Post by Arcadus on Aug 30, 2023 19:30:17 GMT -5
Arcadus sat in his chair at the Espada's Table, tapping his fingers. He'd sent invitations to the various Espada active, as well as Kitai, and Camilla. They were going to be here to witness the start of his rebirth. The return to a lowly menos so that he could exorcise these troubling souls within his soul. It was taking a decent amount of will to maintain his focus and control, as right now, they were all struggling from within to rise to the surface and confront him.
He could hear them pressing on his mind, mage, warrior, rogue, they all hammered on their respective prisons. He'd been too lackadaisical as of late, seeking advice from these humans, these weaklings who somehow remained. Their only advantage to him was also their greatest weakness. Their humanity, their poisoning compassion that had infected him. He understood what he needed to do to become an Arrancar, a proper one. To ascend to Vasto Lorde and to break his mask.
He knew the risks, he'd discussed them with Atlas and Maximillian extensively. He could die. He could also be consumed by another hollow and not re-enter the soul cycle, but also he could fight for dominance and take over that hollow. He could be Kenso'd. He could be wiped from existence by a Quincy. But he knew his options and counters to these situations. He could retreat, he could threaten the lives of those they would protect, he had counter measures.
As for the invited parties, they would have received invitations in the form of black stone tablet, the lettering carved with chisel and laid in with gold leaf. It would read as follows. "Greetings, peers and and fellows. I invite you all to bear witness and speak upon a great becoming. It will not fail to entertain nor will you forget what will happen. Come at your own best judgement." They had been sent with a similar tablet if any of the recipients had intended to send back a response.
Those who entered would see Arcadus sitting at the head of the meeting table, candle lit room marked by black red scribling that those with a keen eye would recognize as a ritual circle extending up onto the walls, arcane symbols twisted by the abrupt ascent into frightening line work. Candles sat at different intervals, their light puppeting the shadows of the room in a dance, as if a cult danced around their idol in celebration and an act of manifestation.
He could hear them pressing on his mind, mage, warrior, rogue, they all hammered on their respective prisons. He'd been too lackadaisical as of late, seeking advice from these humans, these weaklings who somehow remained. Their only advantage to him was also their greatest weakness. Their humanity, their poisoning compassion that had infected him. He understood what he needed to do to become an Arrancar, a proper one. To ascend to Vasto Lorde and to break his mask.
He knew the risks, he'd discussed them with Atlas and Maximillian extensively. He could die. He could also be consumed by another hollow and not re-enter the soul cycle, but also he could fight for dominance and take over that hollow. He could be Kenso'd. He could be wiped from existence by a Quincy. But he knew his options and counters to these situations. He could retreat, he could threaten the lives of those they would protect, he had counter measures.
As for the invited parties, they would have received invitations in the form of black stone tablet, the lettering carved with chisel and laid in with gold leaf. It would read as follows. "Greetings, peers and and fellows. I invite you all to bear witness and speak upon a great becoming. It will not fail to entertain nor will you forget what will happen. Come at your own best judgement." They had been sent with a similar tablet if any of the recipients had intended to send back a response.
Those who entered would see Arcadus sitting at the head of the meeting table, candle lit room marked by black red scribling that those with a keen eye would recognize as a ritual circle extending up onto the walls, arcane symbols twisted by the abrupt ascent into frightening line work. Candles sat at different intervals, their light puppeting the shadows of the room in a dance, as if a cult danced around their idol in celebration and an act of manifestation.