Cycle? There was no need to progress society here. There was no fear, except of hollow, but the souls here were protected by the virtue of their weakness. They lacked the appeal to be hunted by hollows, preferring to go after the Shini-Soul Reapers. They were Soul Reapers! That was likely the reason they common souls that lingered here despised them so. They threatened the status quo.
This world was a purgatory. A fifty to a hundred year waiting game to return to Earth. To the Lands of the Living. He hated this fact more than any other. This was the prize that awaited those who had been virtuous enough to avoid Hell? This is the beautiful lie that was told to any soul unfortunate enough to cross paths with a Soul Reaper, and to be sent here? He could feel bile rising in his throat at the thought. He hated lying, but none would come here should they hear the truth. They would fight and flee death with all their hearts, as they should. Nothing awaited them in this world, but decades of boredom, or their second death at the hands of bandits.
That was the second, amongst the other numerous problems, that this world had. A world that refused to progress, inevitably regressed. The people of this world returned to the mindset that refused to be stomped out and die. The law of the jungle reigned supreme this far outside the reach of the Soul Society. Might makes right. Those with enough power, be it through connections, weapons, or just raw spiritual capabilities, ruled these unwanted lands. He should know, given what happened to him, once upon a time. If the people this far out smelled weakness from you, you were likely to go missing. Whether that meant you wound up dead or worse, was decided by the strong.
He snarled as his bike approached a rundown village. Unlike the other villages he had driven by, this was was even more run down. Scorched buildings, blackened wood lying on the earth, and scraps of clothing littered the landscape. A village filled to the brim with the long since forgotten dead. He stopped his vehicle, before hopping off it. A surreal sensation spread across his body like a wave. Blood rushed to his head, as his body began to feel cold. It was one thing to have slaughtered an entire village of people. It was another thing entirely to return to the scene of your crime. He wandered through, observing as much as he could, meticulously scrutinizing every last detail that he could, as the night replayed in his mind like a broken video.
His heart was in his throat as the memories he viciously tried to forget resurfaced, revealing their ugly heads. He could still feel the trigger against his fingers, as he ended the lives of the men he once worked alongside. For the life of him, he could not remember when he had removed his mask, but it was no longer on his face. It was only getting in his way, as he approached the corpse of a building larger than any other in this village, or any nearby. The mansion where the woman who ran this village called her home. His hand subconsciously caressed the right side of his face, brushing over the eyepatch that hid his missing eye. He might have taken her life, but she left by taking from him his eye.
He did not know how long he stood before the long since fallen building, but by the time he came to, night was creeping over the landscape. A haunting feeling hung in the air, like the hangman's noose growing tighter around his neck. He knew how this world worked, and knew it to be impossible, be if asked, he could swear that he felt the eyes of those he killed watching him. Hatefully glaring at him from the next life, wishing for him to fall like them. To have his life stolen from him they they did theirs. He almost thought he saw the woman who took his eye standing before him.
With a shuddering breath, he calmed his nerves, and drew forth his Zanpakuto. Tamashī was a weapon who refused to be restrained, a weapon who knew what it was. Tamashī was the death to all things that it touched. It was not a toy to be played with. It was not some blade to spar with others. It was a weapon in the truest sense of the word. It would take as much life as it could, and in turn, convert them into weapons as well. In a sense, his weapon was as much an artist as he was, crafting more tools of death. Maybe he was wrong, but it sure felt ironic, in a sense. He who made weapons of death to survive, was now wielding a weapon that did much the same.
He hated how similar he was to the weapon. And that was the reason he ventured to far out into the Rukongai. Anywhere else would be consumed by Tamashī. It was better to return to a place that already reeked of death to begin with. He stabbed the blade into the ground, as the poison quickly began to spread. Within moments, a purple liquid rippled against the ground, and figures began to arise from the vile substance. A tiny white figure emerged from behind the sword, sticking its head out from behind it, as the rest of it remained hidden. He thought he saw a black figure emerged from the liquid, but it was gone just as fast as it appeared, and a familiar presence could be felt hovering uncomfortably close to his back, practically breathing down his neck.
Hope and Despair heeded his call, the twin spirits that made up Tamashī. One called for the death of all things, while the other only desired for the death of himself. "We need to have words." He told them, as calmly as he could. In truth, he held fear for them, because they were so simplistic in their goals and desires. He knew them, knew what they were, but not why. If he were to attain bankai, he must understand them, and come to some sort of agreement. Compromises had to be made. The question that came to his mind, however, was which one of them would yield to the other? It was impossible for him to guess.
"You come all the way out here, just to talk?" A gravely male voice whispered into his ear, breath as cold as ice, and smelled of rot and ruination. It chuckled, as he felt ghost-like fingers brush against his shoulder. "Are you trying to butter my up, bringing me to the place where you inspired my power?" The voice behind him asked. "So much death. It fills me with such satisfaction. A job well done, my wielder. I can see the memories. Your creations haunted these lands like a plague. You helped so many meet their end, and you never pulled a trigger, until it was time to leave. And left you did. All of them returned to dust. As is the way of this world." It spoke nothing but positive things at his former actions.
The second figure, the one that stood only a few inches tall, leapt out from behind the sword, clearly in duress. A warm, angelic voice spoke to him, more feminine than masculine "This is awful! Look at all the harm you have wrought to this world! If not for you, these people could have had long and fulfilling lives! Did you eve try to help them change their ways? Instead of trying to help, you struck them down, cutting down the futures of so many! I thought you wanted to be a person who saved people! How can you say you are any kind of hero, when you created a graveyard like this! You are a monster who stopped deserving life the moment you first took breath!" The tiny figure berated him, a voice without anger, without hatred, constantly on the verge of tears.
This was the duality of his zanpakuto. Both sought death with every word that they spoke, but in completely different directions. Despair sought the death of all around him, looking towards everyone and seeing something worth killing. He could not tell if it was hatred that drove this aspect of Tamashī, or something else that he failed to understand, but it craved their deaths. Hope, on the other hand, sought to make the world a happier place. By having him remove himself from it. It claimed that he was the cause of the pain of everyone around him. It so desperately tried for him to give up, to give in for his desire to make people happy. It fed off his emotions like a leech.
"Tamashī. I wish to understand you. You crave death like none I have seen before. But I cannot understand why. Why do you wish for them all to fall? Help me understand." His words were spoken with a desperation that he knew could not be hidden from them. They stilled for a moment, the tiny figure growing stiff, before it looked sullen. "You wish for Bankai." The voice behind him spoke, like an avalanche of rock crashing down on his head. It was not angry, but spoke the truth, getting straight to the point. "Yes." He answered without hesitation. He, like his zanpakuto, preferred to get straight to the point.
He felt fingers dig into his shoulder, almost to the point of being painful. "You came here to know why I crave death as fervently as I do." Hope spoke to him, a voice as calm as the grave. It was disconcerting to listen to the normally weeping spirit so unusually focused. "Yes. It vexes as much as it did they day I learned your name." Connor answered truthfully. "Liar." They both said, harshly. This startled the young man. Liar? He spoke the truth! "You lie, Connor Greaves. You know why it is we crave death, but refuse to acknowledge it." That was not right. Why would he...?
"Think back to when you went to assist those shinigami. The Town was abandoned, filled with nothing but abominations of science. Do you remember when they nearly claimed your life?" He did. It was a harrowing experience. Pinned against a wall, with a giant ant attempting to claim his life by splitting him in two between pincers half as large as a grown man. "That mission was when you first awakened me. Your hatred for life boiled to the surface for the second time. You wanted them dead. You knew that those abominations deserved death. That they were a mockery on life itself. They did not ask to be born, but they deserved death all the same." His words struck a cord in the heart of Connor.
Was that true? He knew it was. Those creatures needed to die, because they posed a threat on the world. Sure, they were also unholy abominations, but he was there to do his job. "Or how about the army of beastclan that threatened the Rukongai? They were only creatures that sought their own survival, yet you helped cut them down nonetheless. You deemed their lives lesser than those you were protecting. What right did you have to do that?" Hope spoke out to him. That was not fair! Those were parasitic monsters! They were smart enough to plan, so what right did they have to kill other sentient beings?
"You ask what right they had?" His eyes widened. It was unfair to argue against beings that could read his mind. "They had the right because they were the smarter. They faster. They were the ones who were propagating change, yet you helped kill their chances for a future. You denied them the chance to move forward." Hope answered once more. But their argument felt lacking. His duty was to protect, so why was it shaming him into feeling guilty for the lives of the roach people? His eyes narrowed. "The change they sought would have taken more lives than helped. If they had continued on, they would have stripped any beauty this world had left. I took their lives to protect the world from death."
The voice behind him chuckled. "You fight death, with death. You ask why I seek the death of all things that I come to know? I do not ask for all things to die. I merely ask you to trim the fat. To cull the herd. Too much life brings death. But from death, new life can be achieved." For the first time, he saw the hand of Despair reach into his field of vision, as it willed to life a zombie. It rose from the ground, as it began hobbling towards the fallen structures of the buildings. He made no move to stop it, as its ruinous touch began to spread all across the wood.
"This village is long since dead, stripped of all value, and litters the world with its corpse. Death has claimed it. It might not live, but it was still once here. The you that was forced to call this place home, could see that it was a cancer. It spread death to all that it touched, and had to be removed. You did the best you could, but you were limited in your means. I offer you the chance to put the remains of those who are not deserving of the gift of life, the ones that refuse to go to rest peacefully, for your aid. You seek only to help life prevail and prosper. I do not seek mindless death and carnage, but rather the deaths of those that would hinder life." He told Connor, in an almost fatherly tone.
Connor could feel the words resonating within him. It was as if a whole new side of his zanpakuto was revealed to him. He turned to face Despair, to face Tamashī, for the first time. This time the spirit did not hide from him. The spirit looked like a cloak of shadow and darkness, but under the hood, was a kind and grizzled old, aged well past his prime. Connor reached out to hug the man, which was reciprocated. He felt strangely complete, yet at the same time... "Thank you. But what about him?" He turned to face what he once referred to as Hope. The little spirit looked... Strangely upset. Angry even.
"He is the beautiful lie." Despair told him, standing side-by-side with him, and leaning on his shoulder like a support. "While I may be the ugly truth, he is the beautiful lie. He tries to pretend that your death will bring about any amount of joy or happiness to the world. The truth is, that is a lie. If you had died that day, trying to reach this village, while the ones you had killed would have lived on a while longer, they would have continued to kill others, hurting all they touched, before they themselves were killed and replaced by others who would do the same in turn. That one feeds off you, trying to make you hope for a better future without you."
That was... a lot to take in. Why would his zanpakuto spirit do that? For what reason would it want to do that? He was about to voice his question, when Hope answered it for him. "Because, I am not your zanpakuto spirit. I am your death." It told him in a voice that chilled him to the bone. The spirit slowly sunk into the purple puddle beneath its feet. "I am the death of death. I am the one that will claim you, in time. I am weak right now, but the more you grow in power, so too shall I. Death wanes, and will falter. I wished for you to give up now, so it would be less painful later. But you decided to be stubborn. So now, I shall drag you kicking and screaming, as I claim your body and powers. If you had listened to me, you could have spared yourself, and all those around you this pain. Remember that." And that was all it spoke, as it vanished beneath the liquid.
Connor released a breath he had not realized he had been holding. That was... intense. Threats from such a small creature would not normally instill fear in the warrior, but the combination of unusual circumstances left him off guard. "What do you mean by 'Beautiful lie'? If Hope was not a part of Tamashī, not a part of you, what was it?" Connor turned, questioning the elderly spirit. He gave a sigh, as he readied himself to give a long explanation. "The sins of your life have come back to haunt you, further than even I could have anticipated." This... confused Connor. The spirit motioned for the two of them to sit on some nearby rubble, that had yet to be tainted by the poison.
"In life, you were strong. Stronger than a human had any right to be. That power dive you to madness, fueled further by grief. The loss of loved ones broke your mind, and splintered your soul. In the twisted thing you called a mind, you started consuming hollows to further your power, tainting your soul in the process." He spoke in a grave tone. Connor could barely believe such a thing. He had met powerful humans before, Izanami came to mind, but consuming hollows? He himself consuming hollows? How was he not dea-oh. Right. "Alright, so my soul in life was tainted by Hollow. I assume that I was felled by something other than a shinigami for the taint to remain?"
The grizzled spirit looked annoyed at the interruption. "As a matter of fact, you were slain by a shinigami. Normally your spirit would have been purified from the process, but the fact that you were a fullbringer complicated things. The Hollow taint, was thoroughly entwined with your fullbring, that it managed to survive the purification. That is why I am nothing like your former fullbring. That one you call 'Hope' is the culmination of the hollow spirits trapped within your soul. And it grows stronger day by day." Well that was ominous. And more than a little worrying. "Then why do we not go into my Inner World and slay him now?"
Tamashī hung his head and sighed. "If that were an option, I would have called you long before now to aid me in its destruction. The fact of the matter is, that it is also bound to me, as well as you. We three are as inseparable as you or I. He draws on me, much like you do. At most, it would be a stalemate between you both. You must keep ahead of him, lest he replace you, and take over your body. I am sorry." A numb feeling washed over Connor. This thing had the potential to kill him? The potential to replace him!? It was a feeling of... mortality. He could feel just how mortal he was in that moment. That death was creeping towards him. Not slowly, but quickly.
A moment passed, before a new feeling washed over him. He grit his teeth, as a rage bubbled up from his core. He sprung to life, as he let out a primal yell, full of anger and hate. He surged forward as he grabbed his zanpakuto, before unleashing a flurry of Poisoned Waves on the surrounding ghost town. In a matter of moments, the remnants sprang to life, as zombies of all shapes and sizes started consuming anything his attacks missed. He kept attacking, trying his best to vent his frustrations. It was a good two minutes, before he ran out of breath to yell, and hunched over, leaning on his sword to stand. It was another few seconds before he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"I refuse to die a puppet to a Hollow." He told the spirit. There was no verbal response. "If that thing continually grows in power, then I have no choice but to do the same. This is a monster who has already died once with me, and now it lingers on, refusing to pass on. We shall exorcise this Hollow in time." Stamina returned to him, he stands up straight, and turns to face his Zanpakuto spirit. "Please, help me grow stronger, Tamashī. Teach me Bankai. If I am destined to battle Hope, then I wish to be as strong as I can. I will not let a ghost of the past run free with our power. I promise you."
The elderly spirit just gave him a loving smile, and gave him a hug. One that Connor returned. "We are death. All we touch is subject to our whims." He began. "The world fears us, because they cannot see what lies on the other side." He continued. Connor believed he knew where he was going with this. "We claim all, in time. We are slave to no one. We have nothing to fear, nor anything to hide. We are the end. We take no pleasure in the lives we claim, and bare the hate and grief of those to whom still live. It is a sin that we shoulder for the betterment of life. So let them see it. Let them see what we are."
The spirit faded, returning to his Inner World, as Connor looked at the blade in a new light. He knelt down, as he plunged the blade deep into the earth. "Bare my Sins for all to loath. Souruejji." For an instant, all the chaos around him stilled. The roars, the screeches, the destruction of a ruined town, came to a halt. Rising to his feet, he ripped the weapon from the ground. He could feel power coursing through his veins, as his weapon was raised to the sky. It was a horrific weapon, looking like the maw of a grizzly beast, particularly with how poison dripped from from between the teeth. It was made entirely of bone, with a large downward pointing curved horn acting as a guard.
A sense of pride welled up in his chest, as Connor admired his weapon. It was as malicious as how most people imagined death to be. In every sense of the word, this blade looked evil. But he knew it was for from it. This was a weapon to be used on those who cause life to fade away. This was to save life through destruction. He would gladly look like a villain, if he could save lives. Suddenly, he heard the sounds of many things slapping against the ground. Blinking twice, he looked around him, and he could hardly believe his eyes. Zombies of every shape and size surrounded him... and knelt to him. He was perplexed.
He lowered his weapon, and raised his hand with his free hand. The zombies did so, before they shimmered before his very eyes. The zombies... looked like normal people now. His jaw dropped. "We are here to help you the best we can. What are your orders?" The now people spoke to him, causing his jaw to drop further. He was suddenly feeling self conscious, and felt compelled to give them an order. "Please, tear down what remains of this settlement. We will give this land a chance to live again, a fresh start." He said, as confidently as he could manage.
The zombies heard him, and gave a rowdy cheer, as they began to work. It a matter of minutes, everything was reduced to rubble, before being reduced to nothing. The cleanup was surprisingly quick, and all that remained was flatland. The people returned. Connor was beginning to feel light headed from maintaining such power, clearly not used to something as powerful as bankai. "Thank you all for the assistance. But I must ask you to return to rest once more. Until I call upon you again." He deactivated his bankai, as the people began to wave goodbye. After they were gone, he sheathed his blade, and collapsed to the ground.
It took him a half hour to get back to his feet. The stress on his body was that great. He gave the area another look, before widening his eyes in horror. The area was cleared, this was true, but massive chunks of land were missing, as if they were simply erased from existence. 'We are death. Our power is meant to kill. You must be careful when you use bankai, for while death may bend to your will, it is still a weapon. Never forget just how dangerous it is. Bare the sin for all to loath, but never forget what roll you play in the cycle of life.' Connor listened to his words. Bankai was a last resort, when every other option was exhausted.
He returned to his bike, having been well outside the area of effect of his powers, and made his way back to the Soul Society.
Every time Connor thought that he might have found someplace suitable enough to train, his heart firmly rejected it. Too little space, too open, too many people around him, too bland, too happy. His mind came up with an endless number of excuses as to why a certain location was not good enough. His mind was telling him where he knew he needed to go, but his heart was telling him to turn back. That whatever it was he wanted to do was not worth going back. But still he pressed on. Days of searching turned into a week. Like that, a quarter of his time had been wasted lollygagging around. Steeling his resolve, he forced himself to return to the place where he first arrived.
It took him days of driving through districts filled with scowling people, glaring at both the noise, as well as the fact of his attire. They hated him for what he was, rather than who he was. The thought angered him for a moment, before he let it go. These people would only hinder his journey should he stop here. He wished not to kill more helpless individuals if he could avoid it. His mind began to wander, reminiscing of the past. Of how it was he ended up in this twisted world. The Soul Society. Call it ignorance, but to his eyes, this was as much a Hell as any other. Perhaps it was not a realm of endless torment, but it was a world frozen in time.
To next to all but the lucky few, this was a world where you never needed to eat. Your hunger was forever sated, and all you needed to do is drink to sustain yourself. There was no fear of death, as what was death for these people but another way to return to the Soul Cycle? There was no need to progress society here. There was no fear, except of hollow, but the souls here were protected by the virtue of their weakness. They lacked the appeal to be hunted by hollows, preferring to go after the Shini-Soul Reapers. They were Soul Reapers! That was likely the reason they common souls that lingered here despised them so. They threatened the status quo.
This world was a purgatory. A fifty to a hundred year waiting game to return to Earth. To the Lands of the Living. He hated this fact more than any other. This was the prize that awaited those who had been virtuous enough to avoid Hell? This is the beautiful lie that was told to any soul unfortunate enough to cross paths with a Soul Reaper, and to be sent here? He could feel bile rising in his throat at the thought. He hated lying, but none would come here should they hear the truth. They would fight and flee death with all their hearts, as they should. Nothing awaited them in this world, but decades of boredom, or their second death at the hands of bandits.
That was the second, amongst the other numerous problems, that this world had. A world that refused to progress, inevitably regressed. The people of this world returned to the mindset that refused to be stomped out and die. The law of the jungle reigned supreme this far outside the reach of the Soul Society. Might makes right. Those with enough power, be it through connections, weapons, or just raw spiritual capabilities, ruled these unwanted lands. He should know, given what happened to him, once upon a time. If the people this far out smelled weakness from you, you were likely to go missing. Whether that meant you wound up dead or worse, was decided by the strong.
He snarled as his bike approached a rundown village. Unlike the other villages he had driven by, this was was even more run down. Scorched buildings, blackened wood lying on the earth, and scraps of clothing littered the landscape. A village filled to the brim with the long since forgotten dead. He stopped his vehicle, before hopping off it. A surreal sensation spread across his body like a wave. Blood rushed to his head, as his body began to feel cold. It was one thing to have slaughtered an entire village of people. It was another thing entirely to return to the scene of your crime. He wandered through, observing as much as he could, meticulously scrutinizing every last detail that he could, as the night replayed in his mind like a broken video.
His heart was in his throat as the memories he viciously tried to forget resurfaced, revealing their ugly heads. He could still feel the trigger against his fingers, as he ended the lives of the men he once worked alongside. For the life of him, he could not remember when he had removed his mask, but it was no longer on his face. It was only getting in his way, as he approached the corpse of a building larger than any other in this village, or any nearby. The mansion where the woman who ran this village called her home. His hand subconsciously caressed the right side of his face, brushing over the eyepatch that hid his missing eye. He might have taken her life, but she left by taking from him his eye.
He did not know how long he stood before the long since fallen building, but by the time he came to, night was creeping over the landscape. A haunting feeling hung in the air, like the hangman's noose growing tighter around his neck. He knew how this world worked, and knew it to be impossible, be if asked, he could swear that he felt the eyes of those he killed watching him. Hatefully glaring at him from the next life, wishing for him to fall like them. To have his life stolen from him they they did theirs. He almost thought he saw the woman who took his eye standing before him.
With a shuddering breath, he calmed his nerves, and drew forth his Zanpakuto. Tamashī was a weapon who refused to be restrained, a weapon who knew what it was. Tamashī was the death to all things that it touched. It was not a toy to be played with. It was not some blade to spar with others. It was a weapon in the truest sense of the word. It would take as much life as it could, and in turn, convert them into weapons as well. In a sense, his weapon was as much an artist as he was, crafting more tools of death. Maybe he was wrong, but it sure felt ironic, in a sense. He who made weapons of death to survive, was now wielding a weapon that did much the same.
He hated how similar he was to the weapon. And that was the reason he ventured to far out into the Rukongai. Anywhere else would be consumed by Tamashī. It was better to return to a place that already reeked of death to begin with. He stabbed the blade into the ground, as the poison quickly began to spread. Within moments, a purple liquid rippled against the ground, and figures began to arise from the vile substance. A tiny white figure emerged from behind the sword, sticking its head out from behind it, as the rest of it remained hidden. He thought he saw a black figure emerged from the liquid, but it was gone just as fast as it appeared, and a familiar presence could be felt hovering uncomfortably close to his back, practically breathing down his neck.
Hope and Despair heeded his call, the twin spirits that made up Tamashī. One called for the death of all things, while the other only desired for the death of himself. "We need to have words." He told them, as calmly as he could. In truth, he held fear for them, because they were so simplistic in their goals and desires. He knew them, knew what they were, but not why. If he were to attain bankai, he must understand them, and come to some sort of agreement. Compromises had to be made. The question that came to his mind, however, was which one of them would yield to the other? It was impossible for him to guess.
"You come all the way out here, just to talk?" A gravely male voice whispered into his ear, breath as cold as ice, and smelled of rot and ruination. It chuckled, as he felt ghost-like fingers brush against his shoulder. "Are you trying to butter my up, bringing me to the place where you inspired my power?" The voice behind him asked. "So much death. It fills me with such satisfaction. A job well done, my wielder. I can see the memories. Your creations haunted these lands like a plague. You helped so many meet their end, and you never pulled a trigger, until it was time to leave. And left you did. All of them returned to dust. As is the way of this world." It spoke nothing but positive things at his former actions.
The second figure, the one that stood only a few inches tall, leapt out from behind the sword, clearly in duress. A warm, angelic voice spoke to him, more feminine than masculine "This is awful! Look at all the harm you have wrought to this world! If not for you, these people could have had long and fulfilling lives! Did you eve try to help them change their ways? Instead of trying to help, you struck them down, cutting down the futures of so many! I thought you wanted to be a person who saved people! How can you say you are any kind of hero, when you created a graveyard like this! You are a monster who stopped deserving life the moment you first took breath!" The tiny figure berated him, a voice without anger, without hatred, constantly on the verge of tears.
This was the duality of his zanpakuto. Both sought death with every word that they spoke, but in completely different directions. Despair sought the death of all around him, looking towards everyone and seeing something worth killing. He could not tell if it was hatred that drove this aspect of Tamashī, or something else that he failed to understand, but it craved their deaths. Hope, on the other hand, sought to make the world a happier place. By having him remove himself from it. It claimed that he was the cause of the pain of everyone around him. It so desperately tried for him to give up, to give in for his desire to make people happy. It fed off his emotions like a leech.
"Tamashī. I wish to understand you. You crave death like none I have seen before. But I cannot understand why. Why do you wish for them all to fall? Help me understand." His words were spoken with a desperation that he knew could not be hidden from them. They stilled for a moment, the tiny figure growing stiff, before it looked sullen. "You wish for Bankai." The voice behind him spoke, like an avalanche of rock crashing down on his head. It was not angry, but spoke the truth, getting straight to the point. "Yes." He answered without hesitation. He, like his zanpakuto, preferred to get straight to the point.
He felt fingers dig into his shoulder, almost to the point of being painful. "You came here to know why I crave death as fervently as I do." Hope spoke to him, a voice as calm as the grave. It was disconcerting to listen to the normally weeping spirit so unusually focused. "Yes. It vexes as much as it did they day I learned your name." Connor answered truthfully. "Liar." They both said, harshly. This startled the young man. Liar? He spoke the truth! "You lie, Connor Greaves. You know why it is we crave death, but refuse to acknowledge it." That was not right. Why would he...?
"Think back to when you went to assist those shinigami. The Town was abandoned, filled with nothing but abominations of science. Do you remember when they nearly claimed your life?" He did. It was a harrowing experience. Pinned against a wall, with a giant ant attempting to claim his life by splitting him in two between pincers half as large as a grown man. "That mission was when you first awakened me. Your hatred for life boiled to the surface for the second time. You wanted them dead. You knew that those abominations deserved death. That they were a mockery on life itself. They did not ask to be born, but they deserved death all the same." His words struck a cord in the heart of Connor.
Was that true? He knew it was. Those creatures needed to die, because they posed a threat on the world. Sure, they were also unholy abominations, but he was there to do his job. "Or how about the army of beastclan that threatened the Rukongai? They were only creatures that sought their own survival, yet you helped cut them down nonetheless. You deemed their lives lesser than those you were protecting. What right did you have to do that?" Hope spoke out to him. That was not fair! Those were parasitic monsters! They were smart enough to plan, so what right did they have to kill other sentient beings?
"You ask what right they had?" His eyes widened. It was unfair to argue against beings that could read his mind. "They had the right because they were the smarter. They faster. They were the ones who were propagating change, yet you helped kill their chances for a future. You denied them the chance to move forward." Hope answered once more. But their argument felt lacking. His duty was to protect, so why was it shaming him into feeling guilty for the lives of the roach people? His eyes narrowed. "The change they sought would have taken more lives than helped. If they had continued on, they would have stripped any beauty this world had left. I took their lives to protect the world from death."
The voice behind him chuckled. "You fight death, with death. You ask why I seek the death of all things that I come to know? I do not ask for all things to die. I merely ask you to trim the fat. To cull the herd. Too much life brings death. But from death, new life can be achieved." For the first time, he saw the hand of Despair reach into his field of vision, as it willed to life a zombie. It rose from the ground, as it began hobbling towards the fallen structures of the buildings. He made no move to stop it, as its ruinous touch began to spread all across the wood.
"This village is long since dead, stripped of all value, and litters the world with its corpse. Death has claimed it. It might not live, but it was still once here. The you that was forced to call this place home, could see that it was a cancer. It spread death to all that it touched, and had to be removed. You did the best you could, but you were limited in your means. I offer you the chance to put the remains of those who are not deserving of the gift of life, the ones that refuse to go to rest peacefully, for your aid. You seek only to help life prevail and prosper. I do not seek mindless death and carnage, but rather the deaths of those that would hinder life." He told Connor, in an almost fatherly tone.
Connor could feel the words resonating within him. It was as if a whole new side of his zanpakuto was revealed to him. He turned to face Despair, to face Tamashī, for the first time. This time the spirit did not hide from him. The spirit looked like a cloak of shadow and darkness, but under the hood, was a kind and grizzled old, aged well past his prime. Connor reached out to hug the man, which was reciprocated. He felt strangely complete, yet at the same time... "Thank you. But what about him?" He turned to face what he once referred to as Hope. The little spirit looked... Strangely upset. Angry even.
"He is the beautiful lie." Despair told him, standing side-by-side with him, and leaning on his shoulder like a support. "While I may be the ugly truth, he is the beautiful lie. He tries to pretend that your death will bring about any amount of joy or happiness to the world. The truth is, that is a lie. If you had died that day, trying to reach this village, while the ones you had killed would have lived on a while longer, they would have continued to kill others, hurting all they touched, before they themselves were killed and replaced by others who would do the same in turn. That one feeds off you, trying to make you hope for a better future without you."
That was... a lot to take in. Why would his zanpakuto spirit do that? For what reason would it want to do that? He was about to voice his question, when Hope answered it for him. "Because, I am not your zanpakuto spirit. I am your death." It told him in a voice that chilled him to the bone. The spirit slowly sunk into the purple puddle beneath its feet. "I am the death of death. I am the one that will claim you, in time. I am weak right now, but the more you grow in power, so too shall I. Death wanes, and will falter. I wished for you to give up now, so it would be less painful later. But you decided to be stubborn. So now, I shall drag you kicking and screaming, as I claim your body and powers. If you had listened to me, you could have spared yourself, and all those around you this pain. Remember that." And that was all it spoke, as it vanished beneath the liquid.
Connor released a breath he had not realized he had been holding. That was... intense. Threats from such a small creature would not normally instill fear in the warrior, but the combination of unusual circumstances left him off guard. "What do you mean by 'Beautiful lie'? If Hope was not a part of Tamashī, not a part of you, what was it?" Connor turned, questioning the elderly spirit. He gave a sigh, as he readied himself to give a long explanation. "The sins of your life have come back to haunt you, further than even I could have anticipated." This... confused Connor. The spirit motioned for the two of them to sit on some nearby rubble, that had yet to be tainted by the poison.
"In life, you were strong. Stronger than a human had any right to be. That power dive you to madness, fueled further by grief. The loss of loved ones broke your mind, and splintered your soul. In the twisted thing you called a mind, you started consuming hollows to further your power, tainting your soul in the process." He spoke in a grave tone. Connor could barely believe such a thing. He had met powerful humans before, Izanami came to mind, but consuming hollows? He himself consuming hollows? How was he not dea-oh. Right. "Alright, so my soul in life was tainted by Hollow. I assume that I was felled by something other than a shinigami for the taint to remain?"
The grizzled spirit looked annoyed at the interruption. "As a matter of fact, you were slain by a shinigami. Normally your spirit would have been purified from the process, but the fact that you were a fullbringer complicated things. The Hollow taint, was thoroughly entwined with your fullbring, that it managed to survive the purification. That is why I am nothing like your former fullbring. That one you call 'Hope' is the culmination of the hollow spirits trapped within your soul. And it grows stronger day by day." Well that was ominous. And more than a little worrying. "Then why do we not go into my Inner World and slay him now?"
Tamashī hung his head and sighed. "If that were an option, I would have called you long before now to aid me in its destruction. The fact of the matter is, that it is also bound to me, as well as you. We three are as inseparable as you or I. He draws on me, much like you do. At most, it would be a stalemate between you both. You must keep ahead of him, lest he replace you, and take over your body. I am sorry." A numb feeling washed over Connor. This thing had the potential to kill him? The potential to replace him!? It was a feeling of... mortality. He could feel just how mortal he was in that moment. That death was creeping towards him. Not slowly, but quickly.
A moment passed, before a new feeling washed over him. He grit his teeth, as a rage bubbled up from his core. He sprung to life, as he let out a primal yell, full of anger and hate. He surged forward as he grabbed his zanpakuto, before unleashing a flurry of Poisoned Waves on the surrounding ghost town. In a matter of moments, the remnants sprang to life, as zombies of all shapes and sizes started consuming anything his attacks missed. He kept attacking, trying his best to vent his frustrations. It was a good two minutes, before he ran out of breath to yell, and hunched over, leaning on his sword to stand. It was another few seconds before he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"I refuse to die a puppet to a Hollow." He told the spirit. There was no verbal response. "If that thing continually grows in power, then I have no choice but to do the same. This is a monster who has already died once with me, and now it lingers on, refusing to pass on. We shall exorcise this Hollow in time." Stamina returned to him, he stands up straight, and turns to face his Zanpakuto spirit. "Please, help me grow stronger, Tamashī. Teach me Bankai. If I am destined to battle Hope, then I wish to be as strong as I can. I will not let a ghost of the past run free with our power. I promise you."
The elderly spirit just gave him a loving smile, and gave him a hug. One that Connor returned. "We are death. All we touch is subject to our whims." He began. "The world fears us, because they cannot see what lies on the other side." He continued. Connor believed he knew where he was going with this. "We claim all, in time. We are slave to no one. We have nothing to fear, nor anything to hide. We are the end. We take no pleasure in the lives we claim, and bare the hate and grief of those to whom still live. It is a sin that we shoulder for the betterment of life. So let them see it. Let them see what we are."
The spirit faded, returning to his Inner World, as Connor looked at the blade in a new light. He knelt down, as he plunged the blade deep into the earth. "Bare my Sins for all to loath. Souruejji." For an instant, all the chaos around him stilled. The roars, the screeches, the destruction of a ruined town, came to a halt. Rising to his feet, he ripped the weapon from the ground. He could feel power coursing through his veins, as his weapon was raised to the sky. It was a horrific weapon, looking like the maw of a grizzly beast, particularly with how poison dripped from from between the teeth. It was made entirely of bone, with a large downward pointing curved horn acting as a guard.
A sense of pride welled up in his chest, as Connor admired his weapon. It was as malicious as how most people imagined death to be. In every sense of the word, this blade looked evil. But he knew it was for from it. This was a weapon to be used on those who cause life to fade away. This was to save life through destruction. He would gladly look like a villain, if he could save lives. Suddenly, he heard the sounds of many things slapping against the ground. Blinking twice, he looked around him, and he could hardly believe his eyes. Zombies of every shape and size surrounded him... and knelt to him. He was perplexed.
He lowered his weapon, and raised his hand with his free hand. The zombies did so, before they shimmered before his very eyes. The zombies... looked like normal people now. His jaw dropped. "We are here to help you the best we can. What are your orders?" The now people spoke to him, causing his jaw to drop further. He was suddenly feeling self conscious, and felt compelled to give them an order. "Please, tear down what remains of this settlement. We will give this land a chance to live again, a fresh start." He said, as confidently as he could manage.
The zombies heard him, and gave a rowdy cheer, as they began to work. It a matter of minutes, everything was reduced to rubble, before being reduced to nothing. The cleanup was surprisingly quick, and all that remained was flatland. The people returned. Connor was beginning to feel light headed from maintaining such power, clearly not used to something as powerful as bankai. "Thank you all for the assistance. But I must ask you to return to rest once more. Until I call upon you again." He deactivated his bankai, as the people began to wave goodbye. After they were gone, he sheathed his blade, and collapsed to the ground.
It took him a half hour to get back to his feet. The stress on his body was that great. He gave the area another look, before widening his eyes in horror. The area was cleared, this was true, but massive chunks of land were missing, as if they were simply erased from existence. 'We are death. Our power is meant to kill. You must be careful when you use bankai, for while death may bend to your will, it is still a weapon. Never forget just how dangerous it is. Bare the sin for all to loath, but never forget what roll you play in the cycle of life.' Connor listened to his words. Bankai was a last resort, when every other option was exhausted.
He returned to his bike, having been well outside the area of effect of his powers, and made his way back to the Soul Society.
